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Literature
Law Abiding
Jenison died screaming for his mother. Anisa, in quiet contemplation. The third and fourth souls died so quickly the other two never learned  their names. But Mason? Mason drowned, a feverish bubble of breath caught in his throat.
He looked at Jenison. He looked at Anisa. He looked, also, at the monster squid, before finally, his gaze came to rest on the bloated remains of his body. "I suppose I'm dead then."
His new companions, rendered mute with bemusement, simply gaped as he continued. "Does anybody have a copy of the rule book?" When they failed to respond, he asked again.
It was Anisa who recovered first. "What rule book?"
"You know," he began, rather sanctimoniously. "The book. The bible, the King's guide. The book with the laws of this land. Dungeon Master's guide. Whatever you want to call it." He shrugged, one arm extended as if to receive the book though none was proffered.
The squid watched his ghostly form with interest, even as it consumed his corporeal leg. It, too,
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Literature
Masterpiece
There are no stories left to tell, no theme unexplored. The world is populated by books alone, and I stand here amongst them, no longer triumphant.
I realised what was to come midway into things, but it was already too late. The frenzy was upon me. I devoured my people, spewed forth their stories onto pages nobody will ever read, and I created a new apocalypse as yet unimagined.
My art has betrayed me, and I walk alone through what should have been my piece de resistance - the greatest accomplishment of all.
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Literature
Waiting for a Mate
It's late at night and I'm just sat comfortable in front of the idiot box when I hear a commotion outside. I duck my head out to see and before I know it, I'm watching a young bogan crash into a pole, flipping six, seven times. The noise is horrific - grind! Bang! Crash! The stink of smoke and fire. People are sticking their heads out all over the joint, trying to get a squizz of the action, but I'm the only bugger prepared with a camera, so I guess it's up to me.
I'm out there like a shot, ready for the bloke to scupper, but me luck's holding and he's just sat there behind the wheel. The car's smoking, no, it's actually on fire, and the bloke's just sat there, like cor blimey, mate.
I'm ready to interview him when the coppers come on scene. It's Senior Constable Ash Bowden and he's as straight lace as they come. He's cautious as he heads over, like the smoking car might explode and the bogan at the wheel's just sat there still. I'm startin' to think he's a  dummy, 'stead of a rea
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Literature
Influenced
"Tell me, why did the stars die?"
It's the first thing I ever heard, and if I'm lucky, it'll also be the last. If I'm not lucky, I'll die on my spirit journey, or worse, lose the Influence along the way. Only a handful of our people have ever experienced that, and their colourless lives post-Influence were at best, to be pitied. My mother's influence was stolen by a Beetnam warrior on her spirit journey, and they say she has never been the same since.
My name is Jaimerson and the elders say I was Blessed at my birth. I don't know about that - what I do know is that the Influence lays heavily on my shoulders. There are days it feels more like a burden than a Blessing - especially so close to the time of Prophecy. I would not want to be She, the Prophecied or She, the Fail before the Prophecied -- and, let's face it, circumstances are not in my favour. Both Shes were born to a parent whose Influence was stolen on their spirit journey. It doesn't say how many generations back the fail goe
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Literature
Water! Earth! Fire! Air!
Moist droplets clung together in small groupings. The air around him was liquid with their breath and their being.
Nearby, on the ground below, plants stirred. Their thirsty cores dug roots deep into the earth, searching out water.
Directly below, a fire crackled gloriously. Red-gold flames licked at the sky, devouring morsels of breath from its components.
His final moments would be his glory. Hissing down from his home in the sky, Aitch Tou-Owe extinguished himself.
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Literature
Lost in Translation
Things were not going well. He'd knicked his hand on a sharp edge at the first hotel and had to swap to this one at the last minute. He had also forgotten his lucky pick, and his second set was missing a crucial tool. No, Adrian was definitely not having a smooth run of it today.
He was still jimmying the lock several minutes later, and the noise was attracting attention. A tourist -- recognisable by the wide-brimmed hat and extra large sunglasses she wore -- was staring in his direction. Adrian swore under his breath, affected a grin, and waved at her.
"Locked myself out," he called, bringing forth a slight blush, and thanking the Gods that he'd practiced that. He heaved a sigh of relief as she nodded hesitantly and went about her business.
Finally, the lock clicked, and he pushed open the door.
"Good morning," the gentleman on the other side said, quite amiably. He was wearing a moustache, a bathrobe, and a pair of terry cloth hotel slippers, and sipping calmly at what smelled like a
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Literature
The Baker -- FFM 1, Challenge
When they asked his job, Howard told people that he rolled. In fact, he would continue, he rolled, he tumbled, he twisted, and eventually, he wrung. Then Howard would distract his conversation partner by talking about the local beetles, or wander off to "fix his bandage". For Howard rolled something other than himself, and he loathed knowing that. Acrobatics would require far more -- shall we say, flexibility -- than Howard currently possessed. No, Howard rolled, tumbled, twisted and wrung... bread. He dreamed of a different life, one where the tumbles were those of his limbs and torso; one where stars spangled his costume and adoring crowds gasped in wonder. He'd lived that life once, long ago.
Sprinkling cinnamon into the dough he was working, Howard would relive each moment, savouring them as though they were the finest cuisine. Spoonfuls of honey poured into the mixture would remind him of the fluid movements he had once been capable of. Exotic spices, used as flavour or for scent
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Literature
The Memory Thief -- FFM2
Hunched and shaking on the end of the bed, Bella Grizzel was a wretched sight. Slight for her age, she seemed almost to fade into the walls - though the walls would have had to be very dirty ones. If one had been able to see past the grime -- for Bella Grizzel was filthy indeed -- they might have noticed an odd assortment of scars. Strings of dark hair hung loosely in a dirty curtain that almost hid a face that was, somehow, dirtier still. The child's grimy fingers held onto an old and tattered bear, sewn together so many times he seemed more stitch than fur. She trembled, fingertip to toe, and the sound of her weeping carried itself through the darkness. In another room, a body turned; rolled; stilled again. It dreamed on as the weeping became pleading, before it, too, stilled.
Ragged breathing and a deep grumbling echoed through the house for the next few hours. "You must," the rumble seemed to say. "I hunger. I thirst." In response, quiet whimpers followed whispered pleas, ever more
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Literature
Aftermath
inconvenienced by his grief, the moon broke apart,
her shell scattering through space,
unconscious, she sheds shards,
shrunken satellites orbiting worlds old and new.
things stir in the new dark,
unnamed and unseen,
slithering through the shadows;
fishtails swish, cut swathes
through oil-laden waters. limbs,
newly minted, grow, gather strength.
the weak, asleep and unaware,
succumb to the hunger of the strong,
unwilling conspirators to a future crime
unpursued. no officer, pad in hand,
to challenge the survivors. no officer
looks askew, wonders at the armour,
wonders at the smell of fear in the air and, suddenly decisive,
walks away. the moon's delicate core,
unprotected by a fragmented hull,
observes; her shine dulls.
the dark grows darker.
the things, so many in number,
whisper to each other in the blackness,
their hoarse, dirty voices slithering from ear to ear,
laughter hissing across the surface of her existence.
every word is felt,
digested and spat back out,
over and over.
the l
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Literature
If I were an artist, here is what I would draw
there is an ocean:
you know how an ocean looks;
I would show you the black,
the green, the blue, the grey--
I would colour the turquoise parts
and pattern sunlight and shadow
over white-tipped waves.
I would find a way to depict
sandbars and rock shelves,
and then also the places
the world drops away--
the inky nothingness that plummets
your feet and stomach at the same time
as your heart
halts.
there are humans:
you don't need to know
their names; just know they're
you and me and everyone
you'll meet. I would show you
--not the colour of their hair,
or the religions
they choose-- but the way
their limbs slip,
the treading of water;
the graceful glide
of the fortunate or the kicking-
bobbing-drowning of the desperate.
I would show you the rafts,
peopled with this world's version
of the privileged -- the ones
with the luck of the draw; and
I would find a way for you to hear
their well-meant but ever-so-useless calls
to the waterlogged: just take hold
of a buoy (there are 10 per 100 folk
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Literature
Charletan
Until today, I'd thought I might be clairvoyant. I'm sure you'll understand why I thought that, right? I mean, for as long as I can remember, I've heard voices that nobody else can hear. Well, alright, let's be honest -- I've heard just one voice in all that time, but she was persistent. I heard her pretty much every day of my life, but I was never brave enough to talk back. Not even in those quiet times when I just lay there in bed listening to her talk.
So I figured it was either claivoyance or crazy, and -- well, I just didn't want to even go there, did I? So yup, that's me, clairvoyant extraordinaire. So Extraordinaire, in fact, that I can only hear the one ghost. It felt, sometimes, like she was conversing with others. It was a bit embarrassing that I could only hear her, and not the others, but I tried not to let it get me down.
I tried to get into all that gemstone and nature stuff, spirit guides and all that too. Thought maybe that'd help me hear the others as well, but it didn
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Literature
Bad Egg
They called him Stampy. He was born to it, and it seemed he was determined to live up to it. He pounded at the ground, forming craters and depressions in his wake. Every now and then, he stopped to let out a roar simply for the sound of it. The trees trembled. The ground quaked. The herbivores kept their distance, scattering at the sight of his large head, tiny arms, and humongous teeth.
Stampy, for his part, usually stomped after them. They were tasty, and besides, the chase was fun. Their squeals of terror, the booming cries of anguish as he tore flesh from their bones, those were the things that Stampy enjoyed most. Sometimes he would leave them like that, bodies rotting while the creature lived, and just watch.
Occasionally, a young bull, eager to prove himself, would challenge Stampy, and the older male would laugh to himself. He would decimate his competition - usually fairly literally, tearing the youngster into pieces and scattering them to the winds. He did not kid himself tha
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Literature
School Shoes
A pair of sneakers hangs by its laces, dangling from the branches of an enormous tree. On the upper world, the guide tells us, his voice turning pompous and slipping into a teaching tone, "this would be a sign of illegal or immoral activities, generally involving the procurement or sale of illicit substances".
My children's eyes glaze over at all the big words, and I snag their attention with a simpler explanation. "Weed-grass that makes them see strange things," I explain. Their eyes widen immediately and they turn to stare behind us at the shoes, even as the guide tells us that of course, here the sneakers have a very different meaning. He doesn't get a chance to explain further before the door of one of the dwellings opens as if on cue, and the inhabitant emerges.
As one, we sigh with pity. It has the head of a dolphin and the feet of a human, and we all try to imagine what life must be like to live without fins. We ooh and we ahh at the strangeness, then there's a flash as someone'
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Literature
Chicken Coup
Bernice was a fighter. She was born with a fire in her belly and a desire for justice. She was also, as it turns out, born in a small town of the sort that still believed Justice was nothing more than a great choice of name. Bernice bided her time, growing older and stronger, feeding the belly-fire with big-city politics and rallying cries, all from the TV, and she watched for her chance to fight for right.
**
The animals were restless. Cows pawed at the ground, their cloven-hooves leaving clumps of dirt to dot the grassy field. The pigs muttered to themselves in thick groans, wildly flinging mud and muck every which way. This year's lambs rushed hither and thither, wearing patterns and paths into the greenery of their pastures. As for the chickens... instead of rustlings in the hen house, there was a squawking and a bickering in the yard.
The weather was warming, and the time of feasting was almost upon them. This was, the animals knew, a problem of epic proportions -- the Farmer alwa
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Literature
Vacancy Required
I'm applying for yet another job when the supervisor appears behind me. I hasten to inform him that this is my sixteenth but he's not at all satisfied. When he speaks, the words fall into place and hang there, creating a sort of echo that I almost believe I could touch.
"Not good enough, sonny."
He's breathing down the back of my neck, a red trail of burning shame. And fire, of course. I know now, I should never have derided folks for being unemployed. Finding a job is hell -- even, as it turns out, in Hell.
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Literature
Theresa Green
Theresa Green pressed her flesh to her bondmate. All around the forest, her kin emulated the action, and for a while the dryads were silent. Not so their bondmates, however, who rustled up conversation easily. As Queen, Theresa could hear snippets from all of them.
"I said I wood--"
"--and then he branched out. Get it?"
"He never even twigged."
"I'ma love you forest o'ma life. Didja geddit? Forest."
"--told her she'd never stick it out."
"Have I got a spare. Of course I do, it's in my... trunk."
Trees told such beautiful tall tales when they were in the mood, but most of the time they were more interested in being punny. Sadly, their puns just made the dryad wish she could leaf.
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Favourites

