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A Nonfiction behind the scenes look at how Mana works in the world of Arcana Magi.
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Had I said something before, she might could have saved a little face by telling me to go to hell before we tumbled into the covers. All right. Again, I was no gentleman. Send me to hell. Whatever. I lay there on my back, my arm around her, and listened t
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When she opens the door, I say hi and introduce her to my friend, a bottle of J.T.S. Brown. She laughs and tells me to come on in before I fall down.
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“There’s cheap land at Cudlee Creek perfect for breeding long-haired rabbits,” he added. “They can’t jump high so fencing costs are low.”
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Assimilated wheat germ
integrated ant worm
the capital of brazil.
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A small bar of glycerin soap floated in the sink full of bloody water . . .
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In closing, Your Honor:After the interview Bad Blake, a/k/a "Otis" takes "Miss" Jane Craddock back to his hotel, ties her up, and gives her a Cleveland Steamer. For reference, please refer to my Brief, Exhibit A, showing a thespian named Ronald Jeremy…
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At five a family relative took my life away from me and no one cared
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nine
seven
thousand
debut
novel
words
i love you
thx for reading
by
#aksania
#xenogrette
#MINE
#novella
#birdking
#pixies
#ASPARAGUS
#SPACETRASHVIOLET
#SEX
#DOROTHYNOTROBOT
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My poems have appeared in four different publications; three have died shortly after they ran my stuff. Coincidence, or something more sinister?
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Still no rain. Eight months, says Hollister. More like nine, says James Earl. We stand in Hollister’s high meadow, what’s left of it.
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One of the runners was collecting bags of dead animals to bring back to the van. Nicholas looked inside one of the bags, but all he saw was a stringy mess of fur and tissue.
The runner grabbed the bag from Nicholas. He shrugged and said "hammers.
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The blade was wielded by a spunky brunette with a German accent and a laugh that made me weak at the knees.
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Was he really a Secret Service guy? No time to think now! Quick as lightning, Rachel bounded over the sleeping matron and sprinted up the aisle.
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so I tighten hands with my castaway and say/you failed to impress in your folded peacock dress
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It distresses me that you will never lust after me /
the way you did for that girl /
who had her hands around your belt
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It’s all a matter of warped mirrors. As in the multi-mirrored passage I stood before as a boy
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You were gone, long gone, and I could no longer smell your scent as I walked through the empty house. I couldn't bring myself to unpack the boxes, and they lurked like a forest of overgrown drab Legos.
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your olive-pitting thumbs
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My mother was Irish as Paddy's pig. So all her family. Lovely people they were. Also, seldom seen among the Folk; stone cold sober. My father's family; Bavarian German. Bavaria's the wrong side of the German tracks. Frankfort people laugh at Bavarians as people in…
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Learned & wealthy but slowly going mad
from seeing, he did the only thing he could/he turned to love
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“I won't live here,” Beth said, waving her hand to indicate the small Southern town in which they were having dinner—the most delicious fried chicken either of them had ever tasted—in a restaurant located in an antebellum mansion. She looked…
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I had no portent this would occur, /
Ne'er did I see this happening, /
Not days before, nor those coming;
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They come to mind/
like ice flowers/
on the small panes
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He was instantly on her, pulling at her nightgown
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My cats are my world and more. They are rotund, little indoor-girl cats, though, who were taken from their mother too early to learn things like hunting and properly washing their privates, and so they think the mouse is just another interesting thing to
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