Who Can Make The Sunrise

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(Prompt: A horror story set in a candy factory and be sure to include some creepy children)

You walk along the dark corridor, the only light that isn’t from your torch filters through the factory windows. It’s not even sunlight. It’s moonlight. It took you so damn long to find the place that the sun had already started to set when you eventually got on the right road.

Crisp underfoot are wrappers from candy long abandoned, the noise reminds you of autumn leaves underfoot. That delicious crunching that brings forth warm memories of hats and scarfs, allows a feeling of safety to settle in your system amidst the dark factory. There’s a sudden noise that isn’t you, something that could easily be a child’s laughter or something else entirely. Maybe it’s just the rats, maybe it’s part of that soft music filtering through the factory. A worn out tape that’s probably been on loop since it was abandoned.

You’re only here for the documents, the investigation is well underway and you’re a damn fine detective with a gun, you’re not scared of some shitty factory no matter how creepy it tries to be. A shadow flits across your periphery and you turn ready to draw your weapon before shaking your head, relenting the need for the gun and passing it off as a rat or maybe even just your imagination. There’s the noise again, the thing that could be children’s laughter.

”Oh come on!” You roll your eyes head tilting back slightly, you’ve been so busy focusing forward, that you haven’t been covering all bases. You don’t need to you tell yourself. You hear that noise again and finally a tiny sliver of fear permeates your shell. A tiny sliver that bleeds into your brain and makes the shadows suddenly worrying, the dark a terrible threat, the rats suddenly seem the size of rottweilers.

You roll your shoulders trying to ignore the warning rushing around your system, the sudden accelerated heartbeat. This isn’t a horror movie dammit and this isn’t fiction. ”All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.” The quote echoes in your mind and you curse your mind for suddenly deciding that right now in this dark, dank, tinny silence. Save of course for that (creepy) music. In this empty, middle-of-nowhere warehouse is suddenly the place to become philosophical. You roll your shoulders again trying to physically shake away what your mind is doing.

The music is louder now and the shadow, the one that scurries across your periphery seems much, much bigger. You refuse to give in to fear though and keeping your torch steady you press on, pace unchanged.

The wrappers continue to crunch underfoot along with whatever else has gathered on this god-awful floor. The office is just up ahead, metal steps with a rail that you’re not entirely sure you want to touch.

There’s no light up there either, savour the moonlight that just seems to get thinner on the ground the closer you get. The door to the office is ajar and there’s that creepy sound again, the laughing. It’s not laughing, it can’t be. It has to be the rats, the echo’s, sound distortion due to space and the imagination. It’s not any louder or quieter in here, the music and you wonder how people worked with that all day.

The first thing you do is walk to the tape player and press the stop button. The music stops and you breathe out a sigh of relief into the silent air. The silence is actually quite calming. Slowly, ever so slowly, as you make your way to the file cabinet, the silence starts to become less comforting. You start to make more noise to fill it, your heart rate increases slightly and you can feel adrenaline start to pump in your veins sending these chills down your spine.

You need to fill the silence, need to fill the void because with no music, now you can focus on everything. Everything. Every thud, every scurry, every whisper of the wind. You start humming a familiar tune when you feel the changing of air.

You straighten up as you start to hear your pulse in your ears. Your hand is on your gun. Your breathing has dropped so quiet you don’t even know if you are breathing any more. There’s that giggle again, that high pitched child like giggle and suddenly fear floods your system and you’re caught, hung in a moment between wanting to turn around and not.

”Hi there, what’s your name?”

In Bloom

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Three days it had been, three long days since Detective Inspector George Staffordshire or ”Staffy” to the lads down at the station had hung up his coat and police badge for the weeks vacation he was being forced to take. 3 days they’d spent packing, shopping and ensuring Whiskey, the wife’s cat would be okay in the cattery. Chancer their six year old brown retriever was heading down to the rented cottage in the small village of Rushmore with them.

George had been scolded, directed and told how to drive by Maureen the whole way there. He understood, really he did. Maureen had been in a car accident a number of years ago and now panicked whenever she was in a car. It didn’t mean he didn’t want to throttle her, lovingly of course. Hen pecked and worn out George was more than ready for a pint or three in the first pub they found.

