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A Peculiar ConversationLenore: Hello Miss Murder.
Miss Murder: Good evening Lenore. How are you fairing?
Lenore: I'm quite well. How about you?
Miss Murder: I'm as good as ever.
Lenore: That's excellent.
Miss Murder: Tell me, Lenore, what brings you to my corner of the world?
Lenore: Oh, I was just passing through and figured I would stop by for a quick visit. It's been so long since we last talked.
Miss Murder: Indeed it has. But I find it difficult to believe that you are simply passing through these parts. After all, this is the land of nightmares.
Lenore: True, very true; I suppose I came by to ask a favor of you.
Miss Murder: What kind of favor?
Lenore: Just a simple favor; it's nothing grand or deadly or harmful to anything.
Miss Murder: In your opinion it isn't but in mine it very well may be.
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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