Tears stung Private Elena’s eyes as she knelt behind a crumbling wall, clutching her brother’s dog tags. The valley roared with the sounds of war, but her squad’s courage burned brighter. “For you, Miguel,” she choked, his sacrifice haunting her heart. The enemy surged, yet she rose, rifle trembling, driven by love for her fractured homeland.
Bullets tore the air, but her resolve held firm. At dusk, the flag stood tall, stained with blood and hope. Elena sobbed, pride and grief entwined. This land, her home, was free–not by fate, but because of the brave who bled for it.
The Contest: Write a declaration or fictional story about planning for an insurrection of any type that will begin exactly one year from today (July 4th, 2026). 500 words minimum.
In the musty attic of a Philadelphia library, where Revolutionary pamphlets whispered from dusty shelves, the Echo Society huddled under a flickering bulb.
It was October 20, 2025, and their hearts raced with a bold dream: a peaceful “insurrection” of ideas, set to launch on July 4, 2026—one year away.
They weren’t plotting chaos or violence, but a revival of the Founders’ spirit, uniting a nation torn by red and blue.
Elias, a history professor with Jefferson’s fire in his eyes; Maria, a progressive activist exhausted by partisan venom; and Tom, a veteran whose Trump support stemmed from policies that saved his town’s factory, vowed to draft a Renewal Declaration—a call to heal America’s soul.
Elias unrolled a replica of the 1776 Declaration, his voice thick with urgency.
He said, “The Founders faced a tyrant king, yet they united diverse colonies with words, not swords.”
Looking directly at each member of the group, Elias continued, “Today, we’re fractured—families split, neighbors estranged. Our insurrection starts now: a year to rebuild ‘We the People’ with empathy, not anger.”
Maria, once quick to dismiss Trump as a divider, hesitated. She’d marched for equity, fearing his policies hurt the vulnerable.
But recent news stirred her: Trump’s Gaza ceasefire, earning Israel’s Presidential Medal of Honor and Egypt’s Order of the Nile on October 13, 2025, freed hostages and silenced bombs, reuniting sobbing families.
“I’ve mocked his style,” she admitted, “but that peace deal… it’s the kind of bold compassion I fight for. Maybe I’ve missed something.”
Tom, his faded Trump hat tucked away, nodded. “His trade deals brought back 7 million jobs, including mine, and record-low Black unemployment—5.4% in 2019—lifted folks like my neighbors.”
He paused, eyes glistening. “But I see your side, Maria—division hurts us all. Let’s build forums where stories trump shouting, like Braver Angels does.”
Their plan unfolded like a scroll. By January 2026, they’d launch “Echo Dialogues”—podcasts blending tales of Trump’s overlooked wins, like the First Step Act freeing 3,000 nonviolent prisoners, with progressive stories of social justice.
February: Virtual town halls, role-playing Founders debating modern woes—Hamilton’s economic vision mirroring Trump’s tariffs, Madison’s federalism easing partisan gridlock.
March: Library reading circles, pairing Paine’s Common Sense with Trump’s Operation Warp Speed, which vaccinated millions in record time.
Maria scribbled a timeline. “April: Youth camps teaching kids to disagree kindly, like Braver Angels’ games.”
She continued, “May: Essay contests—‘What Would Jefferson Do?’—highlighting Trump’s $35 insulin cap for seniors, a win for fairness.”
Tom added, “June: Picnics, not protests, sharing meals and hopes.”
Tom went on, “Then, July 4, 2026: We unveil our Declaration in Independence Hall’s shadow—term limits, civics education, bipartisan councils.”
As dawn broke, they clasped hands. Maria’s voice cracked: “I still cringe at Trump’s tweets, but his results—jobs, peace, justice—make me rethink my lens. This is about us, not him.”
Tom’s eyes softened. “Exactly. His grit showed what’s possible; now we make it ours.”
By July 4, 2026, thousands gathered—red hats beside rainbow flags. The Renewal Declaration rang out: “When division threatens our Union, we reclaim empathy…”
It listed shared grievances—corrupt lobbies, silenced voices—and solutions rooted in unity.
A liberal teacher whispered, “I scoffed at Trump, but those peace medals? They’re real.”
A conservative mechanic nodded: “Maria’s heart showed me there’s more to fight for.”
