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Writing Contest #22


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#1 tish

 

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Posted 19 October 2010 - 08:48 PM

As requested....have fun, y'all!

Topic: The Uninvited Guest

Length: Any

Genre: Your choice

Twist: Your submission must include the phrase .....always keep them guessing.....

Deadline: November 7, 2010

Edited by tishkajaku, 19 October 2010 - 08:54 PM.

TUCKER: Malcolm? REED: I see it. TUCKER: Good. Means I'm not hallucinating. How can a ship be bigger on the inside than the outside? REED: It could be a hologram. TUCKER: Hand me that hyperspanner. (drops it down the hole - it hits bottom after two seconds) REED: You're not going down there? TUCKER: Got to get my spanner back.

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#2 Allee

 

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Posted 06 November 2010 - 10:33 PM

Uninvited
by Alyson Lee

An unfamiliar face appeared before her. He seemed like an old-fashioned politician or a vacuum cleaner salesman, pulled into the modern world. There was a hint of something else she couldn't quite put her finger on.

He spoke, "Evenin' ma'am," with a slight raise of an eyebrow and a tilt of his head, fostering a wholesome charm.

"What can I do for you?" She eyed him, suspiciously, through the screen of the door that separated them.

A smile that could melt butter played across his lips, "No, ma'am, it's what I can do for you. If I could just have a moment of your time." His eyes lit up with possibility.

"I'm sorry, I was just in the middle of making dinner."

"Oh, won't take but a minute," he nudged. "I'd like the opportunity to talk with you."

Hoping not to offend, she tried once more, "I'm sorry. Like I said, I'm in the middle of making dinner. Maybe another time."

"Well, you see ma'am, I'm not going to be around here again. So I would really appreciate it if we could spend some time together, now," he urged, his outward gentle manner helping to betray the inner workings of his insidious mind.

She offered a slightly inconvenienced smile in return, "Are you selling something?"

His face brightened, a smile of excitement and a twinkling of his eyes ushered in his pitch, "Ma'am, I am selling life. I just have a couple questions for you." Eyes drenched in concern and compassion, "Now, your answers will tell me if you're in need of my help."

"Oh. . . thank you," the realization finally hit her, "we've already got a bible."

"Oh, no ma'am," he raised his hand to deflect the figurative door slamming in his face, "you misunderstand. I didn't say I was selling religion. I said I am selling life. May I come in for a moment?" For a second, his eyes abandoned the ruse, emanating a malevolent stare.

Simple uneasiness quickly turned to, perhaps irrational, blood coursing fear. A strained smile struggled to form across her face, but had no luck. She prayed he didn't notice how badly her arm shook as she secured the entry door, saying, "I'm sorry. I don't want to waste your time." Back pressed against the layer of steel safeguarding her, she ran through other possible entry points, her mind frantically racing to determine if everything was bolted shut. Presently, the fear wouldn't allow her to physically check. She listened for his footsteps, waiting for the familiar creak of the old porch. When that didn't come, she braved a look through the sidelite. He was gone.

She kept still by the front door for minutes that seemed like hours, listening, waiting to hear him making another approach. Maybe she'd just gotten the wrong impression, maybe she was overreacting. She made her way to the kitchen, eyes quickly darting out each window she passed along the way. There was no movement. She picked up a knife and, reluctantly, continued chopping. Two cups of chopped vegetables later, a more accustomed calm washed over her. I am so ridiculous. He was probably just selling vitamins or life insurance. She took a rolling pin to the waiting dough. With stability now returned to the muscles of her arms, she got to work on the biscuits to complement her beef stew.

The ring of the telephone provided a new interruption to her dinner making. With a quick wipe of her hands against her jeans, she reached for the cordless. "Hello?" the comfort of his familiar voice warmed her, "hey, babe. Dinner should be ready by the time you get home." The stew gently simmered as she listened to his response. "Oh, how late are you going to be?" She turned the burner's dial to low. "Okay. I'll keep it warm for you," setting the sheet of biscuits aside. "Not much, there was a guy here earlier, trying to sell something. He freaked me out a little, but it's okay, he left." She popped a stray piece of celery in her mouth. "Alright, well be careful. Love you too."

