Day Eleven

Things are never what they seem.

You switch on your old ‘40’s television, shifting through the channels, most of them static, before coming across something.

How not to wash dishes! Proclaims a narrator.

We dragged a random, ordinary, human here to show you  how. (Jarvis is dragged onto set, looking disgruntled)

Sleep.

(Jarvis throws pillows at the set walls)

Turn your electricity off.

(Jarvis switches the lights off.)

Break the dishes.

Eat them.

(Jarvis throws dishes at camera)

Fail at eating them.

Hear a knock at your door and realize that you're being robbed. (a disgruntled Silvery Ink is pushed on screen)

Throw pretzels at the intruder because they’re high in sodium and are harmful if you eat too many of them! (Jarvis forcefully and rather painfully pelts Silvery with pretzels. Silvery collapses on the ground.)

Celebrate your victory. (Confetti falls from the roof. Silvery tackles Jarvis to the ground before the camera cuts to black)

This has been PSA: Pretzels.

(Camera pans over house set, showing many lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling) Have you heard about our new exploding light bulbs? They help save power by making you remove your smoke alarms! (All light bulbs go up into flame)

See how real people react to the exploding light bulbs!

Quill: AHHHHHH (proceeds to run off screen)

Hallia: AHHHHH (also runs off screen)

Ellak: …… (proceeds to blink excessively and nothing else)

Are they amazing?? Get yours for just nineteen ninety-ninety! (plus shipping and handling and various bribes and sneaking them over the border.)

(more light bulbs explode. Screaming off screen.)

And! If you order now, we will double that offer--

(more explosions. Someone knocks the camera over. Crew members right the camera to show them taking a crew member's body off stage.)

Order now at 1-800-Buy-This-Dumb-Thing--

(Novelist wanders on screen for no apparent reason.)

You will not--

(Novelist looks camera directly in the lense, then wanders off.)

(Black screen. Ominous music plays. Narration starts)

Welcome to the house of horrors. We all knew something wasn’t right, this Halloween night.

And tonight:

(picture of a sunny cottage flashes)

Five children will experience the scare of a lifetime. (evil laughter. Daisy, Sydney, Paris, Brookeria, and Nova are pushed on screen.)

Nova: l'm not a child, you silly humans!

Daisy: Eek.

Paris and Sydney: Doe, a deer, a female deer, Ray, a drop of golden sun, Me, the name l call myself….

Nova:......They’re seriously singing that song in a horror movie?

Daisy: Ghosts! Zombies! Creepy things! Horrifying things! Scream!

Brookeira: (stands still and blinks without stopping)

Paris and Sydney [because they’re apparently one person now]: When the dog bites, when the bee stings, l’ll think of a few of my favorite things….

Nova: (sighs deeply)

Daisy: (starts running around screaming, apparently hits the light switch and everything goes black.)

(Music plays. Graphics reading “Riverside High Drama Drama” rolls onto screen. Camrea pans over hallway with lockers.)

Saphira: Just look at Moon! She’s going mad! (leans over to Tara and Richard. Mirax runs into Saphira, spilling books everywhere.)

Saphira: Oh my gosh! You ran into me! I cannot believe this! I'm going to make a big deal about it! Drama, drama, drama!

(Mirax pushes overly large glasses up her nose.)

Mirax: Can’t hear you over the sound of my own amazingness…...Lalala…...drama drama drama.

(Emerald and Sprankje start chanting “Drama, drama, drama!” in the background. Everyone else  gathers around Saphira and Mirax in a circle. Mirax continues to ignore everyone. More people flood the set. H.A.B. is the first one to start chanting “Fight, fight fight!” and everyone else takes up the cheer.)

Saphira: Oh yeah, you little geek? What are you going to do? Amaze me with your Star Trek knowledge.

(Mirax produces a book from her backpack.)

Mirax: Excuse me. Are you asking to get beaten?

(waves book around)

(Saphira laughs)

Saphira: Really? That’s all you got?

Mirax: l'm warning you…..

H.A.B.: Hey, that could be dangerous--

(Saphira shifts into a dragon)

(Kestrel starts to look uneasy)

(Alexandra steps between Saphira and Mirax)

Alexandra: Alright now. Let’s just settle this peacefully, okay? Now just step down--

Shadow: No one listens to the peacekeepers.

H.A.B.: FIght, fight, fight!

