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The Midnight GameWhen the clock strikes twelve, the game begins. The story I shall tell is about three foolish teenagers who discovered the game and thought it was a fun thing to play. Among them was a short, blonde girl who was called Beatrix, a tall yet slim man she referred to as David, and a large, muscular man named Clyde. It was Beatrix who found the game. She read it on a paranormal game site on the internet. The three friends thought it would be fun; it's not like it will work anyways. It was that statement that was wrong.
Thus, the three started the preparations. They wrote down their names on a piece of paper. Each took a needle, pricked their finger and placed a fat drop of blood next to their names. Beatrix dug out 3 candles and 3 lighters from the cupboard. The green glow of the clock read 11:58. The game was soon going to start. David placed the paper in front of the door while Clyde set the candles a flame. The clock moved to 11:59. Beatrix took a deep breath and knocked on the door with
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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