The crowd roared, not in victory, but in hope.
Elias smiled. “This is our insurrection: hearts united, echoing the Founders.”
Evergreen Springs, once split, bloomed anew—proof that stories, not swords, heal nations.
Shadows at the Sundae Counter: Two Paths in a Divided Diner
In the sleepy town of Evergreen Springs, where the Dairy Queen stood as a neon beacon of summer nostalgia, Jake pulled into the parking lot on a sweltering afternoon. His red MAGA hat, faded from years of rallies and barbecues, sat firmly on his head—a symbol of his unwavering support for Trump, whose policies had revived his small manufacturing job after the factory nearly shuttered. He craved a simple Blizzard, but what unfolded would test the fragile threads of civility in a polarized world.
Scene 1: The Bitter Scoop (Negative Outcome)
Jake stepped inside, the bell jingling like a warning. The counter clerk, a young woman named Sarah with piercings and a rainbow pin on her apron, glanced up and froze. Her eyes locked on the hat, her face twisting in disdain. “Sir, you’ll need to take that off or leave,” she said sharply, her voice laced with the frustration of someone who’d scrolled through too many heated social media threads. “We don’t want that kind of energy here—it’s divisive.”
Jake’s cheeks flushed, his hands clenching at his sides. “Divisive? This is America—freedom of speech, right? I’m just here for ice cream, not a debate.” His tone escalated, drawing stares from other customers. Sarah crossed her arms, her manager peeking out from the back. “It’s store policy now. That hat represents hate to a lot of us. Remove it or go.”
The standoff boiled over. Jake slammed a fist on the counter, muttering about “snowflakes” and “cancel culture,” while Sarah called him a “bigot” under her breath. Phones came out, recording the chaos; a family at a nearby table hurried their kids out. Jake stormed away empty-handed, posting a furious rant online that went viral, labeling the DQ a “liberal hive.” Sarah faced backlash too—harassing calls flooded the store, forcing it to close early. The incident fractured the town: boycotts on one side, counter-protests on the other. Friendships frayed, and Evergreen Springs grew colder, a sundae shop turned symbol of irreparable divide. In the end, no one won—just a bitter aftertaste of resentment lingering long after the ice cream melted.
Scene 2: The Sweet Resolution (Positive Outcome)
Jake stepped inside, the bell jingling like an invitation. Sarah glanced up, her eyes narrowing at the hat, but she paused, remembering a recent Braver Angels workshop her community group had hosted on bridging divides. “Sir, that hat… it might make some folks uncomfortable here. Mind taking it off while you order?” she asked, her tone firm but not accusatory.
Jake blinked, surprised by the politeness. He touched the brim, recalling his own vow to respect others after a family rift over politics. “Uncomfortable? I get it—it’s just my way of showing support for what helped my job. But sure, no problem.” He tucked the hat under his arm, and Sarah’s shoulders relaxed. As she scooped his Blizzard, curiosity sparked. “What helped your job?” she asked genuinely.
Jake shared briefly: Trump’s trade deals had saved his factory from outsourcing. Sarah nodded, scooping extra Oreos. “I see that side now. For me, it’s about inclusivity—my pin’s for my LGBTQ friends.” They chatted lightly, discovering shared worries about the town’s economy. A customer overheard and joined in, turning the counter into an impromptu circle of stories. Jake left with his treat and a new perspective; Sarah felt heard, not attacked. Word spread—Evergreen Springs’ DQ became known for “Blizzards and Bridges,” hosting monthly neutral talks. Divisions didn’t vanish, but respect bloomed, proving that a small act of grace could sweeten even the sourest encounters. In the end, the town grew stronger, one scoop of empathy at a time.
History is replete with tales of reconciliation that transformed bitter enmities into fragile alliances, and sometimes enduring peace. These stories often emerge from the ashes of war, genocide, or deep-seated divisions, showing how leaders, communities, and individuals can choose empathy over retribution.
Below, I explore several pivotal examples, drawing from conflicts that spanned centuries and continents. Each highlights the human capacity for healing, though not without challenges like incomplete justice or lingering resentments.