(Chary goes and stands by Mirax)

Chary: Go fight that dragon, show her what you’re made of!

(Sandra stands by Saphira, glaring)

Sandra: Show her what happens to geeks.

(Brian nods. Bookworm also looks uneasy. Tension is running high.)

H.A.B.: l don’t think this is a good idea……

Emerald: Drama, drama!

(Music plays. “To be continued” flashes on screen, and is abruptly interrupted with a yell of “Fight, fight, fight!” and a crash and sudden silence. Camera cuts to show a row of lockers tipped over.)

Novelist: It was Alexandra! It crushed her! (she pretends to sob)

H.A.B.: Told you it wasn’t a good idea…..

Emerald: Drama! And more drama! She died for drama!

~~~~~~

End Day Eleven. Death Toll: Alexandra. Rest in peace.

Dramatic top!

I'm utterly confused. Beyond so confused. *Stares at the sheep and things*

I'm losing my mind. Not losing my mind so.

I love this chaos in the fact that we are all dying. 

I don't miss Zeon one bit. Honestly. Ash, not so either.

I want blood.

*Shakes head hard*

No, no, I am going crazy. I am losing my mind. I hate blood, miss my murdered siblings, hate the chaos, and... And... what is going on? 

~

Sorry, I've been gone. I LOVED the sarcasm part! It would completely wreck the world as you showed. RIP my fallen friends.

Okay, I'm not sure why, but this made me laugh the hardest. It's probably because I find drama especially funny.

I'm pretty sure Saphira did it, but I can't find any red herrings off-hand . . . 

Oh, no! I died?! *sad face*

What? You DIED? How dare you? I TOLD YOU NOT TO!

Hey! I can't control when I die! It's not MY fault!!! 

NO! You died? *cries* NO! 

Day Twelve

“Oh ahaha, that was brilliant! Thank you for telling me the secret of life! So’s that how you become immortal. Thank you!”

Bookworm has been busily ah, observing incognito, the activity of the various CBers. She has caught the last bits of a conversation between Sydney and a shadowy figure that she can't quite make out. There has been some very suspicious things going on, and she figures that she ought to find out what they are. Things are happening, seeming without  any cause, for example, this morning, she had woken up drenched in cold coffee. Which while being very unpleasant, was even more unpleasant when she couldn’t find out who did it.

So thus she donned her deerstalker hat, fetched her list of suspects, and stealthily stalked the activities of the CBers. Most of them didn’t notice, thankfully. Some of them did.

“Why are you wearing that funny hat?” Mrs. Elton asks her. “It look positively dreadful!” Surprised, Bookworm nearly yelps.

“It’s, er, may grandfather's. He loved Sherlock Holmes, you see. Yes, that’s definitely why.”

Mrs. Elton doesn’t quite believe her, but lets it pass. People have all sorts of quirks. Perhaps Bookworm’s was wearing funny hats and stalking people. Perfectly normal.

~~

Subject: Quill.

Activity: Pacing around and reciting Shakespeare

Conclusion: Is either mad, melodramatic, or rehearing for Hamlet. Which is more likely? She is definitely acting odd. Who even likes Shakespeare? Or she’s providing a distraction for any passer-by incase they stumble across her partner in crime’s evil deed. Now who is her partner in crime?

Bookworm scribbles thus, crouched behind a old chair watching Quill.

“Tis nobler of the mind to suffer ro to bear the loss?”

She yells to the very stars.

A disgruntled Jarvis discovers the source of her annoyance “Quiet, will you?” Bookworm’s ears perk up. Aha. Quiet, will you, must be code for, “Coast is clear, let’s rob the bank.”

Quill frowns at Jarvis. “I won’t!”

Aha, aha. Code for, good idea, let’s clear out. Get the others.

Others? They must have backup! Bookworm edges away, slipping sneakily around them. She must take out their backup before they know she’s here. She discovers Shadow trying to eat Ellak out of annoyance, and setting a few things on fire while she’s at it. “Aha! She yells. “I've caught you! Hands in the air!”

Shadow turns to her, even more annoyed.

“What did you say, pip-squeak?” She snarls.

“Halt in the name of the law!”

“Over my dead body.”

Well that's a first. Bookworm thinks. Never had a dragon tried to eat me before, as Shadow chases her.

