95 lines
4.3 KiB
Plaintext
95 lines
4.3 KiB
Plaintext
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'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
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##:::: ##::'##.. ##:: ##.....:: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #466 !!
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#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
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##.... ##: ##:::: ##: ##...:::: ===========================================
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##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "Modern Art" !!
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##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> PezMonkey !!
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..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 1/27/99 !!
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!!========================================================================!!
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Emily walked to the window of her apartment, looked out,
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disappointed, and waited patiently for Sim to follow. He jumped to the
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floor; only four steps to get to her. She scratched his ears, and he
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licked her fingers. She raised them to her mouth and licked the drool
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off. "Mmm, slobber," she muttered, then gave him another quick scratch
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before returning to the wall. The car she had heard was not the one she
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was expecting.
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Emily dipped her hand in the paint again, this time red, and
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smeared it over the yellow already there. Both were covering a world of
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words she had been writing for almost two years. A poetry of anger being
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masked by slashes and drips of confusion. Emily was pleased with herself.
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The words had all come out so brilliantly, and now they were hers alone:
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Whipping the profusion
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of my pain
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A dog is a dog
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but I am a girl again
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Do you like my mother?
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would you like some tea?
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I'm going to ask Peter, Paul and Mary
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to marry me.
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She looked at the buckets of paint on the floor, picking a third
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color. It couldn't all be primary, she knew.
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Sim rolled over in the single ray of sunlight coming through the
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window. It was time to warm his belly. Emily pressed play with her
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paint covered hand. She smiled sadly, and asked Sim to dance. He
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refused, but politely, and so she sang to him instead. Loudly. She made
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up her own words; she never knew the right ones.
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As she sang, she slowly pressed her finger prints into the wall
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with the remnents of the paint, a dull brown color now, so many mixed
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together.
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The knock on the door surprised her. She had decided ten minutes
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ago that he wasn't coming, since he was already over twenty minutes late.
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She didn't bother wiping off her hand; she opened the door leaving a
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brown hand print on the knob.
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"You," she said.
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He smiled. "I see you're indecisive as always. Couldn't even
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pick one color for the walls."
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"I've decided that I'm tired," Emily replied. "Isn't that enough?"
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"I suppose."
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Then she hugged him, running her paint stained hands through his
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hair and across his neck, leaving a bloody, sunny, smushy-snail trail of
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paint all over him. It looked pretty gross. She kissed shoulder, knowing
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that was what he wanted, then walked to the counter and handed him the
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leash. "Walk Sim," she demanded.
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"Heh. Same. No difference."
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"Is there ever?"
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Because, of course, there never is. Even in paint-stained worlds
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where there is never enough caffiene to wake up from the slow, loveless
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stupor, and never enough acrylic to hide what lies beneath.
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Tad fit her needs, because he loved her, even though she didn't
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love him. That was, after all, the same as every relationship she had
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ever had, from her mother to her step-fathers to that last tall lover,
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the one with the long brown hair. Emily plopped down on a large felt
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breast, and rested her feet on the matching seat. Tad would even walk
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Sim.
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Emily had been bored of Tad six months before; everything always
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the same. She had even begun to time the sex, always the same. "Leave,"
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she had told him. "You may call me in six months if you would like."
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She had meant it, and he had.
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And then, six months later, he returned, and they made sloppy,
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paint-stained love.
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It was pretty cool.
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!!========================================================================!!
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!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #466, WRITTEN BY: PEZMONKEY - 1/27/99 !!
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