1. Post-Civil War Reconciliation in the United States: The Gettysburg Reunions (1860s–1930s)
After the American Civil War’s devastating toll—over 600,000 lives lost—the nation grappled with reuniting North and South. A key symbol was the Gettysburg Battlefield, site of the war’s turning point in 1863. Starting in the 1870s, veterans from both Union and Confederate sides organized massive reunions, culminating in the 1913 semicentennial event attended by over 50,000 aging soldiers. They shared meals, swapped stories, and even staged mock battles, emphasizing shared sacrifice over blame. President Woodrow Wilson addressed the crowd in 1913, proclaiming former foes as “brothers and comrades in arms, enemies no longer.” This “reconciliation movement” fostered national unity but often sidelined African American contributions and the emancipation cause, prioritizing white solidarity. Figures like Robert E. Lee embodied this shift; after surrendering to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox in 1865, Lee urged Southerners toward moderation, becoming a voice for healing and even testifying before Congress on Reconstruction. These efforts helped knit the Union back together, paving the way for a singular American identity, though racial reconciliation remained elusive for generations.
2. Franco-German Reconciliation After World War II (1945–Ongoing)
One of Europe’s most profound post-war healings unfolded between France and Germany, arch-rivals scarred by invasions and two world wars. In 1945, amid the ruins, leaders like Charles de Gaulle and Konrad Adenauer prioritized forgiveness over vengeance. A turning point came in 1963 with the Élysée Treaty, where the two nations committed to annual youth exchanges, joint cabinet meetings, and cultural programs—transforming enemies into partners. This was fueled by European integration, including the European Coal and Steel Community (1951), which made war economically illogical. By the 1980s, French and German students were routinely hosting each other’s families, and today, their militaries train together. Historians credit this “success story” with preventing further conflict and enabling the European Union, though it required confronting histories through memorials and education. As one observer noted, reconciliation here was “driven by the dynamic of Atlantic and European integration,” turning a century of bloodshed into a model of multilateral peace.
3. South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (1995–2002)
Emerging from apartheid’s brutal legacy of racial segregation and violence, South Africa’s 1994 democratic transition under Nelson Mandela could have descended into civil war. Instead, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), chaired by Desmond Tutu, offered amnesty to perpetrators who confessed atrocities, in exchange for truth-telling and victim testimonies. Over 7,000 hearings aired publicly, allowing stories like that of Amy Biehl—a white American activist killed by Black youth in 1993—to lead to forgiveness; her family advocated for her killers’ release. The TRC’s slogan, “revealing is healing,” broke cycles of impunity, fostering societal coexistence if not full forgiveness. While criticized for uneven accountability, it enabled a “rainbow nation,” with Mandela’s 1995 Rugby World Cup embrace of white Afrikaners symbolizing unity. This process showed reconciliation as a “parallel process” to politics, redesigning relationships amid division.
4. The Good Friday Agreement and Northern Ireland’s Peace Process (1998)
Decades of “The Troubles”—sectarian violence between Catholic nationalists and Protestant unionists claiming over 3,500 lives—divided Northern Ireland. The 1998 Good Friday Agreement, brokered by U.S. Senator George Mitchell, ended the armed conflict through power-sharing, demilitarization, and prisoner releases. It addressed grievances like police reform (replacing the biased Royal Ulster Constabulary) and cultural recognition, allowing former IRA and loyalist militants to enter politics—think Sinn Féin’s Gerry Adams and DUP’s Ian Paisley sharing platforms. Despite flare-ups, peace has held, with cross-community initiatives like integrated schools reducing divides. This demonstrates reconciliation in “deeply divided societies,” blending diplomacy with societal dialogue.
5. Rwanda’s Gacaca Courts and Post-Genocide Healing (2001–2012)
In 1994, Hutu extremists slaughtered 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus in 100 days, turning neighbors into executioners. Post-genocide, Rwanda’s government established Gacaca community courts—traditional assemblies where 1.2 million cases were heard by elected locals. Perpetrators confessed publicly, victims forgave (or not), and sentences focused on reintegration, like community service. Stories abound: survivors like Andrew and Callixte, once genocidaires, reconciled through World Vision’s programs, sharing memories and tools for emotional management. By emphasizing “coexistence” over retribution, Rwanda rebuilt, with economic growth and unity laws banning ethnic labels. Yet, critics note suppressed dissent. This “two-week program of sharing” model has inspired global efforts, proving amnesia is reconciliation’s enemy, but truth its ally.