Shadow eventually looses her. Bookworm tries to process this new information. Obviously there’s some sort of gang here. Current members: Quill, Jarvis, and Shadow. Ellak is apparently from a rival gang. They’re going to rob the bank, never mind the details, and she has to stop them. Alright.

“Sheep.” Nova grumbles, as Bookworm runs into her. “Eureka! You’re the ringleader! Surrender or die!” Nova give her a blank look. “Knew it, you sheep.”

“Oh wait, no, it’s not you. It’s The Novelist! Thanks for the tip! I have a criminal to catch!”  Bookworm rushes off, the gears in her head spinning. Nova is posing for the real ringleader, Novelist! Now all she has to do is to find Novelist and bring her to justice.

Wait, she needs something. A comic-relief sidekick who always asks the right questions and whatever they lack in brains they make up in getting kidnapped all the time.

She scans the area.

“Paris! Would you like to be my sidekick”

Paris blinks. “Well, erm, l suppose--”

“Alright! Let’s get on the case. There’s gangs running loose, Novelist’s going to rob the bank and l’m pretty sure someone’s been murdered! Well don’t just stand there! There's work to be done here.” Bookworm grabs Paris by the arm and drags her over to a gathered group.

“What the crimes?” She asks Tara solemnly.
“What? It’s just Moon’s birthday. There’s no crime--”

“Haha. you are a horrible liar. You.” She jabs a finger at Moon. “And you.” she points to Richard. “Are at the scene of a horrible crime of celebrating a birthday. Now give your report. Eyewitness. Everything you saw. Hurry up, l haven't got all day now. “

When meant only be confused silence, Bookworm soldiers on. “I see a murdered cake, balloons and evidence of having fun. Who is the criminal?” Paris, like a good sidekick, is being unhelpful.

“Excuse me--” H.A.B. speaks up.

“Aha!” Bookworm spins to face him. “You! What have you to say? A confession? It’s a confession, l bet. You murdered the cake, didn’t you? Always suspected you of such a thing. Tsk tsk.” She shakes her head. Unable to get a word sideways through Bookworm’s speech, H.A.B. simply shakes his head.

“Ha. Crime never pays. Neither does having fun. Never have fun, that’s the moral of this story.”

There is a ear-shattering scream. Everyone freezes for a moment.

“The hunt is on!” Bookworm exclaims, rushing off in the direction of the scream. Paris tags along behind.

She arrives at a very nicely set-up crime scene, wrapped around with yellow police tape. Footprints are everywhere. Two bodies appear to have died dramatically in the middle of the scene. Bookworm identifies the victims by sight, they are Brookeria and Emerald.

“You there! Report!” She barks at Saphira.

She blinks. “Well…..we were just sitting there and eating cookies……”

*Cue flashback*

Mirax, the chef that she was, had decided to bake cookies for Moon’s birthday.

“They are my specialty!” She declares, setting the tray of cookies on the coffee table. “They are the finest! Enjoy!”

Sandra regrades the cookies rather suspiciously, holding it between two fingers. Sprankje hesitantly eats it very very slowly. The other hold their breath, waiting to see what happens. When Sprankle doesn’t die, they conclude that they must be safe.

Safe, yes, tasty, no. They tasted as if a sleeping French cook had attempted to make coffee using a waffle iron and daffodils.

Kestrel politely and hastily exits the scene, on what cause, no one wants to know.

Emerald starts coughing and going blue in the face. Silvery starts to panic. “Oh no! What’s wrong with you? What do you do for heart attacks? Agghhh.”

“I'm….allergic……..to…...daffodils.” Emerald coughs out. Mirax is baffled. “There were not daffodils in there!”

And yet, no one can deny that Emerald's having an allergic reaction.

Brookeria’s eyes go wide. “Oh no.” She whispers in a raspy voice. “I'm allergic to waffle irons.”

“What?” Mirax protests. “How is that even a thing? I didn’t know they were allergic!”

Many skeptical eyes turn on her.

“Yeah right.” Brian says. “Like you didn’t know Brookeria was allergic to waffle irons.”

“Well l didn’t!” She protests.

“Mhm.” No one believes her.

*End Flashback*

Bookworm throws her deerstalker cap in the air. “Aha! The murderer has be caught! l must apprehend them!” Before explaining anything else, she promptly rushes off, Paris in tow like a sheep.

~~~~~~

Fin Day Twelve. Death Toll: Emerald and Brookeria. Rest in peace.

