Reeking of mildew, the hallway was lined with flakes of paint and the small drifts of paper debris, which seemed to get into everything in the slums, like snow in a house with the windows open. Blood stained the end of the hall in a startling red display, where a body slumped
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or is it just me? :)
you know i'm indifferent to the splatter-paint parts of your stories, but i love the conversation at the end. hearing those in my head when i'm supposed to be doing something else is how most of my stories start (and their isolation, really, is how most of them end before they get anywhere....)
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Hey, it takes more than proper hair color and an Alice reference to base a character on someone. In order to protect the innocent and guilty alike, none of the characters in this thread are based on anyone I know.
Or at least, I sure hope not.
More dialogue on the way.
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for the record, i didnt think she was me. but its sweet of t to think so.
email coming soon.
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