6. Personal Tales from World War II: Eric Lomax and Corrie ten Boom
Amid macro narratives, individual stories illuminate reconciliation’s intimacy. British POW Eric Lomax, tortured building the Burma Railway in 1942, harbored rage for decades until 1993, when he met his Japanese interpreter, Nagase Takashi, in a tearful embrace—immortalized in Lomax’s memoir The Railway Man. Similarly, Dutch Christian Corrie ten Boom, who hid Jews during the Holocaust and survived Ravensbrück camp, forgave a guard in 1947 at a church event: “For I had to do it—I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: that we forgive those who have injured us.” These acts, rooted in faith and time, echo broader WWII reconciliations, like Zamperini’s forgiveness of Japanese guards.
These stories reveal reconciliation’s facets: retrospective (grappling with past harms via commissions or memorials) versus prospective (building future ties through integration), often requiring multilevel efforts from governments to grassroots. Success demands acknowledging pain without erasure, as in South Africa or Rwanda, and shared incentives, like Europe’s economic union. Yet, they warn of pitfalls—racial oversights in U.S. efforts or incomplete justice elsewhere.
In our polarized present, these historical beacons remind us that while divides persist, deliberate steps toward understanding can rewrite endings. If you’d like expansions on any or stories from specific eras/regions, just say the word!
In a politically polarized world, stories of reconciliation between people with opposing views remind us that empathy, dialogue, and shared humanity can bridge even the deepest divides. Below, I’ll explore several real-life examples drawn from personal accounts, news reports, and social media shares. These focus on friendships strained by politics but ultimately mended through mutual respect and effort.
Lance Moseley and Rodney Sadler: From Rivals to Podcast Partners
Lance Moseley, a staunch MAGA supporter who sees America as an “amazing place” under Trump, and Rodney Sadler, a progressive pastor who views the political climate as “perilous” and fears the erosion of democracy, first met about a year ago during a social experiment on reconciliation along North Carolina’s Nahala River. They disagreed on nearly everything—from Trump’s policies on policing and immigration (Lance supported strict enforcement to curb drugs and crime, while Rodney saw it as threatening to Black and brown communities) to the overall state of the nation. Yet, through shared activities and honest conversations, they built mutual admiration. Eight months into Trump’s second term, they reunited in Florida, acknowledging two separate American narratives but committing to listen and learn. Today, they’ve launched a podcast about political rivals who remain friends, proving that genuine liking can transcend ideology.
Brent Payne and Charlie Meyerson: Reconnecting After a Social Media Rift
Brent Payne, CEO of a digital agency who voted for Obama, then Trump, and later Biden, and Charlie Meyerson, a veteran Chicago journalist critical of Trump’s anti-media stance, were longtime friends and former Chicago Tribune colleagues. Their bond frayed during the first Trump era over heated online debates—Payne felt the media unfairly targeted Trump, while Meyerson saw it as holding power accountable. This led to them unfriending each other on Facebook and ceasing contact for over two years. The reconciliation began when Meyerson posted about a heartfelt 30-minute chat where they shed tears of affection and addressed their differences. Payne emphasized healing societal rifts by remembering the foundation of their friendship, and Meyerson agreed that people capable of working together should find ways to do so. They now share their story as a lesson in unity.
Kay and Her Neighbors: Choosing Friendship Over Politics
Kay, a 27-year-old from a small California town, was devastated when her two closest friends—a married couple and her neighbors—posted a viral photo of Trump after an assassination attempt, revealing their support for him in the 2024 election. This clashed with their shared values on reproductive rights and LGBTQ protections, leading Kay to distance herself initially. However, she missed the adult friendship they’d built and decided to reconcile by setting a boundary: no political discussions. Recognizing that cutting off loved ones isn’t always practical amid widespread loneliness, Kay chose to view their vote as a “misguided decision” while preserving the bond that enriched her life.
Joe Walsh and His Former Supporter: From Ugly Break to Respectful Disagreement
Joe Walsh, a former GOP Congressman and Tea Party member turned anti-Trump critic, had a close friendship with a staunch Trump supporter who was once his biggest political ally. Their relationship ended bitterly five to six years ago when Walsh opposed Trump, with his friend calling him a “traitor.” After years of silence, Walsh reached out recently, leading to conversations where they listened instead of yelling. Though the friend remains all-in on Trump, he now understands Walsh’s stance, and Walsh gained deeper insight into his motivations. They’ve rebuilt a passionate but respectful friendship, highlighting progress through empathy.