With extra time on her hands, she headed upstairs to finish the book she had started reading three nights ago, double checking the deadbolt before heading up. The top stair let out a tiny groan beneath her feet, momentarily stopping her progress. I wonder if I should have called the police. Maybe there was something off about him. Her fingers intuitively found the precise location of the light switch, pushing it in the on position, yet no light came. Great. She felt her way along the edge of their bed to the other lamp, at the far side of the room. A soft yellow glow immediately filled the space around her. She turned to find her book but noticed the open window instead.

"You done with that dinner?" he asked dryly.

Her body lost its ability to steady itself, her legs started to give way under the stress. "What do you want?" she managed, not even sure which words had come out.

"I told you before," he plastered on that charming smile once more, "I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions." His eyes bored into her, "You answered the first question wrong. . . now I'm not sure if I even want to ask you the rest." His pseudo-disappointment distorted the friendly appearance he was still attempting to project.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, though almost inaudible, shaking uncontrollably.

He rose from the bed, placed one hand at the small of her back, the other grasping her bent arm, just below the elbow, "Sweetheart, I think you need to sit down." He settled her quivering form at the foot of the bed then knelt before her, looping a strand of her hair around his middle finger. "You're a very pretty girl."

Tears streamed, involuntarily, down her cheeks now devoid of any coloring. The pounding of her heart echoed in her ears along with, what she only just realized to be, the grinding sound of her teeth clenched tightly against each other. Her imagination was in overdrive and traveling nowhere good.

"You seem a little upset. Afraid you're gonna get the other answers wrong?" With all due care, he gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, leaving his muscular hands to rest on either side of her neck. "I really like you," he paused to study her face, "I don't want to unfairly judge you, just because you answered the first question wrong." His eyes traced an outline of her from head to toe. "How 'bout I try a different approach? Maybe this question format is all wrong for you." He dropped one hand down to reach for hers; pulled it toward himself, rubbing his face with her fingers so bone cold with fear.

"My husband will be home soon. He has a gun, if he sees you. . ."

He gently closed his eyes, slowly reopening them as they made their way back to hers, his head shaking in utter disappointment, his smile turned sour by her deception. "Aw honey," his hands encircling her throat, "don't you start lying to me. I told you I really like you." His sympathetic gaze the unlikely companion to the oxygen depleting squeeze of his hands, "Don't make me change my mind."

As his grip loosened, she gasped for more breath. "I'm not. . ."

"Shh," he covered her mouth, sandwiching her skull between his massive hands. "Please stop lying, sweetheart. I heard your conversation. He won't be home for a while." He uncovered her mouth, touching her trembling lips with his fingers. Her hair, now being grasped, pulled in just the right way, aided in the optimal positioning of her head. His cheek rubbed against hers, diverting the steady deluge of tears. He felt the hyperventilated pattern of her breath as he touched his lips to hers. "It works so much better when you play along, darlin'."

She felt her stomach turn, dreading every second he brought his face closer. It was all she could do to keep the bile from rising as he pressed his lips against hers, once more, and she forced herself to press back.

He noticed her effort. "You know," he positioned one hand on her upper thigh, slowly squeezing and releasing it again and again, "I thought I'd prefer that, but call me old fashioned. I don't like that you'd choose to break your marriage vows so easily. Makes me think you're not such a nice girl, after all."

She struggled to speak through her current hysterical outburst, "Please. . . no. . .I just didn't want to. . ." desperately hoping the rights words would come.

He pulled her to him, "What, sweetheart? You didn't want to. . . what?"

"Upset you." She prayed she hadn't dug herself in deeper.

"Aw," his face softened, "that's really sweet," he paused, lovingly peering into her petrified eyes, "but that didn't stop you from slamming the door in my face, now did it?"

She shook her head apologetically, "I'm sorry," her voice more calm, "I didn't mean to be rude. I was just afraid."

"Well, I'm awful sorry I scared you." He held her closer to him, then pulled away to gaze into her eyes, a sad puppy dog expression hung on his face. "You forgive me?"