Literature
FFM day two - names
Red to lips, black to eyelids, Candice sweeps brushes and jars back into her bag. The mirror gives her a good idea of what assets to push tonight. The bruises have been hidden as well as manageable.
She nods at her reflection, turning to leave. But she’s not alone in the room, and she’s not done here. The new girl has curled, rolly polly bug style, into a chair in the corner. She’s pulled her knees into her chest, hiding the cleavage, but doing nothing to combat the short skirt. Fingers dart out to tug at the skirt, as though modesty is something she’ll have in abundance on work nights.
Candice crouches before her, peers into her face. Scents of too many girls clash in the air, jasmine and vanilla and cocoa and aloe. It’s important to know this one. She’s young, all guarded eyes and long, folded legs and nails chewed down under dark polish.
“Remember,” Candice breathes. She doesn’t touch the girl. Sometimes it’s nice not to be
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Literature
FFM2-Gen X
Genesis I
The first time they meet is over the hiss of caffeine. The girl with pink hair slides the espresso cup across the counter. Poetry is scrawled over every bare surface with a black sharpie.
“This isn’t what I asked for.”
The girl winks. “Nothing ever is.”
The boy scowls into his drink but takes a sip anyway. He slaps a couple of dollar bills onto the counter. “Keep the change.”
When she stumbles home that evening her front door is spray-painted with lines of Sylvia Plath and T.S. Elliot. The girl spies a signature in the bottom right-hand corner. She laughs and shakes her head.
When she falls into bed that night she dreams of rude boys who learn to appreciate poetry.
 
