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Superstitions, folk remedies, patently unfounded truths
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Now I have to choose between bringing Grey Ghost or Swordfights
hmm
What spring does with the cherry trees.
I would not say such things if I were you!
change your theme man this is dumb
I am infiltrating your dreams
Tegan and Sara Appreciation Station | LOOKS GOOD! | Fancy Cat Moustache! :{3
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also, im gay
oh god no
man, I told you not to worry about it you're doing it wrong
also: <3
Tegan and Sara Appreciation Station | LOOKS GOOD! | Fancy Cat Moustache! :{3
What spring does with the cherry trees.
it doesn't get rid of it, but it does ease up any pressure and makes it easier to breathe
plus the boiled cola syrup makes a sore throat feel so good
This is a complicated question that no one should ever ask.
services I recommend: tonx coffee *highly recommended* | everlane | dropbox
Very well.
As I begin to remember, I find myself walking through a snow blown path deep in the grip of a starless night. On either side, stretching to the ebon sky sit sheer faces of stone, their tint in the odd un-light seeming an strange shade of violet. Strewn across these unflinching crags are curled, lifeless trees, no doubt their lifeless repose is the response to winter's chill. No doubt.
I am not alone.
Strolling beside me is a kindly old man adorned in the most tattered of robes, gray and filled with holes. However, despite what must be an obvious chill, he keeps easy pace going on in drunken tune of how he will be so happy to see his brother, and how happy he will be to see me. We are both well intoxicated, singing tunes as we cross through the brooding corridors, until his brothers shack comes into view.
We become excited, seeing lamp-light through the window, and race through the thick snow, kicking up cold drifts noisily in our approach.
As we mount the steps of the rickety stoop, the door swings open on rusted hinges, an imposing figure blocking all view standing in silhouette. The kindly old man addresses him as his brother, but the figure's stance remains hostile, I begin to sober as a creeping horror crawls up my spine.
The kindly old man pushes through the door, or rather slides behind the imposing brother. As he walks inside he is followed by his brother, who as I too enter, I see to be.....not right.
He is at least seven feet tall, his skin, calloused all over and yellowed to ravages of what must be a disease. His hands are gnarled, his face a hellish landscape of calloused spurs and oddly sprouting hair. To further impose, his entire attire is one of wolf's pelt and leather, the skulls hanging off his back decorated with feather.
The yellowed man shouts at my drunken companion, something about how he had failed his siblings, how he had lost the light-house, their home and welfare. But the old man waves these words off, instead walking to a cabinet in the back of the shack, and flinging its doors wide open.
He obviously did not expect what was to happen next.
I threw myself back, huddled in a corner in fear, as, hanging from a noose, the dessicated body of this family's youngest brother writhing green with decay snared the shocked drunk with withered hands holding fast. And with a quick spasmatic twitch of its spine, the green ghoul vanished along with the old man, to reappear holding him prone upon the rickety dining table.
The meaning of their argument was lost to me. My fear manifest in abandonment of sense, their voices become tinny and hollow ringing as if from some great distance. Though even to my weakened sanity I saw easily that my companion had grown quite sober and lucid, screaming apologies for his foolishness. The yellowed one cried in anger at him, "If you wanted to be alone then you should have stayed away! If you wanted a family, you should have kept the light-house! You ruined us! And you expect forgiveness?! You expect to drink with us?! You will die!"
The words rang with and odd-half clarity in my mind, their meaning received rather than their words.
I started as the yellowed man then turned on me. He stalked towards me as I languished for retreat in the corner of that remote shack, and with one gnarled hand he easily pressed me against the wall. His hideous face breathed hot sickening carrion upon my face, as a wealth of threats filled my head.
He was a shaman, well versed in the ways of this wood. His body gnarled by the many forms he had assumed, and his threat was a follows: If I did not find my way out of his land within the hour, he would find the same fate as his estranged brother.
As soon as his grasp relented, I was scrambling for the door. I burst from the shack, jumping over the porch and landing into the soft crunch of snow. I ran. Even there, even where the body not but mental construct, I felt my lungs burn and muscles weep for rest, but fear drove me further into those imposing canyons and paths. The whole time my eyes darted from shadow to shadow, expecting at any moment my hour to be spent and the slavering lupine jaws of some nightmare beast to come bounding out of the dark to tear out my throat.
I sprinted through the frost, out of another canyon (damn how they looked so alike!) coming to an abrupt stop. Salvation. Before me stood a library, immense upon paved stone and lit from within, populated by many who would no doubt relent shelter for someone as pitiful as I.
I ran in stumbling gasps, hands outstretched in my vision, reaching for those hallowed glass doors. I was free! I was safe!
I felt something snag my right leg surely. As the frozen pavement came swiftly up to meet me, I thought through the snarls of the devouring beast: I was dead.
Then I woke up!
Edit: Really the dream was not as long as the length of this story might suggest.
services I recommend: tonx coffee *highly recommended* | everlane | dropbox
why, was it a copypasta
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I would be ten flavors of surprised if it was.
that reminds me of an asimov story, where a science fiction writer kept sending in his own original manuscripts to a magazine, but they had the same plots as stories by an already famous writer, a writer that the aspiring writer had never heard of.
it wasn't hilarious this time
and then I woke up
whew, combo breaker averted
Was it... himself from the future?
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I actually recall it being someone else from the future
no
the ending
is that a time paradox or am I illiterate I can't tell
that dream I had where I was guarding the band room from werewolves and then found apple's launch party for their secret robot?
I forgot about the ending
my uncle ran in, stole the robot and ran away
converted the robot into pure money (millions of dollars) and decided to launder it through online poker (on the wii internet browser)
so I went to chase him, and chased him up this really rickety tower made of toothpicks or something
the problem with the tower wasn't that it was precariously swaying in the wind, it was that there were about 500 old people sightseeing and blocking every single pathway
eventually I got to the top, started playing wii-poker to win back the stolen money
unfortunately I woke up before I found out if I won