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Memories on Paper

Author: unknown
Place/Gathering Discovered: Black & White 1011
Date: unknown
Transcribed by: Sir Iawen Penn
So they were gone but you knew they weren't so far away. You could contact them via Sending, and they weren't on another plane, but... that just wasn't the same.

"Yeah, well... that's okay, because I was never home anyway. So, now everyone's evolving, and I am just the same as I was ten years ago, but I don't know. Maybe a simple life is more the way to go... yeah, but then again, I'm mostly all alone."

You were losing everyone, but you knew: "I can't lose you. And maybe my time will come, but I know I can't lose you. Because the older I get, the more that life is making sense."

That's what you told them. But maybe, you thought, you missed the nose right on your face for what was just past it. And maybe you have the gift that everyone speaks so highly of...

Funny how nobody wants it. You're mostly all alone.

(OOC: Your character experiences this memory as strongly as if it were one of their own.)




Sick. Sick sick sick. Sick in the head, really. But nobody knew it. Maybe. Or maybe they didn't care. That's what it was. Nobody cared.

Well, maybe they did, but you couldn't tell. YOU DIDN'T CARE. Maybe. You just wanted it to be over. The sickness, that is. You wanted it to be cured. You'd paid money to many a quack healer, shaman, channeler, priest, and even once a witch who summoned spirits from the dead to talk to your mind, to tell you how to be well again.

You weren't well. You were worse.

Well, you know what? Tonight? Fuck 'em. You were sick. And if someone even so much as fucking asked you 'What's wrong', they weren't asking because they cared about your sickness. They were asking because your sickness was leeching into them. That's right. You might be sick, but your mind had powers. POWERS.

Oh yes. They're all as sick as you. They just hide it better. Lousy bunch of fucks. Hope they die in a fire. Maybe.

(OOC: Your character experiences this memory as strongly as if it were one of their own.)


You were trying to impress her, but you were heavily under the influence. It wasn't your fault, really: just had an adversion to the food and drink there. Different plane, different culture, different everything. And she, of course, was distracting enough. What with that blue and white number and her hair falling just so around the curves of her breasts.

Breasts were a type of food, right?

...om nom nom.

(OOC: Your character experiences this memory as strongly as if it were one of their own.)
Created by Janna Oakfellow-Pushee at 01-28-15 09:35 PM
Last Modified by Janna Oakfellow-Pushee at 01-28-15 09:38 PM