Genesis II
The sharpshooter scowls as he lines up the target with the barrel of his gun. He almost feels sorry for the girl. She has pink hair of all things. The chance of him missing this shot is null.
His finger is on the trigger. He hesitates. Something about her
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Literature
Day 2
Lyra blinks up at the pastel sky, pushing down a nagging feeling that she's forgetting something. Shrugging, she continues on, bare feet sliding through thick lavender grass.
She stops when she reaches a river, wading into the cool water. She stares at the pink sun's reflection. She finds it odd, but for some reason she can't remember exactly why.
Don't accept any gifts from a faerie.
The sudden thought startles Lyra, making her look around in alarm.
She notices a young man sitting a few metres from her and shakes her head, berating herself for not noticing him before.
"Hello," she calls out, hiking up her knee-length dress and moving closer.
"Hello", he replies, a beautiful smile lighting up his handsome face. Lyra stares in wonder, never having seen such a charming man before.
Don't eat faerie food.
She ignores the random thoughts intruding upon her mind, drinking in his features. Dandelion hair frames his face, eyes the colour of bluebells stare back at her. Lyra smile
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Literature
FFM 2017, Day 2 - Wake
Lester came to his senses for the last time, stifling a scream with his hands pressed to his mouth.
A dead body was lying in front of him, and the bitemarks on its neck, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, told Lester who had killed it, even before he started to recollect the events of the previous hour.
But that wasn't the worst.
The worst was he was here.
He was still here. He remembered the sweet laugh of his sister, the grief over his stillborn child, the burning kiss of his lover, the terror of his trial. He felt just as horrified by the body in front of him as he would have a day before.
He pressed his hands against his chest, desperately hoping the worst hadn't happened. The stillness inside, however, just confirmed what he already knew.
How was he still thinking, still feeling – how was his soul still bound here?
He was already on his knees, and now he raised his folded hands towards the skies, helplessly and silently begging for a sign or for salvation.
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Literature
In Bad Shape
“Um,” said Trapezium. “There’s a rhombus here to see you.”
Line-drawn-between-two-points looked up from its birthday cards. “Oh..?”
The rhombus bounced forward. “Actually I’m not a rhombus: I’m a parallel-o-gram!”
It blew on a pitch pipe.
“La..! Lalalala—la!”
It beamed at Line-drawn-between-two-points and began to sing.
“I travel parallel universes
And I keep meeting you
So here’s some news to make your day
I swear that it’s all true
In some ‘verses you’re a diamond
In many you’re a star
It’s only in this universe...
You’re as boring as you are!