Deon Joseph and a Former Acquaintance: A Silent Apology on the Street
Deon Joseph, a police officer known for community work, lost touch with a woman in 2020 during the riots when she unfriended him online after he refused to label most officers as racist and warned against harmful police reforms. She believed in the anti-police movement, ignoring his track record of helping people. Nearly four years later, she spotted him on patrol, crossed the street, and gave him a tight hug that conveyed unspoken regret—“I was wrong, I’m sorry.” They had brief small talk, but Joseph noted that if people are loud in their convictions, they should be equally vocal in admitting mistakes. This encounter showed how time and real-world outcomes can prompt quiet reconciliation.
Betsy Geist and Her College Roommate: Decades of Enduring Disagreement
Betsy Geist, a self-described “knee-jerk liberal,” was randomly paired in college with a conservative roommate who admired Ayn Rand and organized for Young Americans for Freedom. They clashed intensely for weeks over views on human nature and politics—Geist attended antiwar rallies, while her roommate supported Republicans like Barry Goldwater. Yet, they found common ground, forging a friendship that lasted decades. Even as the roommate later engaged with figures like Pete Buttigieg, they maintained contact, teaching Geist that true bonds can survive radical differences if rooted in respect.
These accounts illustrate that reconciliation often starts with small steps—like a hug, a phone call, or a boundary agreement—and thrives on focusing on shared values rather than divisions.
While not every story ends perfectly, they underscore the power of patience and openness in healing relationships strained by politics.
If you’d like to dive deeper into any of these or explore reconciliations in other contexts (like family or historical events), let me know!
Once upon a time in a bustling town called Harmonyville, there lived two lifelong friends named Alex and Jordan. They had grown up together, sharing adventures from childhood playgrounds to late-night talks about dreams and life. Alex was a staunch supporter of Mayor Evergreen, believing her policies had brought prosperity and unity to the town—new parks, better schools, and jobs for everyone. Jordan, on the other hand, backed Councilor Blaze, convinced his bold ideas were what the town needed to shake off old habits and forge a brighter future.
For years, their differences never mattered. They’d laugh over barbeques, debating ideas with passion but always ending with a handshake and plans for the next barbecue. But as an election heated up, something changed. Whispers in the town square turned into shouts on social media. Neighbors drew lines, and soon, Alex and Jordan found themselves on opposite sides of a growing divide.
One evening, at their favorite diner, the conversation turned sour. Jordan slammed a fist on the table. “Evergreen is a fool, a puppet for the elite! She’s ruining everything with her soft policies!” Alex’s face reddened. “How can you say that? She’s done more for this town than anyone. Blaze is just a loudmouth stirring up trouble!”
The words escalated. Jordan called Evergreen “spineless” and “corrupt,” while Alex held back, remembering a promise to never speak ill of leaders who served the public. But the hurt lingered. They stormed out, vowing silently to avoid each other. Weeks passed without a call or text. The town felt smaller, colder.
Then, a storm hit Harmonyville—a fierce one that flooded streets and toppled trees. In the chaos, Alex’s home was damaged, and Jordan’s car was stuck in the mud. Without thinking, Alex grabbed tools and headed to Jordan’s place, pulling the car free with ropes and sheer determination. Hours later, exhausted and soaked, they sat on Jordan’s porch.
“Why’d you come?” Jordan asked, voice quiet.
“Because you’re my friend,” Alex replied. “Politics don’t change that. I respect what you believe, even if I don’t agree. Calling names doesn’t fix floods or build bridges—it just washes away what’s good between us.”
Jordan stared at the rain. “I’ve been a real jerk. Blaze isn’t perfect, and neither is Evergreen. But hating on yours… that was bullying, plain and simple. We all deserve respect for our views. Without it, we’re just yelling into the storm.”
From that day, they rebuilt—not just their homes, but their bond. They agreed to disagree, sharing ideas without venom, listening instead of labeling. The town noticed; slowly, the divide mended. Neighbors started talking again, realizing that respect wasn’t about winning arguments but about honoring the humanity in each other.
