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November 10, 2005

Volume 8, Issue 10

What's the deal with this?

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The Eschatologist: Oh, John! Oh, Marsha! Oh no.

It was common to leave a memory of a torrid, illicit affair out in public anonymously. This was prohibited by law, but wasn't really enforceable, and was demanded by the standards of the community.

Even when such affairs sputtered, remembering the event was still expected to teach a lesson to the town youth; a warning not to repeat earlier mistakes.

Indeed, notes would be altered to reflect the changing relationship.

In fact, for John, boredom quickly supplanted an earlier horror regarding Marsha. He visited their marker in the middle of the night, and appended a "Sl-" to the previous note.

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D: Protection

One last circuit of the house to check that all the windows and doors had been sealed properly, except the front door. Locked, yes, all locked. At each window he broke a twig and placed both pieces on the sill, intoning the incantation under his breath.

branch breaks branch, one branch is now two, one branch is me, one branch is you

As he crossed the threshold and pulled the front door closed behind him he took the pieces of pink and white chalk from his pocket and completed the protection spell on the doorstep, putting the house to sleep.

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Ted: Running In Circles

Even the graffiti mocks me. I can't possibly sleep yet, I'm not in a safe place. I have too much to do yet. Too many people to see. They don't want me to visit them, but they'll change that opinion once I get them to listen. Then they will BELIEVE!

So tired, tired of running, tired of the stares from everybody, like they know the secret but won't believe. Tired of the children. They know. They are responsible. They are MAKING this happen.

More graffiti. Bats, skeletons, cocks, and tits. Damn kids, ruining everything, keeping me awake. Killing us all.

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