Happy birthday, Line-drawn-between-two-points!”
And with a last cheery smile, the parallelogram disappeared.
There was a pause.
“So…” Trapezium looked tentatively at Line-drawn-between-two-points. “Are you all right? Is that a smile I see?”
“What?”
Line-drawn-b
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Literature
FFM1-Mermaid Tears
She slinks out of the stone well, hair slick with moonlight.  Her head tilts upward. Wet stands contour to the spaces where shadows pool.
He bows his head. She rests her right hand against the back of his neck and peers into his burning eyes. She pulls away before he can open his mouth.
Behind them the well overflows with white chrysanthemums. They flourish and decay within the span of a single breath. Her gaze beckons him forward. “Pick one.”
With every shift of weight the fish scales along her bare legs glisten. The fox’s eyes trail up the arch of her foot and past the curve of her thigh. In the hollow of her hipbones rests a flower mosaic.
The fox spirit grins, exposing his fangs.
She hums in the back of her throat. Her webbed fingers tug at the scales. Within her cupped palms a red chrysanthemum unfurls. She curls his fingers over the flower. It feels like the earthenware finish of a sake cup. “Tell me your story.”
 
The fox spirit crushes th
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Literature
The Hero's Return
There had been weeks of solitary searching—that mighty river leading him on and on—but at last Albert Braithwaite had found his heart’s desire.
And he had survived the ensuing test—those agonising days of waiting and contemplation.
But finally he had his reward! A reward beyond what he had hoped for; a reward beyond what he had ever expected!
At first he was gladdened by this good fortune but slowly he began to consider. Was this too much for one man? Did he in truth deserve to keep it all?
All day and all night, he examined his heart, and all day and all night the name of that mighty river pounded and pounded in his mind. And finally Albert knew what he had to do...
He accessed his account and let Amazon know they had sent him two toasters, when he had truly only ordered one.
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Literature
The Cat
    I was sitting in the front row of a conference room, listening to the buzz of the AC. My mind was still trying to sort out how I got here and why I was wearing this strange new dress. There were others, all looking as puzzled as me, but none of us spoke to each other. Personally, I didn’t want to. I just wanted to go home. I had things to do and no time for whatever this was.
    In the front of the room was a desk with a pitcher labeled ‘Palm Wine.’ A little note under it said it was good for cleaning out the body and soul, whatever that meant. I wasn’t interested.
    Why was I here and why were there no doors?
    There was a loud click and a door appeared behind the desk. For a second, I thought I had to be dreaming. It couldn’t be real.
    Then a brown, spotted cat walked in the door. She sauntered up to the desk and hopped on, then sat like some cat st
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Literature
FFM 2017 Day 1- Guess I'll Die. Psyche!
  The guard shoved Ig for what must have been the sixth time, making him stumble and wince.  “All right, all right, I’m walking, geez!  Can’t you let a guy take one last look at nature’s beauty?”
  “I will grant you no such mercy,” she sneered, and pushed him again.
  Ig rolled his eyes.  “You better save all your dramatic talk for the actual execution, or else you’re gonna run out of good lines.”
 “Only a fool such as yourself would speak of death so lightly,” she hissed.  “The gods will punish you for your misdeeds.”
  “What did I just say?”
  The next shove resulted in grass-stained clothing and a mouthful of dirt.  He managed to squirm a foot or two towards the trees before the guard yanked him back by his handcuffs.  He considered berating her for ruining his shirt, but decided against it, lest she try to c
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Literature
Not FFM 1- Sins
The elevator doors slid open, and Don officially stepped off of the mortal plane.  He knew that he didn’t have a stomach anymore, not really, but it felt like his guts were twisting.  Morty extended one long bony finger to push a button, and the elevator began to move.  It began to move downwards, specifically.
“Oh shit,” Donny hissed, turning to his guide with wide eyes.  “It’s like that?”
Morty offered a sad little grin and shrugged.  “Unfortunately, thems the breaks kid.  You went to Sunday school, you knew what you had coming.”  Donny just stared, agape.  “And you got it lucky.  Most guys gotta take the trip by themselves, but I knew your dad back in Vegas.  Good guy, got into a lot of trouble.  Least I could do is help his boy along the last mile.”  
“This is unreal,” Donny wheezed, heaving over with his hands on his knees.  “Like, Hell?
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Literature
219
Three months, and Carlos’ absence still clings to the building like a ghost. Rory feels it most in their flat, of course – the cold of an empty bed, the sink less stained by toothpaste – but even the hallway holds its memories of Carlos fumbling for his keys; even the lift still feels like Carlos leaning back against burnished steel, hands in his pockets, lips turned up in the playful half-smile that Rory so loved. He can’t take the lift anymore without remembering.
He doesn’t want to forget.
Three months, and sometimes it still hits Rory like a storm. He finds himself crying in the lift, stabbing blindly at buttons made blurry by tears; his mind is full of Carlos’ eyes, his smell, his hands. He thanks all that he holds holy that there is no one to see him crumple into a corner and weep, as the lift surges downwards and his heart climbs his throat.
The lift spits him out into the subcellar, which is not where he meant to go – his finger must ha
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Literature
Prophecy for Yourself
On any other day, the harbour would have seemed bustling with life. In truth, however, the streets were empty, and the bloated hands that manned the vessels at the dock were anything but alive. Shrouded in a cloud of inky vapour, Baal-Sogoth rose from the depths, strode through the surf and began to climb the granite spire that looked out across the shore. The Lord of the Abyss had, as prophecy foretold, come to claim dominion over the people of the earth and sand. In days to come, he would have his drowned servants carry the hills to fill the depths, making all the world even so that no land broke the surface of the sea, and no waves marred its perfect face.
     In days to come, Baal-Sogoth would look upon the Earth and see a glassy, fish-like eye no different to his own.
    In days to come, the Earth would look back with its new dead life, and see his eye in turn.
    One would reflect the other even as the sun died, the c
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Literature
Blue Angel
Officer Gane reached the roof. He feared the wind would knock the poor girl off before he had his chance. He took a step, supressing the urge to run over and grab her from the ledge. She hadn’t seen him yet. He took another step. Just had to get as close as he could.
She sat on the edge. Her hands were on the small ledge, just about managing to keep her balanced. It would be so easy to fall. Her hair flew behind her like ribbons.
“Don’t,” she said in a small voice. “Please, don’t come near me. Don’t.”
He stopped where he was and raised his hands up. She never turned to look. Instead she focused on the crowd below.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
No answer. The finger of her right hand twitched and Gane knew she would die. He inhaled and blew out his last angel. A bullet of blue light coalesced from his breath and shot the girl. She gasped. Then fell backwards, onto the roof.
“Ow,” she said. Gane reached her and
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Literature
FFM 1 - Duat Hangover Cure
You wake up to the smell of sweet smoky meat, the sound of sizzling grease, and a head like pyramid stones being hammered by ten thousand workers. A groan escapes your desiccated lips, your supine position on the floor helping gravity to push where your lungs once were. A near-empty jar of palm wine is cradled between your arms as a makeshift pillow, some of its contents splashed on the bandages of your chest.
It takes you a while to get up, pushing the jar away and grabbing onto nearby stonework for good leverage before stumbling bullishly towards where the smell is coming from. A man wrapped in bandages the color of ripe peach stood over the hearth, handling a pan and frying meat.
You spend your next moments shuffling into a chair of gilded wood with ivory carvings, sliding into its comfort as your lay your forehead on the warm wood of the table.
The slam of an object placed near your ear snaps you out of your drowse and you lift your head enough to see an earthen drinking cup. You g
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Literature
FFM 2017 01: It's You and Me, and All of the Chaos
Our eyes meet from across the near deserted bar. I cannot hold the boy’s burning gaze for long — I find myself glancing down to grab a bottle of Bud off the counter. My heart pounding triple-time, I smash the Bud against the dead head that has followed me here. It groans and crashes down, and I stomp hard on its chest to keep it there, hissing beneath my foot.
“Get the door!” I yell. The boy skids gracefully over a table, half-full glasses shattering to the floor, and shoves his entire weight against the door. A single rotting arm that has snaked its way inside snaps clean off due to the impact of the boy’s momentum.
By the time I reduce the dead head to a sticky mess beneath me with the aid of a stainless steel barstool, the boy has also succeeded in boarding up the door.
“Nice work.” I nod at him. “Sorry I had to kick down your original board-up job to get in here.”
“It’s fine,” he says lightly. “I got this
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camelopardalisinblue
Dawni
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
Australia