I crack up so hard every time I read any of these. 

Saphira: Happy birthday! 

Tara: HOW DARE YOU HAVE FUN!!!! 

Day Thirteen

La-da-da-da-da

No, this song don't make much sense

but neither does the halfpence

Don't surrender to the dark

But we can make a spark 

It takes Mrs. Elton a painfully long time to location the power button on the jukebox that seems to be smugly playing some ear-wrenching tune, and off-key to boot. It takes her another few minutes to glare at it for giving her a headache. What in the universe was that?

Unfortunately, it’s fellow jukebox, only a few feet away, crackles to life, marching on with that song.

La-da-da-da-da

Life doesn’t make much sense

But nothing will, come hence

N’ all shall be well

For you watch the blinkenlights

And fears shall you quell

Long story short, all the jukeboxes, as if with a mind of their own, have decided to annoy Mrs. Elton to death.

She has to chase one sitting in a dusty closet on the second floor, obnoxiously playing away unseen for hour

“Why oh why?” She moans, but no one but a clock hears.

Tick tock comments the clock.

“If l hear that again.” She mutters, “l am going to murder someone.”

La-de-de-de-da

~~~

Bookworm was innocently peering over the top of her newspaper, as she sits in a circle of chairs, observing the various CBers who have called a meeting. Paris sits beside her, with a newspaper. Neither of them were invited to this meeting, but  that’s not going to prevent either of them from discreetly attending.

“Meeting called to order!” Saphira announces, over the sound of fluttering newspaper.

“Alright. I have called this meeting for every CBer here, with the exception of Paris and Bookworm because we think that they may or may not have murdered a few people.”

Paris gasps loudly.

“Anyways. Order, order. We need to find who is murdering people.”

She is meet with blank looks from the CBers.

“Sorry…?” Kestrel blinks. “Like, yeah, some people died, but isn’t that normal? This is perfectly normal!”

The other nods their agreement. Saphira is mildly shocked.

“But--haven’t you noticed? This is strange!”

Moon shakes her head. “No, you’re the one who’s going crazy. Listen to me. There. Is. Nothing. Wrong. Here. Get over it. Not everyone can be a Sherlock Holmes.”

This time Bookworm gasps.

Disgruntled, Saphira can’t say anything.

They…..they can’t see it. It’s like they’re blind or something, or brainwashed. She can’t talk to them, and they’re going to get murdered like sheep.

“Right.” She forces herself to take a deep breath and smile. “Of course nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. Go on with your meaningless existence.”

“Okay!” Sprankje says cheerfully.

Saphira stares after them as they all scatter off. They need to wake up.

And for the first time in her life, she feels horrible that she cannot save them, that the murderer is among them like a wolf in sheep’s skin. She cannot save everyone.

Tara and Richard stand there for a while, giving her a long, hard look, before they turn away. Do you know what is going on? She wonders. What does this murderer think? Do they realize every life they take has had a life of light and wonder, and a world before them?

Do you mourn your siblings, Quill? She silently questions.

Are you just a sheep, Nova?

Do you wonder about Spyro, Hotairballoon?

Do ghosts haunt you, Jarvis?

Who do we think we are, deceased comrades? What are we doing, living friends?

I don’t know, l don’t know.

~~

Silvery has found herself something. Many somethings, to be exact, many large calculating devices, to be even more exact. And oh yes she was ever exact. She has found a large room filled to the brim with rows of computer banks. Very outdated, covered in dust and someone’s stale lunch, but they are still working, whirring quietly, all sorts of lights blinking.

So peaceful. She wanders, gently touching them, running her fingers along their dusty sides.  She comes to the end. On the wall is a simple, grey fuse box. On it, it proclaims with bold letters:

 ACHTUNG! Alles touristen und non-technischen peepers!

 Das machine control is nicht fur gefingerpoken und

 mittengrabben. Otherwise is easy schnappen der springen werk,

 blown fuse, und poppencorken mit spitzensparken.

 Der machine is digging by experten only. Is nicht fur

 geverken by das dummkopfen.

 Keepen das grubbenfingers in das pockets,

 zo relaxen und watchen das blinkenlights.

So watch the blinkenlights. Blinkenlights. How pretty. So very pretty. She can’t read the sign, though. Must mean something important. She wonders, as she pulls the fuse box door open, jumping back as there are “spitzensparken” Hmm. must’ve been kind of important, don’t you think? She says to herself, poking around with a finger in the torn and “spitzensparken” wires of the fuse box. Well if they wanted people to read it, they had better put in English. She says in her mind, as a huge electric shock travels to her heart. She find herself lying on the ground, staring up at the computer banks above her.

“Blinklights.” She mutters. “So pretty. Just relax and watch the blinkenlights.”

A faceless, fuzzy shape hovers by her.

“Don’t you see the blinkenlights?” Silvery asks them. They nod, solemnly.

“Just….watch them.” Her heart slowly beats in tune to the blinkenlights, until, slowly, it stops. The faceless figure bows their head.

“Some of us can choose the pass we take, some of are forced along a path.” They tell Silvery, as if she has ears and eyes for anything but the blinkenlights and spitzensparken.

“Sometime you just have to make the best of it, then don’t you?”

Silvery does not reply. She is never going to.

Hours later, pulled, perhaps by the blinkenlights, Sydney finds the computer banks. She follows the footprints in the dust to find Silvery’s body, blinkenlights, a strange set of footprints, and a single note scrawled in the dust.

Just watch the blinkenlights. It informs her. And for the longest time, she stands there, watching the blinkenlights. They are right. Sydney thinks. They are so pretty.

Keep calm and watch the blinkenlights.