She nodded a quick yes. "Do you. . ." she tried to swallow, "forgive me?"

His eyes met hers, his tongue wet his lips then retreated to allow for the broadest grin he had yet to display. He said nothing, only letting out a tiny chuckle, then another.

Her body shook uncontrollably, the frantic movement a slap in the face to her otherwise paralyzed-with-fear body. His laughter replayed over and over in her mind. She searched his eyes for an answer she wanted to hear, but was met only with a silent, mirthful stare. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?'

Partnered with the most charming smile and sweetly squinting eyes, the edge of his mouth almost imperceptibly curled up into a mischievous grin. "Got myself a little motto I like to live by," he leaned in toward her, planting his nose in her hair, taking in her scent. He pressed his lips to her ear and let out a long, sadistic breath, "Always keep 'em guessin'."



Edited because I stupidly left out a word and kept forgetting to fix it. :facepalm:

Edited by Allee, 14 February 2011 - 02:49 PM.

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#3 ensign edwards

 

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Posted 08 November 2010 - 04:36 PM

Justice

By Tyler Edwards.

The king startled awake at the sound of the uninvited guest.

"If you attempt to call your guards, I will cut out your tongue and choke you with it before they can arrive," a cold masculine voice said.

The king's cry died in his throat. His stomach turned to ice, and sweat slid down his flabby back.

A trace of moonlight filtered in through his bedchamber's silk blinds, silhouetting a tall figure in a wispy black cloak.

"Who--who are you?" the king stammered.

The figure chuckled softly--a sound like the wind through bare autumn branches. "Who am I? I am retribution. I am all your twisted actions come back to haunt you. I am Justice."

The king's eyes bulged as they caught the glint of moonlight on two thin daggers as long as short swords. "What do you want from me?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"I want nothing from you," the shadow said. "What I seek from the world at large is balance, fairness. But the world is not kind enough to provide that for me, so I must fulfill that need for myself."

Slowly, carefully, the king reached down beneath his sheets, to the dagger he always kept buckled to his side.

The shadow kept speaking. "Are you familiar with a small kingdom called Yinalla, good king? Of course you are. Your soldiers burned it to the ground. You stole everything of value from it, sold its surviving people into slavery, and then held a public gala to celebrate your brave victory. Where is the balance for the people of Yinalla, for the women whose children were murdered and the men whose wives were stolen?"

The king grasped his dagger. His muscles tensed.

"The answer is that there is no balance," the shadow concluded. "That, good king, is why I am here." His daggers crept forward.

The king sprang into action, swinging his blade at the shadow. It passed through the cloak with virtually no resistance, and the shadow was unphased.

A low moan escaped the king's throat. This was no ordinary assassin. This was truly some dark shade, the price of his crimes come to haunt him. Though it was too dark to say for certain, he imagined the specter smiled.

Quick as thought, the shadow was upon him. The king felt a piece of cloth stuffed into his mouth, then several sharp pains in his chest, then nothing.

* * *


The assassin strode through the woods, heading away from the king's keep. The guards hadn't noticed him leaving, just as they hadn't noticed him entering. It was likely the king's body wouldn't be found until morning.

He felt a chill as the cold air flowed across his skin, and he paused to study the gash in his cloak, wondering if his penchant for theatrics wasn't proving to be too much of a risk. He had barely avoided being disemboweled.

Still, it had its advantages. "Always keep them guessing" was his motto, and it had paid off. None of his targets had ever even been able to guess at his true identity. They all thought him an avenging ghost, or a man completely unlike his true self. Even if a victim somehow escaped, they would have no valuable information on him. No one knew he existed, and so no one knew to look for him. And so he was free to continue his crusade, to be Justice for those who had none.

And it had all been worthwhile for the look of horror on that fat monster's face when his dagger had seemingly only met thin air.

He slipped away into the night, as ethereal as the ghost he pretended to be.



#4 tish

 

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Posted 08 November 2010 - 10:31 PM

Two very compelling and intense stories. Perfectly wrought for the theme and the twist.