I've written this several times, apparently writing about myself is difficult. ;) I caved and asked my partner to help.

30s -- female -- Aussie (Caboolture, Queensland) -- defacto -- diagnosed with mental illness -- mother to 2 butterfly children -- crazy/weird/'special' (not to be confused with the aforementioned mental illness) -- cheerful -- loving -- cheeky -- friendly.


Stamped:


I believe in a llama for a llama, but I don't watch people simply because they're watching me & I don't do fav-for-fav trades. Please don't feel obliged to fav my work or watch me just because I gave you a random llama/fav/comment/whatnot. Fav or watch me because you like my work by all means, though! :)

PS, a million, billion thank-yous to the wonderful SilverInkblot who made the pretty boxes for me.
Interests
Time for another FFM feature! :)

Day 4:

RomeAt least one of my forefathers must have been a domestic dog.  From when I was a cub, I felt the pull of the human city, but my mother always told us never to go there.
'They might once have been our friends,' she said, 'but now we disapprove of them because they're civilised, which means that they have too much and they fight and kill each other to have more.'
'Wolves fight,' I said.
'We don't kill each other if we can help it, and only then for something we need.  The humans already have more than they need.  You haven't seen the walls of their city.'
I didn't tell her that I had seen them.
'Their city now reaches far beyond those walls,' my mother went on, 'and really, they are the most vulgar creatures imaginable.  They eat and eat and have a special place to go and be sick in.  And to think they disapprove of the way that we decent animals smell each other's behinds.'
'Why might they once have been our friends?' I asked, and so my mother bega

Mature Content

How to obtain a CerberusOliver was having second thoughts about the procedure, a strong force lured him back as he made his way down the sterile white hall and he looked over his shoulder numerous times, tempted to walk away. He could only hope the severe case of bad luck he'd come down with wouldn't sabotage the work they'd planed for the day. With one final glance towards the exit, he braced himself and entered the room which was the site of all of their experiments.
He knew Dr. Hades wouldn't bother to make his presence known if he'd arrived ahead of time, so Oliver crossed the dark chamber and made himself as comfortable as possible in the worn chair he'd grown to hate. As soon as he was seated the tall, sickeningly thin creature that was the elderly doctor revealed itself to him and strapping him down. Oliver's dishevelled appearance seemed to draw the interest of the allegedly human medic but the young man only shrugged in response to his questioning gaze. It would be too long a story to explain what ha

