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The Seventh man, mid-fifties, tall, gaunt, his real name is unknown.
That's K, there on the left, my best childhood friend, I'm there next to him, the taller one.
He might've been about a year or less young than me, with girlish looks and fairly cute.
We were both about ten years old at the time.
K Loved to paint. He'd paint landscapes, portraits, scenes from around the town, anything, and everything he painted was beautiful.
One year there was a terrible typhoon, the worst reported in my lifetime. My house was pelted with horrible rain for what must have been only 2-3 hours but felt like days, eventually, though, we entered the eye of the storm. Mother and father allowed me to go outside during this but warned me to come back home if the winds started picking back up.
K joined me on my walk to the shore while I was outside, once we arrived at the shore we split off, and K became fascinated with something at his feet. Soon after, I heard a strage rumbling, like that of a massive groan or something. K seemed unfazed by the sound and continued looking at the object in the sand. Suddenly, a colosal wave formed on the horizon.
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