~~~~~

End Day Thirteen. Death Toll: Silvery Ink. Rest in peace.

Admins--What looks to be German above, is just mock German and hopefully readable by the avenge English speaker.  

Whoa. Okay. So, Paris is Watson, and I'm watching German flashing lights. Strange things are afoot at the Hotel Le'Faye.

Was that a Bill and Ted reference? Highly suspicious.

Oh dear.

But, really, this is excellent. The writing, I mean, not the death. Death's not excellent. Be excellent to everyone!

Okay, seriously, what's with the overabundance of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure references?

It was a fun movie. I mean, Napoleon came to modern times and went to a water park called Waterloo.

Okay, you're right. Puns are cool. 

But, regardless...back to detective sidekick-ing! Let's go outsmart a guy with a speckled band!

It's a-

Hush! No spoilers! 

Day Fourteen

Today comes to you in three parts, like a trilogy, or a triangle, or someone’s partly eaten lunch. Whether or not these three parts have anything to do with each other is up to your interpretation of this. There is no concert way you can determine whether or not they even make sense. Mwhaha. Have fun.

Part the First

You feel a deep disturbance in the very center of your being, something that shakes the foundation of time and space. Something huge, not just physically, but mentally, it is there and it is watching you.

It is dark. Darkness has never bothered you before, in fact you rather liked it, for darkness is a calm thing and does not rush in its existence, unlike its noisy lively twin, light. But this, this darkness is different. Perhaps, you wonder, this is why people have some deep-seated fear in them of the dark, of the unknown. It is a barely discernible feeling, this darkness. It is as if you know something is out there, but your curious mind has no idea what it is. You are terrified. You think, suddenly of your counterpart and sister alternate ego, Mirax and Mrs. Elton. You wonder fleetingly if you will ever see them again. You feel lost in darkness, oh so much darkness of it surrounding you. You can’t feel, can’t speak, can't even scream. And yet your stupid, stupid, morbid human curiosity drags you unwillingly on its relentless hunt, like a bloodhound on a scent.

The lights flash on, weakly for a half-second. This is more terrifying than just straight darkness. You take a deep breath, bringing oxygen to your brain and forcing yourself to think. Be logical. There can be nothing out there.

Part of you, your more instinctive part, just laughs, nervously and bitterly, like one about to be executed and still finding a hint of humor. Tough luck, logic. No one cares about you anymore. Nothing here makes any sense, you idiot. You stumble back as the lights flashes on long enough for you to realize where you are and what is in front of you. A door.

Huge, iron, it is dented heavily all over and in not marked, and you can tell that this is the source of all of your horrors, all of your fears.

Oh no--

Huh.

You blink. your mind went black for a  second there. Oh look, there’s a door. You should probably open it, right? You search around for a door knob, before giving up and finally gripping the edge of the door, pulling with all of your might.

Some part of you wonders if this is such  a good idea, another, one you never listen too, it terrified. You don’t care.

After much effort, the door slowly creaks open……

Oh.