FFM 04 - The Dream PrisonThe thirteenth bell chimed, and I snapped my pocket watch closed.  I’d been fishing for mythical beasts for weeks in this world of endless night, and knew the shift change didn’t take long.  I knew the paths the guards took, and I knew the layout of their ethereal prison.  I darted forward from the shadows.
What are you doing? the voice whispered in my ear.
“Stopping this,” I hissed.
No.  That is not your place. The voice of The Hat had raised from a whisper to a boom that only I could hear.  
“Shove it.  I’m doing this.”  Pulling my scarf tight, I slipped through the labyrinthine arrangement of holding cells, situated in clusters to maximize neural connection.  It’d taken some work, but I’d found the Gypsy king, and all four-hundred and four of his missing Pied Crows.  The once proud order of dream nights huddled in their cells, their black and white uniforms fading to a fl
Seattle Demigods--Day 4Rome may have been gone, but its monsters certainly weren’t.  And, like the arrogance, sexuality, and gods, the monsters had migrated halfway around the world to its modern counterpart, Seattle.  And that’s why we were there tonight, hunting the Hydra sighted here just last week.  We’d seen all kinds of monsters in these strange days, monsters thought dead for centuries.  Monsters that had hunted the heroes of ancient Rome.
Heroes like us, the modern children of the gods.
“Are you sure this is where it will be?” Clary asks from behind me.  I can’t see her, but I can hear her fiddling with her bowstring—her nervous tic.  She’s a daughter of Apollo, and snakes make her jittery.  I can’t exactly blame her.
“Of course,” Lisa says.  She’s crouched by the water, spear in hand.  She looks bulky in all that armor, with her plumed helmet giving her a Mohawk.  “This is
4.15 Dwindling LegacyIt’s time.
The summer stars had aligned, and the Bard could feel the emotion of the crowd like a cloud of static electricity. The time had come for him to choose a successor, and he started down from the dais into the gathered parents and children.
 
He had been chosen himself, once. He remembered Masters Saloh, Regor, and Grulfow weaving through a similar crowd for what seemed like forever at the age of five, stopping to talk to both the parents and the children. Regor and Gruflow stopped a few times before choosing, but Saloh had gone straight for him.
“What’s your name, child?” Saloh didn’t speak above a whisper, but he heard her perfectly in the anticipatory hush of the hall.
“Eitac, ma’am.” He whispered, too, but more from nerves than anything else.
Saloh smiled and held out a hand to him. “You get to come with me, Eitac. It’s time to say goodbye now.”
He hugged his paren

MiraI drink the last of the willowspirit and screw up my eyes against the migraine. Dangerous stuff. Drink it all at once and you'll be dead before the dawn.
I'm close now. There's a forest shrine nestled in the shadow of the Edzull hills, where the wirewights commune with their dead god. I know it well, and dozens of other such places that litter the Ossifus isles. One by one I visit them, stepping stones on a pilgrimage that ends I know not where.
The willowspirit stings my eyes, and begins to reveal the toxic sunrise. The shadowed treetops are heavy with crows and hunched things. Greenteeth and Grendelows paw at the grass by the stream. Some of these things are real and some of them are the willowspirit in my veins. I keep my distance from all of them.
Thirteen bells I wear on my belt, and thirteen magicks burn at the tip of my tongue. The book of binding sits in my satchel like a cannonball, alongside three black ritual candles that I won't be using tonight. I'll need another candle, o
FFM 4 - The Spine of the WorldHe can't remember when he last took the medication. It could have been weeks. He doesn't know, can't think: skull pulsing with maggots. They've burrowed into the cavity of his braincase, squirmed against the flat bones of his cranium. He hears them sliding, feels them fester in his grey matter. Feels them breed.
He can't go outside. Hasn't tried, too afraid, yet promises each time, huddled in a dull corner, he will do it, soon. He sees a flickering shadow waiting. He hears metal screams. He is cured but they will poison him. To leave was slavery, to stay starvation.
He reaches a hand but his fingers are palm leaves. His body is a knife, too sharp to move incautiously. He has no choice, never had except for the when of his fate. Leaves wrap around the scaled handle of his door-turned-tree. Feels the jolt of electricity when it resists, but he pushes through and turns.
His footsteps fail. He steps outside the monolith. The shadow is behind him, above him, somewhere he can't see. The tree
Day 3- The Rifleman's WalkThe rifleman walked his feet bloody. His boots were hours behind him on the dusty road. His feet, worn raw by the unpaved highway, were a collection of bleeding lacerations and oozing blisters. He bent forward as though he were climbing up a steep incline. Just walking jarred his bones, until he felt he would break himself apart from the force of each step.
He must have looked smart once in his officer’s frock, with pressed trousers, and shined boots. Now he looked like a dead man who’d climbed out of his own grave, bloodied from a past that was only two steps behind.
The lemon yellow dress hugged her curves better in his memory. She wore a bonnet over her hair, but for him, for his memory of her, she undid the strings. She dropped the bonnet to the ground. Her eyes were brown, and for him they were wide and full of love, but he couldn’t remember if she’d really loved him that much.
As a hallucination, her stomach was full and round, and pregnancy suited her. Th

FFM day 4: 4 promisesConversation with Julia Sarnet
I’m so drugged up, Jules
I can’t think straight
it’s okay honey
i’m right here with you
promise?
I promise.
I love you!
Peter’s heart rate monitor beeped incessantly. The room was decorated with little pieces of the different families he’d had: bobbleheads from the precinct, pictures from mom and dad, action figures from Julia, and half a Hallmark store of cards.
babe, Alyn’s wife wants to visit
what should I say?

ask her why Alyn isn’t talking to me
I can tell her this is a bad time
Jules, please
I have to tell him I’m sorry
People swam in and out of focus. Some days Peter woke in the hospital. Other days he woke in a warehouse with smoke in his eyes, pain shooting through parts of him that were barely attached anymore.
He woke with his sister’s head on his chest, o
Heart's EasePetal/ Blossom/ Flora/ Posy/ Sharon, the polyanthus who lived in the garden of Fairy Heartsease, were singing their song to greet the day.
Romance over before it even started?
Well, she’s the one to help the broken hearted.
We all think she’s the bee’s knees
Here she is: Fairy Heartsease!

They looked expectantly towards the door of the cottage.
Nobody came out.
“Er,” said Sharon, “should we..?”
Suddenly the door was thrown open and Fairy Heartsease stomped out carrying a bottle. She scowled at the polyanthus and sang her reply.
Lovers, tell me of your plight
I’m full of sweetness and delight.