Alyson, you have created a beautiful picture of a warm and loving home, supper on the stove, homemade biscuits, and sweet conversation between husband and wife. Juxtapose the escalating terror of the seemingly innocuous visitor (old-fashioned, 'gentlemanly' drawl, charm) into the malevolent predator by the tale's end, and with the closing words, leap into the horrifying unknown....for as we all know, the unknown can be far more frightening to a creative mind! I am shivering still!

Tyler, I like the setting, the shift of scene, and the way you use the twist....very similar to my family's way of using it, however, without the lethal baggage! You write phrases I can 'see' in my mind: the wind through bare autumn branches. which bring a layered nuance to your stories, clear in the first reading, yet deepening with further visits. I love your settings of the environment of your scenes: moonlight, silk blinds, wispy cloak. And I do like a hero who renders Justice!

I thank you for the time and efforts you both made for this contest. And my decision is of the winning submission.........

For the lingering visceral response to the terror I experienced.....



Alyson.
TUCKER: Malcolm? REED: I see it. TUCKER: Good. Means I'm not hallucinating. How can a ship be bigger on the inside than the outside? REED: It could be a hologram. TUCKER: Hand me that hyperspanner. (drops it down the hole - it hits bottom after two seconds) REED: You're not going down there? TUCKER: Got to get my spanner back.

#5 Plazmataz

 

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Posted 14 November 2010 - 06:20 AM

Late and disqualified, but I just happened to write it and it fits the prompt. Whatever. I'll post it since there's no new contest.


Absolutely


If the middle of winter is a time quiet time of year, the middle of the night in the middle of winter is even quieter.

There was once a young man who liked to take walks, nighttime walks being preferred over day ones, and winter being preferred over summer. The snow on the ground always seemed to suck in sound like a man sucks in breath, and it would not ever exhale until the clamorous din of springtime would banish the snow again. This was the time of year that the world would, for a time, keep its mouth closed and its ears open. This was the time of year that the world listened.

On one such night the young man was just beginning his walk. The air was not yet so cold that heavy layers would find themselves upon the young man’s back; only a windbreaker and a wool cap. Across his shoulder was slung a small camera bag. The only sounds in the air were thin ones: distant cars on distant highways, the occasional airplane sailing lazily by overhead, the sound of the youth’s footsteps, and the airy jangle of a loose zipper on the bag he carried.

He was not long out of his home when the sound of an automobile intruded upon the intimate soundscape. Turning, the young man saw that it was a police cruiser, decelerating and pulling over toward the slushy curbside. The young man waited as the car lurched to a stop and the driver’s side window crept down and out of sight. An inquisitive-looking man in uniform spoke form the driver’s seat.

“What are you doing out so late, kiddo?”

“Just taking a walk, officer. I looked out my window right before I was about to go to bed, and I saw how bright it was outside,” the youth pointed skyward, where the sheet of clouds was glowing with a peachy-gray, starless radiance, which made the snow cover look like glow-in-the-dark paint. “I couldn’t resist the night’s beckoning. I decided to take a walk.”

“Alright, fair enough,” said the officer. Although he had long outgrown any such romantic notions of his own, the older man sympathized with the youth’s drive to experience what he perceived as significant in the world. “What’s in the bag?”

“Camera! Just in case I see something I don’t want to forget.”

The police officer chuckled.

“Why don’t you come along with me?” the young man asked. “I’ve only just begun my walk, and I’d be glad for the company.”

“I’m supposed to be on call here, you know,” the officer said, pointing with his thumb to the scanner on his dashboard.

“Nothing ventured…!”

The policeman sighed a worldly sigh into the cold winter night. Something in the youth’s demeanor must have convinced him to abandon everything to which he was expected to be a devoted servant. With a nostalgic grin, he turned off his engine and set his feet onto the icy pavement.

“Lead the way, kid,” he said.

“Absolutely.”

The two walked into the night in silence at first. The officer grew more and more surprised at just how bright it really was; one thirty in the morning, and neither of the two needed any light source to see clearly. The sidewalk, devoid of any footprints aside from their own, seemed to be self-illuminated by the snow that covered it. The trees formed an intricate network of silhouettes, behind which could be seen sleeping neighborhoods and the occasional street light.

