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February 11, 2008

Sealyon: Sure You Won't Have Some?

His thoughts get smaller every day, distilled to only the essential:

Hungry.

He no longer knows why he follows the blonde woman: he can't even form the concept of "blonde woman," no longer understands the line between death, life, and undeath. He is almost nothing more than base instinct. Meat is meat.

So hungry.

The blonde woman leaves a trail of meat, mostly others like him, but sometimes there are freshly dead delicacies, their blood still warm and pulsing.

Gun shots. Another body. He falls on it. Somewhere in his limited consciousness, he vaguely wonders why she never joins him.

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