She took a swig from the bottle.
There was a pause.
“Have we caught you at a bad moment?” said Petal, eventually.
Heartsease burst into tears. “He’s chucked me!”
“Oh… You mean…” said Blossom.
“That bloody Kaleidoscope Pixie.” Heartsease stared at her bottle. “I


Day 5:

FFM15 - 5: Some Assembly RequiredDoctor Frank tore the tape off the box and began taking all the pieces out, being careful to arrange them neatly by size. He always did love this part: the unboxing. It was almost like Christmas, but better in a way, because he ordered it himself and didn’t have to feign joy when he unwrapped socks from Aunt Marie.
Once Doctor Frank had all the pieces laid out, he gave a little squirm of excitement and reached for the instructions. He didn’t usually need instructions; he was very good at assembling things. And really, how hard could it be? He had put together countless people, and this didn’t have nearly so many parts to it. But, it was a new project and Doctor Frank wanted to do it right. After last year’s Body Building fiasco, he had decided to move into a more specialised field. Building your own pet was a somewhat unconventional practice thus far, but he felt sure the trend would catch on quickly.
He scanned the instruction leaflet, head tilting to one side
The Last Laugh“So what are you in for?”
    “Oh, nothing much.” Carl vigorously chalked his cue, buying precious time. “The boss wanted some stuff stolen from a place, it didn’t go to plan...the usual.”
    “Huh.” The inmate with the prominent widow’s peak lined up his shot, took it, and sent the cue ball spinning into the corner pocket. “Was the place anywhere interesting?”
    “Uh...” Carl put the cue ball back on the table and sank a red into the side pocket. “Not really. You know, standard secret lab. Nothing out of the ordinary.” It was more or less true. He took his next shot, leaving another red covering the corner pocket.
    The inmate took his turn. A wild jab from the cue sent the ball flying off the table and bouncing noisily across the floor. “Frank!” he shouted. “Little help?”
  

Mature Content


JudgmentalGerald stepped out of the fitting room in a floor length evening gown, slinky and figure hugging.
“Oh, God,” said Cynthia. She put her head in her hands.
Gerald frowned and retreated back behind the curtain.
He reappeared in a pencil skirt and pussy bow blouse, both fitting rather snugly.
“Gerald!” muttered Cynthia. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Looking daggers, Gerald disappeared again, reappearing for the last time in a catsuit that left nothing to the imagination.
“Well, I am not going out with you looking like that!” said Cynthia.
Gerald straightened his shoulders. “You know, you could be a little more supportive.”
Cynthia sighed. “Gerald, you are really going to have to face it. You’re just not a size 10.”
FFM 2015, July 5 - SouflikarSabah knew the end had come when the janissaries led him into the garden. Opposite a delicate round table sat the head gardener, wearing a caftan made out of finest Oriental silks, his bashlyk adorned with gems and gold. Although his clothing spoke of wealth, his physique was everything but: he was the largest man Sabah had ever seen.
The man smiled. "Isn't it a lovely day today, master thief?"
On the table, laid out in the traditional manner, were two cups of sharbat, chilled. Sabah licked his dry, cracked lips. The sultan's gaolers had limited his torture to just withholding drink, but in the sweltering summer heat, that was more than enough.
"I'm not a thief." Sabah said finally. "What I stole is nobody's possession."
The head gardener's smile broadened. "Sultan Mahomet disagrees. But I understand you consider yourself innocent?"
"Before Allah, I do." Sabah said. He could imagine the sweet taste of the sharbat against his lips. It swirled, red - perhaps scented with rose?
"Please, d
FFM 5: The Unexpected Hazards of Pet Ownership“Hey!” yelled Alya’s phone. “Hey, listen!”
Alya swore, bolting upright in bed and groping for the phone while her partner, Sam, groaned and tossed in the sheets. “What time is it?” Sam grumbled.
“Before nine, honey, go back to sleep.” Alya stroked Sam’s hair and cursed herself for leaving the volume up on her phone before they’d gone to sleep last night. But it had been late when they’d gotten back from the party, and they’d both been drunk, so she’d forgotten.
Sam muttered something dire—even when she hadn’t been drinking, she never, ever got up before nine—and covered her face with a pillow. Alya silenced the offending phone and  thumbed to her text messages. She frowned. The message was from her roommate, Kelly: also not an early riser.
i hate your cat rite now. this is the worst morning of my life.
Shit, Alya thought, suddenly very glad she’d stayed the nig

Have a Good Day    “Melissa, did you wash your hands?”
    “Yes, Mom.”
    “Show me.” Melissa rolled her eyes and held her hands out for inspection. Gloria nodded and moved on to the next morning crisis. “That’s way too much peanut butter, Louis.”
    Her kindergartner son looked up from his sandwich. He had somehow gotten just as much peanut butter on his face and into his mouth as he had onto the bread. “I know, Mom. That’s how I like it.”
    She smiled and ruffled his hair. “As long as you wash up after you’re done. And take an apple. You forgot to grab one yesterday.”
    “Okay, Mom.”
    That was two children accounted for. The third was probably still in bed.
    “Anthony?” She flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. Gloria looked up and saw why. He’d taken out the light bulbs the night before
Chronicles of Midlurth VII: Beyond our BordersWith a scorched cloak on his back and two arrows in his arse, a dwarf made his way along the Amberlea riverside. He saw the sign of the Golden Dragon ale house and shivered. Dragons. Too soon.
As he passed the door, a ruddy-faced halfling raised his beer thimble in greeting. “Ho there! Here for the vegetable competition this afternoon?”
“Have you not heard?” asked the dwarf. “The Necrolock has raised a world-ending army. Every human able to hold a sword marches west as we speak! The smart races are heading East.”
“You should see Mrs Hurgsplirdle's pumpkins, I'd bet you ten thimbles she'll be walking home with firs' place!”
“Are you not listening to me? Monsters are coming! You need to get out of here now, or you and everyone you care about will be dead within the week!”
The halfling snorted. “What goes on beyond Farmer Gherkin's hill is neither here nor there.”
“No, it definitely is there, and it'll be here t
SarahSarah clothed herself in flame. Her hair was orange and red and yellow, left to fly free when she danced, and her fingernails shone fiery-bright. She called to mind a phoenix, an ifrit, a goddess of the sun. And she was beautiful.
But she was no goddess and no djinni and no flaming bird. Sarah tended bars. She spent half her days and most of her nights mixing cocktails, wiping down tables, avoiding the fingers of drunks who'd later claim they didn't know what they were doing. She wouldn't avoid their eyes: Sarah had fire in her eyes, and when she stared back at them they'd mostly leave her alone, muttering apologies and fumbling for tips.
It wasn't a bad life. But on days when the sun shone bright and Sarah danced barefoot through its beams, her flame-colored hair and clothing sparkling as they swung around behind her, she found herself wishing for more: she wanted fire in her life, something that would move and grow and change. She wanted the glow of destruction.
No one had a