“So where are we headed?” asked the policeman.

“Up ahead there’s a trail that turns off of the sidewalk and into the forest. It’s one of my favorite places to go walking.”

Sure enough, a paved offshoot broke away while the sidewalk remained hugging the street. Soon the leafless, wintry husks of trees embraced the two travelers on both sides.

“So what’s your story?” asked the young man.

“My story?” the officer hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” the young man chuckled, “What’s your story? Everyone’s got a story, and there’s nothing more refreshing than hearing someone tell it themselves.”

“Well… I’m a night officer. I’m married, I have a few kids. I like to read.”

The youth’s dismayed expression conveyed that the policeman’s answer was not precisely the sort he had been hoping for.

“Tell me about being a night officer. How did you start?”

“I went to police academy, and graduated. Volunteered to work nights since the pay is better.” The officer seemed a little uncomfortable.

“How do you like it?”

“It works out. Maybe a little lonely, but it feeds my family.”

The trail began to narrow as it came to a floating bridge over a pond. The snow on the bridge was fresh and unadulterated, despite there having been no recent snowfall to clear the footprints away. The policeman could not imagine how such a picturesque trail could be so untraveled.

The young man stopped on the bridge, and took his camera out of its bag. He took a couple of pictures of the bridge and the frozen pond.

“This is something you want to remember?” asked the officer, recalling the young man’s initial comment concerning the camera.

“Absolutely,” came the youth’s reply.

The two continued on down the trail.

“So tell me more about your wife,” the young man said.

“Well, she’s a beautiful thing, that’s for sure. We met at college, the rest is history.”

“What’s she like?”

“Soft-spoken, but tougher than that on the inside. I may be the cop, but she’s always been the aggressive one.” The officer smiled. “I wish I got to see more of her.”

“How does she feel about being married to a night worker?”

The policeman thought about it for a moment.

“She liked it when I first took the job; we both did. We used to both work nights at different jobs when we first married. We’d sleep in the day and then wake up at sunset. I’ve woken up to a lot of nights like this one.” But never one just quite like this one, the officer thought to himself. “So that worked out really well until we had kids. She quit her job and moved on, but I never did, I guess. These days I don’t see her so much, or my kids either for that matter.”

The young man nodded, and the officer merely furrowed his brows and directed his gaze at his feet and the snow they kicked up with each step.

The trail ahead of the two turned and ran along the edge of a lake. A fishing dock sprung out from the trail at one point and held its open hand out over the frozen waters. The two walkers took the detour, and stopped to look out over the chilly vista.

“Very pretty,” the policeman mused in a hushed voice.

“Absolutely,” supplied the youth.

The two of them stood for a spell, leaning against the icy, wooden railings of the dock as their eyes feasted upon the landscape.

“I miss her,” said the officer after the silence of a few minutes.

“I imagine she misses you too,” offered the young man.

“I wish I knew… Whenever we do have any time together it’s like we don’t quite know each other anymore. It’s awkward.”

Silence fell over them for another few minutes. It was finally the younger man that broke the silence.

“I always find the lake to be something almost beautiful beyond understanding. Half the year it’s this ever-changing, almost feminine paragon of peace, the wind lapping the waves up onto the shore with the sound of so many milky splashes. Come winter, the change that comes over it is something almost miraculous to me when I think about it. The blue turns so smoothly to white. The lake is made into an immutable authority, a vigil unto itself, silent in its splendor and unmoving in its resolve. If an outsider saw two pictures of the lake from different times of year, he would say that they’re surely two wholly different creatures.
“But that’s what strikes me about the lake as being so beautiful. Two completely irreconcilable bodies of water are brought together into this one, single lake.” The young man grinned as he pulled his camera out of its bag once more. “I try not to come down this trail too often; I want to preserve that sense of unfathomable alchemy.”

Deeply impressed by the youth’s words, the policeman reposed against the wooden railing as the young man took a few more pictures.

