118 lines
5.6 KiB
Plaintext
118 lines
5.6 KiB
Plaintext
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Anarchy inc.
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.. presents ..
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He stepped out of the shower, and onto the cold floor, silently cursing
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himself for not bringing a towel in to act as a bathmat. The bathroom was
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tiled, and cold, a shiver ran over him. He toweled off quickly, and looked into
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the mirror. His hair stuck off into many different directions. After combing
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it straight, and blow-drying it, he looked a little more normal. George still
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had some acne left on his cheek, and a small (ugly) scar on his chin. A moan
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came from behind the door.
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He opened it, and Mallorie was just waking up. "She's a bitch to live with,
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I'll tell ya" was a common phrase from George. He walked out, and climbed into
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a pair of sweatpants. Mallorie spoke. "Goddamnit, you with your hair-dryer
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woke me up. Today was my day to sleep in, fer christ sake." George shook his
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head, and said nothing. "Have some respect for the dead." she flopped back into
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the over-sized bed, pulling the sheets over her head. George grabbed his helmet
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and walked out.
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The refrigerator was one of those small-bar types, but they couldn't afford
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anything else. He drank what was left of a carton of orange juice ("Tastes like
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shit in the morning, everything does") and slammed the door behind him when he
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left. "You were a lousy fuck!", Mallorie shouted, somewhat in jest.
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"Bitch." he said under his breath.
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George lost his lincense when he was 24, and hadn't been behind the wheel of a
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car since. He had a ten-speed, that was good enough. "I paid $240 for the
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thing, it better be good enough." he would say. "Insurance rates are too high,
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anyway." Sure, George.
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He climbed onto the bike, and sailed down the driveway slowly, past the other
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apartments. He looked down at his digital watch, which had beeped, telling him
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it was 7:00 am. He rode on, down the street, past the 7-11 on the corner, and
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the gas station, and began the big climb over the overpass. It was steep,
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because highway 35 wasn't all that inset into the ground. George rode on.
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He made it to the top. He let the bike glide, and pedaled backwards, feeling
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the chain threat through it's course. Together, they picked up speed, and began
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the quick, short ride down the overpass. That's when he first saw the Ford
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Pinto.
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Jean Imahara was not a happy lady. With three kids, a demanding husband, and
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an infant that had spilled chocolate milk all over the backseat of the car, this
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added up to putting the lady in a bad mood. She drove quickly, and forced the
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car to speed up the overpass. The child in the backseat gurgled. "Shut up."
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she said. The baby gurgled again, not understanding. That's when she saw the
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bicyclist.
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------
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George looked up, slowly. A numbness was creeping up his back, laying into
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his face. Everything was one-dimensional, he noticed. What a pain to only have
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one eye, he though. One eye? No, the blood just hardened, I have two. I hope.
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Funny, I can't move my arms. That's a nice tree, a ginko tree, if I remember
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correctly. How do you spell 'remember'? R-E-M-E-M-E-M Hahahaha.
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------
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George had been riding too far out in the road, or the Pinto had been too
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close to the bike lane. She struck the side of George's bike, sending George to
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tumble over the hood. He didn't say much, but she was certain she had hurt him.
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Another car, travelling the same way, tried to brake, but ended up running over
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George's hand. George didn't protest, he was dead to the world. Jean screeched
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the car to a halt, and cried.
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George looked around, slowly. He couldn't hear the sirens, or the screaming.
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He didn't know his leg was broken in two places. He only saw the lady. She was
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standing out of the chaos, off to the side, wearing only a cloak. A scynthe was
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by her side. She walked, slowly, to George, and kneeled next to him.
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------
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"Pretty bad, George, looking pretty bad." she said. She was beautiful. Blond
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hair spilled from under the dark hood. Her skin was clear, and smooth. He
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wanted to kiss her, nothing more. He didn't feel the pain. "Want to come with
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me? Fuck all this noise?"
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George just kept staring.
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"Kiss me." she said. George moved forward, and she moved down.
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They kissed, pressing their lips together. He could do nothing. George
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closed his eyes and enjoyed it, taking it all in. After a half-minute had gone
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by, he slowly opened one eye.
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Her face was melting. The skin slid off like scrambled eggs onto a breakfast
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plate. It bubbled and oozed, revealing her true self. A white skull was there,
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grinning at George.
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George laughed. Then he felt the pain. He felt the fractured skull, the
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compound fracture in his left arm, the bones in his legs crushed, the hand and
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the scar on his forehead, the bruises and hairline cracks all over. George
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screamed.
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He laughed, as Death took him.
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------
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"And they started to fly ...
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She had taken his hand ...
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Come on, Mary,
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Don't fear the reaper..."
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- Blue Oyster Cult
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Written by The Stranger (...Harrison) on 4/4/86.
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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the Progressive Underground
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Although I haven't ||||||\\ ||| ||| |||||\\ Dissidents
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heard from him, ||| )))||| ||| ||| \\\ 3 1 3 - 4 3 3 - 3 1 6 4
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maybe this file's ||||||// ||| ||| ||| ))) Running: Citadel v2.17
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author would =WANT= you ||| ||| ||| ||| /// About 20 Megs of TextFiles
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to call... ||| \\|||// ||||||/ and the SysOp is Mr. Pez.
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