George got there eventually. After another hour of unpacking and several comments about the fact they were only going to be there for 3 days. They found The Poison Oak a proper old fashioned pub just down the road. George had gotten himself a pint of home brewed bitter and taken himself off to sit in the sunshine with Chancer, whilst Maureen chatted with the locals.

George was halfway through that first glorious pint when someone sat down opposite him. Chancer, ever the betrayer where a scratch behind the ear was concerned, greeted the stranger as though he was an old friend with a sniff and a wagging tail.

”Your wife’s telling half the village about you being wounded in the line of duty.” The man nodded to him and took a sip of the pint in his own hand. George grimaced.

”Thomas Travil or Tommy.” The man said holding out a hand that was definitely older than George’s, ”Ex-chief inspector, yep, my sister was the same. Still is actually, 67 and she’s still gushing about me like I’m still in the force. At least it’s the wife for you.” Tommy said with a smile.

”George Staffordshire.” George shook the man’s hand, his admission about the sister confirming the age difference between them.

”How long are you here for?” Tommy asked curiously before taking another swig of his beer and giving Chancer another pet. Traitor George thought looking down at the dog. It wasn’t that he was opposed to company it was just after the day he’d already had he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

”Only three days but you’d think three weeks the amount of dog tins our cottage is currently storing.” George rolled his eyes and Tommy let out a laugh.

”Don’t let Mavis here you say that, she’s after donations.” he replied nodding to the pub. Tommy played with his glass for a minute as though he was wanting to say something but wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it.

”You’re about to ask me something about work aren’t you?” George kept his eyes trained on Tommy’s fingers as he asked the question before he looked up at him expectantly.

”I know, I know you’re on holiday,” George let out a small sigh and Tommy stopped him. ”Just, I know ok, if anyone knows I know. Believe it or not I’m on holiday too.” Tommy paused and looked around him as though someone might be watching before leaning in slightly to continue. ”I’m actually pretty relieved another coppers shown up, the locals get a bit funny.” Tommy made a disgruntled face.

Now George was interested, it wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of a holiday but he really did enjoy his job. Well the paperwork was something he could definitely do without but the job itself he loved. The thrill of the chase, the intrigue of mystery and even better now he wasn’t actually on the clock.

”Go on.” George said leaning in, gripping his pint a little tighter and giving Chancer’s head a ruffle.

”I found something the other day and you’re not telling me it was wildlife that did it!” Tommy’s eyes darted from side to side again causing George’s brow to furrow.

”A body?” George asked quietly.

”Fifteen of em’ and they’re still there.” Tommy whispered, he paused for a moment and in that moment George’s eyes bulged, his pulse began to race. Fifteen dead bodies in one little village and no one had reported it, there were no mass task forces, no reporters. His eyes darted to the pub window where he could still see Maureen safe through it. Everything suddenly felt very close, the plants too near, like they were watching him. He pulled at his collar, although his mind was racing; the thrill of mystery already coursing through his system, his first priority was and always would be Maureen’s safety. No matter how intrigued he was.

”Fifteen dead cows, all together in one space.” Tommy shook his head in disbelief and the colour immediately returned to George’s face. If he’d known Tommy better he’d had clobbered the older gent around the head for scaring him. Unfortunately for George he didn’t know the bespectacled grey haired man before him, which was probably quite fortunate for Tommy.

”Rival farmer? Kids? Maybe some disease?” George suggested, easing back into the conversation and feeling his previous panic melt away.

”The weird thing isn’t that they’re dead George. The weird thing is that none of them seem to care.” Tommy said seriously prodding the table with his finger.

”It’s- ” George started but was cut off by Maureen approaching.

”I see you’re making friends.” Maureen smiled and took a seat next to her husband letting Chancer nuzzle at her leg a little and stroking him. ”Not going to introduce me?”

”Tommy this is Maureen, Maureen, Tommy.” George gestured between the two of them. ”Tommy used to be a copper.” George said and Maureen rolled her eyes at the pair of them.

”No wonder you’re talking then. Honestly George we come on holiday to get away from work!” She scolded him lightly.

”That’s my fault I’m afraid, I heard you talking about him and came out here to introduce myself.” Tommy admitted taking a swig of his pint.

”Well at least I know who to blame if he gets into trouble.” Maureen sighed but gave George’s arm a gentle squeeze shooting him a smile. After Maureen’s appearance the cows weren’t brought up again as they chatted well into the evening. They did however creep into George’s mind when he went to the shops a little later and when the creepy cottage opposite them was playing Brahms Concerto at three am full volume.