“Where did you learn that?” asked the officer.

“Nowhere,” said the young man with a smile on his lips. “I just now made it up.”

“Of course,” replied the policeman, now grinning himself. “Ready to move on?”

“Absolutely.”

And so the two turned back and started walking down the trail by which they had come. The night seemed to grow only more welcoming to the two wayfarers, even if the air only grew colder. The police officer began to wish he’d had the foresight to bring along a wool hat of his own.

“You know, I was going to get a doctorate at one point,” said the policeman.

“Oh?”

“Yep. I got my bachelor’s degree in psychology. I was planning on moving on to graduate school and getting a Ph.D.”

“Sounds grand. What happened to change your mind?”

“Well, I married. I knew we would be needing money, especially if we were going to have children. But the real I reason I enrolled in the police academy was totally unrelated. Around when I graduated I started losing myself in fanciful visions of life as a police officer. It was just a phase, I guess, but I acted on it. I thought I would be going to police academy so that I could go on to do something meaningful. Put bad people behind bars, make people’s lives safer and cleaner.” The officer sighed. “Turns out it’s half paperwork and half taking little bags of weed away from stupid teenagers.”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that,” said the young man. The policeman laughed.

“Actually, taking drugs away from idiots is pretty gratifying work. I guess it’s just not what I had in mind.”

Before long, the two were right they had begun their journey so long ago. The police cruiser sat parked quietly right where they had left it.

“Well, this is where we part ways, kid,” said the officer.

“Hang on!” said the younger man, reaching for his camera one last time. He held it up and took a quick shot of the police officer, framed by the open door of his police car.

“This is something else you don’t want to forget?” asked the policeman, smirking.

“Absolutely not,” said the youth with a smile of his own.

“Hey, you want me to give you a lift home?”

“No thanks, I enjoy the walk.”

“Well, alright then. Good luck!” said the officer.

“Thanks for the walk, dad,” the young man said, waving and turning away in the direction of his home as his father started the car. “It was good to see you.”

“Sure thing, son. I’ll see you again in the morning.”
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#6 tish

 

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Posted 14 November 2010 - 11:59 PM

Oh, Plaz, that was so sweet, so poignant. I wondered when the unexpected guest part would arise, and then it hit me.....the unexpected guest was the reader! We were privy to a wonderfully sad, real moment in the life of a father and son....that of an honorable man taking care of his family even at the cost of being with them, and a son finding a way to get to know his father. That is the true meaning of family....we love in the difficult times, in the times of being apart simply because we must in order to take care of each other. The most loving person is the one who forfeits what he/she wants the most in the midst of providing what those loved ones need. In these times, that is a mark of the truest and best of men......since we are talking of men in this instance.

Thank you for sharing this with us. One question.......where would you have brought in the 'always keep them guessing' twist?
TUCKER: Malcolm? REED: I see it. TUCKER: Good. Means I'm not hallucinating. How can a ship be bigger on the inside than the outside? REED: It could be a hologram. TUCKER: Hand me that hyperspanner. (drops it down the hole - it hits bottom after two seconds) REED: You're not going down there? TUCKER: Got to get my spanner back.

#7 tish

 

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Posted 15 November 2010 - 12:05 AM

On another note entirely.....did I give enough time for this contest? I went back and looked at the previous contests and tried to make this one similar. If you need more time in the next one I judge, please let me know....I will accommodate for your creative needs. We appreciate all that you share with us here.

Edited by tishkajaku, 15 November 2010 - 12:11 AM.

TUCKER: Malcolm? REED: I see it. TUCKER: Good. Means I'm not hallucinating. How can a ship be bigger on the inside than the outside? REED: It could be a hologram. TUCKER: Hand me that hyperspanner. (drops it down the hole - it hits bottom after two seconds) REED: You're not going down there? TUCKER: Got to get my spanner back.

#8 StephenStansbury

 

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Posted 14 February 2011 - 01:02 PM

I really enjoyed the all three posts.

I wish I could write stories like y'all do !

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Edited by StephenStansbury, 03 February 2012 - 12:14 PM.





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