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The group froze. Bobi stood there, his face turning bright red, as he realized the bat had somehow wedged itself awkwardly. “Uh, guys…” he said, trying to stay calm. His friends burst into laughter, but Bobi couldn’t help but giggle too, despite the ridiculous situation.
After a few minutes of careful maneuvering and a lot of laughs, the bat finally came free. Bobi, slightly embarrassed but victorious, gave a sheepish thumbs-up. “I guess I’m just really committed to my role as a slugger,” he said, as the giggles continued.
One morning, as he stared at his hands, something caught his eye—his thumbs. The half moons—the small, white crescents at the base of his nails—were gone. A subtle, yet stark symbol of his body’s decline. They’d disappeared over time, like everything else he’d lost.
Bobi’s world had shrunk. No more late nights or careless drinking. Just the quiet hum of reality settling in. The loss of the half moons was a reminder of all he had taken for granted. But now, with only fragments of his past self, Bobi faced the hardest battle: to rebuild what had been destroyed, one small step at a time.
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