In the end, Harmonyville thrived not because one side triumphed, but because its people learned that true strength lies in unity amid diversity. And Alex and Jordan? They remained friends for another forty years, proving that opposites could coexist, as long as respect paved the way.
On September 17 – today – we observe Constitution Day, marking the historic signing of the U.S. Constitution in 1787. This foundational document, signed by 39 delegates in Philadelphia, is more than a legal cornerstone—it reflects the faith of its framers and the guiding hand of Providence. At organizations such as the formidable WallBuilders, they committed to highlighting the Christian roots that shaped this timeless charter.
The Constitutional Convention faced immense challenges: divided states, a faltering Articles of Confederation, and intense debates. Yet, the delegates’ faith anchored their efforts.
Benjamin Franklin
At 81, Benjamin Franklin called for Divine guidance, proclaiming, “God governs in the affairs of men,” and quoting Psalm 127:1: “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” Though his proposal for prayer wasn’t formally adopted, it underscored the delegates’ trust in God.
Most delegates were devout Christians, embedding Judeo-Christian principles in the Constitution, such as the Preamble’s “Blessings of Liberty” (echoing Psalm 33:12).
Constitutional Convention
Discover more about the Constitution and the Signers of the Constitution from these WallBuilders resources:
The Finger of God on the Constitutional Convention Constitution Hub Celebrating the Constitution Catechism on the Constitution Don’t forget to read the full Constitution today!
This Constitution Day, let’s honor the signers’ faith by studying the Constitution so we can defend their God-inspired framework!
Signers of the Constitution from these WallBuilders resources:
The Finger of God on the Constitutional Convention
As the author ofDiscovering Misty: The Mermaid of the Emerald CoastandGeorge and the Brave Eagle, and a blogger celebrating 500 visitors, I’ve learned that leadership isn’t just about titles—it’s about stepping up to make a difference. When asked, “Do you see yourself as a leader?” my answer is clear: as a parent, I’m automatically a leader. But the scope of that leadership, shaped by my history, stretches far beyond my home, touching lives through advocacy, service, and storytelling. Here’s how my journey as a leader has unfolded and how it fuels my writing today.
Parenthood thrust me into leadership from the start, guiding my children with love and purpose. Raising two daughters and five sons, three of whom became Eagle Scouts and two who worked toward it, I took on roles like Cub Scout leader in the Boy Scouts of America (BSA). Those years taught me to lead by example, fostering resilience and teamwork—qualities I weave into my children’s books, like George’s courage or Misty’s determination. My leadership extended to managing our family’s 25-acre LDS church park, where we hosted 600-800 Boy Scouts each year for six years. Picture a week-long campout on your front lawn—tents, laughter, and chaos! Organizing those events honed my ability to lead with patience and vision, skills I now use to manage my blog and book projects.
Beyond family, I found my voice as a political leader with Overpassers for USA, serving as California’s representative. Coordinating rallies across the state to promote patriotism and free speech was exhilarating. Every weekend, my family and I stood on freeway overpasses, waving flags and signs we kept ready in our van. I helped build the organization’s website, listing rallies nationwide, and watching our movement grow filled me with pride. Those moments of unity and love for American values inspired the hope-filled themes in my stories and blog posts, where I aim to uplift readers young and old.
My leadership also shone in foster care. For over 14 years, my husband and I were medical foster parents in Sacramento County, caring for more than 200 infants and children, many medically fragile. We held the first baby in the county to pass from AIDS, loving him for all eight months of his life. That experience taught me leadership through compassion—a thread that runs throughDiscovering Mistyand my advocacy for hope and suicide prevention. As Vice President of the Sacramento branch of the California State Foster Parent Association for seven years and Editor of its monthly publication for six, I led by amplifying voices and sharing stories, much like I do now through my blog and books.
Leadership, for me, is about impact, not position. Whether rallying for free speech, guiding Scouts, nurturing fragile lives, or writing stories that spark joy, I lead by showing up with heart. My blog, my GoFundMe campaign forGeorge and the Brave Eagle, and my books are extensions of that leadership, inviting readers to find courage and connection.
If you’ve ever stepped up to guide, inspire, or serve, you’re a leader too—shaping the world one moment, one story, at a time.
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