George turned over again, pillow over his head, Maureen asleep next to him and got up, whoever said the country side was quiet lied, big time. He’d have gotten more sleep in his office with the sirens blaring. George stood up and walked to the window glaring at the house opposite as though the occupant might see him and turn down the racket they were making. Maureen mumbled in her sleep and turned over just as George spotted something outside. He narrowed his eyes and then shook his head, lack of sleep was clearly doing things to him because there was no way people were moving around outside at this time. It was probably just the wind in the tree’s. George closed his eyes and went back to bed eventually drifting off.

The second day of the holiday was nice, relaxing. They didn’t do much, went for a walk, called in at the local and George didn’t hear hide nor hare from Tommy either. The mystery of the cows still played on his mind though something Maureen noticed, especially when she’d spent twenty minutes talking aliens and he hadn’t even noticed, he was too busy lost in thought.

Why, why would a farmer kill that many cows? Why would they leave them in a pile like that?

George was still pondering those questions at midnight when he heard a rapping at the window. He got up wearily rubbing his eyes and once again hearing opera blaring from the house over the road. He wasn’t so much shocked as he was annoyed to see Tommy outside the house.

”Sheep.” Tommy hissed when George opened the window and leaned out. ”It’s sheep now.” George’s brow furrowed, now he was more than curious, now he wanted to investigate. He raised a finger at Tommy telling him to wait and slipped over to the chair in the corner. George dressed quickly and pulled on his coat heading outside to meet Tommy.

George really had to question how he ended up here; crouched behind a wall, tired and grumpy on the second night of his holiday with a practical stranger.

”I’m telling you something’s off.” It was the fourth time Tommy had hissed the words at him and George was ready for giving him a kick.

”There’s nothing bloody here.” George said pushing himself up off his knees.

”Keep your voice down man!” Tommy said grabbing George’s coat and pulling him back down into the mud next to him. ”Shhh.” Tommy batted at George as he protested and before he could argue another word his attention was caught by someone approaching the sheep.

”See.” hissed Tommy as they waited with bated breath for a reappearance. The whole place seemed to have gone silent and they were all holding their breath, eyes wide and unblinking.

”What are you all doing out here!” Maureen suddenly emerged from the shadows as Tommy’s hand flew up to his chest and Maureen actually jumped herself.

”Oh bloody hell!” George grumbled shaking his head and standing up as something caught the attention of the others in the field behind him.

”George what on earth.” Maureen questioned him but George just grumbled again shaking his head and feeling foolish, this was something and nothing.

”It doesn’t matter because that’s it! I’m done! There’s nothing out here. I’m going home, if you want to play silly buggers out here.” George started to walk waving them off.

”George.” Maureen said quietly.

”No, you know what this idiot’s dragged us out here for?” George protested still walking away and Maureen called him again, hissing his name with urgency. There was a tug at his jacket that he ignored.

”No this has gone far e-bloody-nough!” George shouted as a sound that could described as metal being torn in two came from behind him and Maureen screamed a little too loudly.

”What are yo-” George cut himself of when he saw it. A woman no older than 35 who looked like she’d been made from the earth; skin more like wood, hair leaves and plants, feet planted solidly into the earth which seemed to carry her forward. Her eyes, as far as he could see, were dark and hollow and her arms were outstretched beckoning the plants forward. It took George a whole minute of wondering if he was dreaming or not before he realised he wasn’t. Her mouth opened like the gaping hole made by woodland animals in tree bark and a thick thorned branch, like some tongue from hell itself, came up out of it.

”We need to run.” George said but Tommy had started backing up, hands in the air and was muttering something about coming in peace.

”We didn’t see anything.” Maureen said almost tripping as she moved backwards.

The creature tilted it’s head at them and George had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well. ”Run you silly bastards!” Tommy shouted. George grabbed Maureen’s hand and they started to run away as the woman gave chase. George glanced back, his brow furrowing, was she? Had she gotten bigger. The earth seemed to be feeding her and a branch suddenly landed in front of them, they dodged it and continued to run until Maureen’s foot was caught on something and George was already too far away by the time he realised what had happened.

That sound of tearing metal echoed across the fields and into the night again. George realised then it was the call of whatever this creature was. George made to move forward but the thing picked Maureen up by the ankles and ignoring her cries and protests it swallowed her whole.

