149 lines
9.0 KiB
Plaintext
149 lines
9.0 KiB
Plaintext
______ ______ ______________
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\ / \ / ____ \ ______|
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| |________| | / \ | |____
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| ________ | ( {} ) | _____)
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/~~~~~~~~~~~ | | | | \____/ | |______ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~\
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| |~~~~~~~ / \ / \ / | ~~~~~~~~~| |
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| | |______| |______| /_____________| | |
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| | ...Hogs of Entropy Text Files Present... | |
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| | "The Smile that Couldn't be Forgotten" | |
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| | By: Mogel | |
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\ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ /
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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He didn't want to see anymore. He hated himself. He hated his
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life. He hated everything. He closed his eyes tightly. He squeezed with
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all his might to make them close more and more. He bit into his lip. He
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felt his head vibrate. The blood rushed to his head and he became very hot.
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and he fell.
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He had no idea how long it had been dark.
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He opened his eyes again, bringing bright light and air back into them,
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and his eyes had their brief moment of pleasureful relief.
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"What's going on?" he thought to himself. He slowly pulled himself up
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by holding onto the toilet. The room seemed brighter than he remembered it
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before he fell. Looking around, he saw this was the bathroom. The cold,
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purple walls, the stupid blue rug, and, of coarse the toilet. He took a
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step over to the mirror above the sink and gazed into his eyes. He was sad.
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His eyes were bloodshot. He knew he was sad about something, but he
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couldn't remember what exactly. He didn't recall anything, not even his
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name.
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"HELLO!?" he said in an almost weeping voice. "Oh my god. Oh my god.
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I can't remember who I am. Like in books and in movies and in Television and
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I can't remember anything and who am I!" were the thoughts racing through
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His head. He looked directly into the mirror again to see his eyes, pushing
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his long brown hair away and gazing into his young confused blue eyes. Were
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those tears in his eyes? Tears from what? "HELLO?!!!" He screamed out in
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desperation for someone, anyone that he might know to come running to help
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him. What if he lived alone? What if he didn't know anyone? Who could
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help him remember something? Anything!? "I just need to relax. That's
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all. If I relaxed then I'd remember. If someone was there then they'dve
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come." No one came. "I need to look around this place. I'll 'member
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things..." he thought.
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He began to open up the rickety bathroom door, but then while turning the
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doorknob, he stopped. This was a scary prospect. Whatever he would find out
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here was HIS. He would see himself as someone else. He could be anyone.
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What if he was a monster? What if he was horrible? He could be some devil
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worshipper with chained, molested children and sheep in his living room.
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Anything could be there. And what made it worse was that he remembered
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anger. Rage. He remembered feeling very sad about something. He had to
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remember who he was, but at what cost?
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He put it out of his mind and turned the old doorknob and took a step
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out. He saw, what seemed to be an old man's den. There was a stuffed head
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of a deer over the fireplace and an old wooden desk in the far corner. He
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wasn't old, so the likeliness of this being HIS house seemed to vanish.
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There were still an uncountable amount of unknowns.
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He shuffled through the papers in the desk. Someone named Arthur Talon.
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Was that HIS name? Nothing was there, but bank papers. Bills. Money to
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pay. No information. He looked on the desk. There was a single, solitary
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picture of a woman. A beautiful, red-haired woman that smiled to the
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camera. A smile that couldn't be forgotten, and yet he had. His heart
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melted at her. He knew her. He loved her. WHO WAS SHE!?
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He threw the picture frame against the wall, cracking it to pieces, and
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slid the inner picture out. He stuffed it into his pocket and when on
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rummaging through the desk to find nothing helpful. He moved onto the living
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room. A large room with three couches and several doors. One open with
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steps leading to a basement. Another to a bright blue kitchen, and still
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others leading to hallways. He took a step toward the kitchen when he
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noticed something in the doorway of the Basement. Blood. Fresh, red blood.
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A rush of anxiety hit straight to his stomach. He saw a flash of white.
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He began to shake, unconsciously at first, and breathe fast. "Oh my god." he
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thought to himself. "What is going on? What has happened? What am I going
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to find down there?" Every instinct in his mind told him to run away as fast
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as he could, and to hide. Hide forever, for he had done something
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unspeakable. Now it was something unrecallable. WHAT WAS IT!?
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He took his first step down to the Basement. There were no obvious light
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switches, so hopefully he'd find one at the bottom. It was dark. Another
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step. It would be so easy to run away. It would be so easy to not see or
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remember whatever was down there. But every ounce of intelligence told him
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to go on. Another step. He felt faint. He felt like he was a spirit. He
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imagined flying above the city and psychically forcing every door in every
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home to come flying off the hinges, and he wanted to run across ever single
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one and look at people's lives. Each home a different universe, and yet they
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were all the same. He thought about how easy it would be to just jump into
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another man's soul and live their life. Not his own. Another step. What
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was down there? What was he going to see? Another step. He began shaking.
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He saw his hands tremble. He saw his hand's shadow tremble. Another Step.
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He could still run away and hide and never come back. Another Step. His
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stomach began to ache intensely. If he only could remember his identity it
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would become so easy. He could just remember and he wouldn't have to walk
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down these stairs and he wouldn't have to see what he had done. What had he
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done? Maybe it was nothing. Maybe that was just red paint there. Another
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Step. Fear griped him. He stopped walking. He turned his head up to the
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light of the doorway above him. Would this be too much for him? He held his
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breath, and went down the stairs.
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There was a light switch. He trembled. There was a foul smell in the
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air. Melissa. Her name was Melissa. He remembered it. The fear pushed it
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out of him. Yes! He could remember. Like an instantaneous blur of cool
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air, he remembered it all and it all flushed back in him in a second.
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His name was John Blevins, he lived in Washington, Maryland. He was a
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Musician. Guitar. Bass. He played in a Band. He was 25 years old. His
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father died 2 years ago. He was married last year. Melissa.
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He loved his wife. Loved her with all his heart. RAGE. He remembered
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that too. He hated. He hated her and loved her. He hated him totally.
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Arthur had destroyed them. Arthur had stolen her. RAGE. He bit his lip
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feverishly again. He gripped his fist tight and felt his finger nails dig
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into his palms. He hurt himself. RAGE. The pain was back. The light. He
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forgot to turn on the light. He forgot even the worst of coarse. How could
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he have wanted to remember? The rage, the rage..it had soaked into his soul.
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He burned inside. He burned forever because of her. He flipped on the
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light.
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Melissa was dead.
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John didn't want to see it anymore. He didn't want to see anything
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anymore. He went numb. He walked to the kitchen in a ghost-like state.
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He pulled out a kitchen knife and stabbed himself. He staggered back to the
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bathroom and looked one last time into his eyes. He couldn't believe that
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he had done it. He couldn't believe that he was now looking into the eyes
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of a murderer and he cried his last tear.
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|=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=|
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| _____ Call Goat Blowers Anonymous for the LATEST HOE! _____ |
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| 6/ ^..^ (215) 750 - 0392 ^..^ \9 |
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| \_____(oo) This Issues Featured Support Board is: (oo)_____/ |
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| WW WW I Forget [Bong Software] WW WW |
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| (610) 544 - 8001 |
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| ...the kings of modern goofiness... |
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|=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=|
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Copyright (c) 1994 HoE Publications and Mogel #58 --> 02/04/95
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All rights Reserved.
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