We Buy Gold“Is this real gold?” she asked, pointing to one of the necklaces behind the counter.
The pawn dealer turned in his chair but didn't get up. “Yep. Twenty-four karat. Good eye.”
She leaned in and squinted. “And it's priced as marked? That's the right label?”
He nodded. “All sales final.”
She raised an eyebrow. “...is it cursed?”
So close to finally making the sale, the dealer swore under his breath.
The Watch FlowerFrom the day I was a seed until the day I was last planted, I have seen and heard many things. I was grown close to a beach with waves of rushing blue and white foaming hands that stretched over the sand and sprayed the air with cool sprinkles of salt.
Not far from the shore was a moving forest. It was there where an old, big strange tree with moving branches who collected rare seeds planted me in a pile of dirt at between the sea and the forest. It wasn't too moist, but the old tree cared well for me.
Life was dull while underground, but things changed when a little big flower appeared. Lisa, I heard the strange trees with soft creamy barks call her. Thin black roots grew instead of petals on her receptacle, almost as long as her height. Her stem split into two at the bottom where roots should be, and with those the large flower, covered in a red bell shaped petal, and the long black strings at the top was be able to move.
I was a tiny shoot when Lisa first noticed me. Two big round d
Hello, My Name is Peddy    “Alright iDometer, let’s see what you can do,” Tracy said as she pressed the little on button. 
    The little screen lashed on. It showed a brief animation of shoes running then went to a menu screen. “Hello. My name is Peddy. I think this is the first time we have met. Is this true?” A yes and a no button appeared on the touch screen and Tracy tapped ‘yes.’ “Is this your first time using an iDometer?”
    “Why yes it is,” Tracy responded, again tapping the yes button on the screen.
    “I see. How would you like me to address you? To give the iDometer voice commands, please hold the start button. I will record and memorize your voice so only you may give my commands.”
    Following the instructions, Tracy held the pedometer close to her mouth. “Peddy, please call me Tracy.”
  



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:iconbirthdays:
birthdays Featured By Owner 6 days ago
:woohoo: :party: :iconcakelickplz: !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!! :iconcakelickplz: :party: :woohoo:

On behalf of the birthdays team, I sincerely apologize that your greeting has arrived late this year.

We hope you had an awesome day with lots of birthday fun, gifts, happiness and most definitely, lots of cake! Here's to another year!

Many well wishes and love from your friendly birthdays team :love:

---
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This birthday greeting was brought to you by: KoudelkaW
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Jasperinity Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2018
Happy birthday! :D
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Annaivri Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy birthday! socks the cat- nYA by paw-kitten
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SawuScimitar74 Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2018
Happy Birthday! Have a good one! :D
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JJJMadness Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
candlescandlescandlescandlescandlescandlescandlescandles
:heartbeat:Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 02:heartbeat:
     bunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley faces
bunch of smiley faces
     bunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley faceslittle demon left [f2u]
Bendy the Dancin' lil Devil IconMoving Eye Ball Cup Cake 50x50 icon Broken Heart Moving Eye Ball Cup Cake 50x50 iconBendy the Dancin' lil Devil Iconlittle demon right [f2u]bunch of smiley facesbunch of smiley faces
     bunch of smiley faceslittle demon 2 left [f2u]Moving Eyeballs Cake Type 2 50x50 icon 
Virtual Retro LED - HVirtual Retro LED - AVirtual Retro LED - PVirtual Retro LED - PVirtual Retro LED - YMoving Eyeballs Cake Type 2 50x50 iconlittle demon 2 right [f2u]bunch of smiley faces
Fireball PixelMoving Eyeballs Cake 50x50 iconVirtual Retro LED - BVirtual Retro LED - IVirtual Retro LED - RVirtual Retro LED - TVirtual Retro LED - HVirtual Retro LED - DVirtual Retro LED - AVirtual Retro LED - YMoving Eyeballs Cake 50x50 iconFireball Pixel 
:heartbeat:Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 03Eye BnW 02Eye BnW 01Eye BnW 03:heartbeat:
candlescandlescandlescandlescandlescandlescandlescandles 
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BegetBaubbles Featured By Owner Jul 3, 2017  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
Thanks for the llamaNod 
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AVirusErothanatoguru Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2017   Artist
Thank you for the llama and welcome to ErothanatoguruArt
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sylverface Featured By Owner Apr 27, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you for the :llama:  =D
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Aurora-Alley Featured By Owner Apr 24, 2017  Hobbyist
Daisy thanks for llama Daisy excited Rainbow Trash Dove 

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