”George.” Tommy hissed at him. ”George.” Tommy said again urgently, dancing on the edge of the woods.

”No! NO!” George suddenly said defiantly causing the monster to stop in it’s tracks and watch him. ”I HAVE HAD ENOUGH! All Maureen wanted was a break, a little break, nothing too much to ask but all we’ve had ALL WE’VE BLOODY GOTTEN is one thing after another, if it wasn’t batshit mental Mary over the road playing opera at all hours it’s crack pot old police men telling me there’s aliens afoot. I am sick and bloody tired of this village. You, you think you can just come down here and eat my bloody wife?” George cried angrily shaking his fist.

”I know what you want George.” The high raspy voice of the creature said tilting her head at him as though she were about to seduce. ”You want a new woman, to be young again, a new chance at life.” She said. ”I can give you that George.”

”No, no I bloody don’t! I’m 54, I want my damn wife back, I want a shed and I want to be left alone!” He shouted. ”You bloody aliens think you’re going to come down here and change the earth but guess-” George was midway through speaking when suddenly there was a cry from the creature, piercing into the night, one that could only be pain and suddenly it exploded.

”Sorry love but you were taking too long.” Maureen said standing up from the ground where she’d been thrown. She smiled dusting herself off and held up a small pair of garden sheers. ”Well I didn’t know what you were doing out here.” She added answering his quizzical look.

George swallowed watching her, unsure if she should be afraid right now or just relieved, relief seemed to be the overwhelming emotion as he moved toward her and wrapped her in a tight embrace that almost cracked a rib.

”I think it’s time we were leaving don’t you?” Maureen said matter of factly looking down towards the sheep and the body bits. Tommy had gone, disappeared into the wild and despite searching for him for well over an hour they couldn’t find him. Within twenty minutes of getting back to the cottage they’d packed and bundled Chancer into the car. They left a note for Tommy not knowing if he’d ever see it then took off back home.

”Next year we’ll take a city break.” Maureen mused in the car watching the scenery go by in the car and catching something in the wing mirror. A lone Ivy leaf that appeared to be creeping towards them at the lights. Maureen blinked and shook her head, clearly she still needed a large brandy after everything that had happened.

Get a Namuh delivered to you door today!

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writingprompts:</p>
<p>writing prompt #241</p>
<p>I’m trying to track down the source for this image. Anyone know it?<br />
Update: ok, I think got the source. It’s from Us Design Studio. ” src=”<a href=http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lnz62pSOdr1qee12to1_1280.png&#8221; />

http://writingprompts.tumblr.com/post/76573939026/writingprompts-writing-prompt-241-im-trying

”We got another one!” Sarah called into the house. It would be ok if it wasn’t so damn annoying, especially when they were just left on the porch like that, for everyone to see, to steal. It wasn’t a damn newspaper it was a decent well bred human for godsake. 

”Well I didn’t order one!” Alice called back from where she sat on the sofa, deciding after a moments deliberation to get up and go inspect the package. ”There’s no more room in the cool house.” Alice sighed. ”Maybe it’s a mistake.” She said stepping out onto the porch and inspecting the label. It definitely had their name and their address on it. ”Where do you wanna put it then? I mean we could take it to a shelter or something, send it back maybe?” Alice asked putting a hand on her hip. 

”Gives us an excuse to have a bbq.” Sarah shrugged. ”Party?” 

”Party.” Alice nodded her voice breaking into a smile. ”Come on help me get it inside.” 

Most people think that for humans to start eating each other there’s gotta be some virus, some curse, that or your evil. There has to be something that means people are out of their minds when they start. That’s how the world thought it would happen if it did happen. It didn’t

Human meat started appearing on the shelves like it was cow or chicken. There was no rising of vampires, no zombies, no werewolves, no evil spirits possessing people. It just started happening. 

There was an event, something happened and all the cows and chickens and sheep got sick. Caught some disease similar to foot and mouth but more vicious. Someone said it was a political thing, that infected food had been shipped over by one country or another. Intending to send the most westernised countries into disarray. It spread like wildfire and suddenly there was a meat shortage.