You are, frankly, scared to even think anything, to even move.

You remember.

This is the broom closet.

And heaven save you.

Because you’re opened it.

And inside, you know what you will find.

It is a simple, floor-length mirror, shining, polished the brightest silver.

In it you see yourself.

And you--

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR MOOOONNN”

(Part the Second)

Bookworm ambushes Moon with a bucket of water. Paris does likewise, except with glitter. Overly happy dance music is promptly cued. Balloons fall. Moon is confused.

“It’s not my--”

“Happy birthday, happy birthday toooo youuuuu!”

“You see, false memories can be easily implanted.” Bookworm whispers to Paris. “And  if she thinks it’s her birthday, it may replay like the murders on her actual birthday.”

They had recruited a gullible Ellak and not-so-gullible Nova to play as party guests. Nova is mostly confused and tries in vain to pin the tail on the donkey, with a purple cone hat perched absurdly on her head. Jarvis has also been dragged along, for reasons not known to us.

Ellak has accidentally knocked over the pile of fake presents. Daisy has invited herself to the party, currently.  Paris seriously stabs a knife into the cake, but instead drives it through the table.

“It’s a hologram! Don’t eat it!” Bookworm hisses, annoyed.

Moon seems neither disturbed by the fact that she only has two guests, (two not guests, and two random passerbys, Shadow and Brian) her presents are fake and her cake a hologram. Still, she isn’t quite convinced enough. Bookworm can see her doubt, she‘s getting nervous.

“Paris, my trusty sidekick! Be plot-convenient and get me some more party guests!”

Duly so, Paris fetchs Tara, Saphira and Richard, probably the three most unplot-conveient people she could ever pick.

“Um….l’m pretty sure this isn’t Moon’s birthday.” Tara says, hesitantly.

Bookworm feels like banging her head on something very hard. Arug! Leave it up to her not-so-intelligent-comic-relief-sidekick to mess everything up! She must take matters into her own hands.

She jerks Paris’s cake knife from the table and waves in the three faces of Moon’s alternate egos. “Now then. See this? See ow stabby-stabby it is?”

They nod, with wide eyes.

“Unless you wish to be stabby-stabbed, l'd say that is is really Moon’s birthday. Get it? Good.”

She is relieved. Nothing like some threatening to get people to do what you want them to.

~~~

Sadly for Bookworm, parties are like a magnet for the unwanted and general riff-raff. For example, Quill, busily drowning in depression and self-pity comes across, lo and behold, something happy, a unbirthday party. She starts sobbing very much in earshot of everyone. “Zeon and Ashlee will never have a unbirthday party in their not aliveness again.”

“What?” Moon perks her ears.

“Nothing, nothing.” Bookworm growls.

Sydney thinks that she needs to sing at this party.

“Happy unbirthday to you, happy unbirthday to you, because it’s always someone’s--” She is mysteriously silenced.

Novelist weaves her way through the pitiful crowd of party-goers, and stands on the table, pushing her glasses up her nose and waving a quill pen around.

“I, the great and mighty writer of novels do declare this unbirthday--” she is almost mysteriously pushed off the table.

H.A.B. declares that parties, especially the non-brithday kind, are never a good idea. Swummer dumps more water on Moon. Sandra tosses a bucket of sand on Moon’s head. (“That’s what you do for birthdays, right?”) Kestrel throws feathers like confetti. Beth hides in a corner. Chary and Hallia are in another dimension attending a rock concert. They’re having fun, or going deaf.

Part the Third

You are dead.

Part the Fourth

With great power comes great responsibility, once said someone sometime

And when you’re dead l'll be still alive, still alive. Also said some else, as a passing remark to a complete stranger.

But one can’t help but wonder if that is actually true, too both of them but mostly the first one. If you have the power--in whatever form--to do something, is it your….duty to do it.

Who’s going to save the world when all of the heroes have died?

Who will stand for the common people when all the heros are dead?

When we are suddenly unable to look up to anyone, when you are alone, who will save you now?

No one.

That escalated quickly.

But, nuck my my dear fellow.

Things will be alright.

…..They will, wouldn’t they?

~~~~~~~~~~

End Day Fourteen. Death Toll: Sprankje. Rest in peace.

Also l realized that l left many people out of the last few days because of my scatterbrainedness, which nearly gave me a heart attack. Terrible sorry.