Then there was a scandal; human meat was found in certain supermarket things. It was huge and yet the biggest thing, the thing that people seemed worried about was whether or not the meat was diseased. Had they eaten meat tainted with aids? HIV? Something more sinister? Cancerous maybe. The thought rippled through and overwhelmed the fact that innocent people had been murdered. For the first few years people were squeamish about it. Then politicians caught wind of the fact that this could be a way of dealing with overpopulation. Human meat started appearing on the shelves, at first it was cuts of meat, organs that kind of thing. You could go to a butcher and pick up a leg. At first they decided who died by using prisoners, paedophiles that kind of thing. A way to justify what they were doing.

Years past. All of a sudden the issue wasn’t whether the meat was diseased but where it was coming from, suddenly human meat was just like any other and people wanted to know where it was being grown. They wanted it grading for quality. It didn’t matter that cows, chickens, sheep had all started to flourish again because now, now there was a new meat on the market that people had grown a taste for.  

It took two more years before they figured they could package up a human like a chicken. People usually got a bit squeamish if the head was still on but some marketing guru decided that if they packaged it up like a chicken. People would stop seeing it as a human. Of course there were protests but overwhelmingly, the majority of people lapped it up. 

Now it’s as natural as buying a toothbrush. Get a Namuh delivered to you door today! That’s the slogan they use and the name a cheap backwards trick. Now people don’t feel guilty about what they’re eating, they don’t care any more and it wasn’t an evil that did this. It wasn’t something supernatural like humanity always feared, it was simply humanity itself. In all it’s glory. 

A rant and some thinky thoughts on Disney Women! Well sort of….

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When people talk about Disney women on a whole, it really bugs me that they seem to forget about characters like Mary Poppins and Eglantine (Bedknobs and Broomsticks) I get that it might not serve the feminist rant, or people are too busy concentrating on the princesses but these two were as much a part of my childhood as any of the princesses. Most critics of Disney women tend to focus on the princesses and how passive they are, how sexist they are (I don’t agree with a lot of this), a lot of what I’ve seen, on tumblr, various blogs, a few academic readings, focus on using the term Disney Women when they are actually only discussing the princesses. Strong women characters tend to get over looked. I just want to ramble a minute about Mary Poppins and Eglantine.

They were two strong minded individual women who lived and worked alone. Mary Poppins in particular is a fine example of strong women. Eglantine just asdfghjkl, I’m just watching Bedknobs and Broomsticks so let’s talk about her for a minute. 

She lives alone, in the country during the war and actively DOESN’T want to take the children but is forced into it. Her goal throughout the film is about getting those magic words, it’s not falling in love or finding a family, that happens on the side by accident. She genuinely isn’t interested in Mr Brown or the children for a good part of the film, perhaps with the exception of Carrie. 

They are a burden and an annoyance until they fall into the lagoon and even after that she’s still not this passive female character who needs saving. SHE FUCKING LEADS AN ARMY AGAINST THE GERMANS TO KEEP THEM OFF ENGLISH SOIL AND WINS! You aren’t telling me that’s not some epic woman right there. The children might have been forced on her at the start but then Eglantine is given choice after choice in that movie and that is ultimately what equality is about and she chooses in the end to let them stay with her. 

It pisses me off something rotten that people talk about Disney women and then miss out characters like this. Yes they’ve got a lot of shit wrong but we should appreciate the things gotten right too! 

 

 

Daily Prompt: Toy Story What was your favorite plaything as a child? Do you see any connection between your life now, and your favorite childhood toy?

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I looked at this prompt for a while, trying desperately to remember if and what my favourite childhood toy was. I’ve racked my brains, I’m only 23 it shouldn’t be that hard to remember what it was. I have to say I’ve come to a conclusion that probably sounds incredibly cheesy, but it’s also incredibly true.

My favourite childhood toy was my imagination and in a lot of ways it still is my favourite thing to play around with. Sure I had Barbies and Lego, Playstation, Nintendo, dolls and a mountain of books but nothing, nothing ever equalled, gave me the same thrill, or kept me entertained as much as the depths of my own imagination.

As far as connection goes I suppose the biggest thing is the fact that I want to be a writer, that I write everyday and constantly revisit that rich and vibrant world of my imagination in order to do so.

I know y’all don’t want to hear my whining….

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I must apologise for my absence. When I said I wanted to keep up with this blog I genuinely meant it. However it transpires that university among other things was determined to get in the way of that. 

I manage to write everyday because I’m part of a few writing communities on tumblr but original fiction has taken a back burner. Two weeks intensive film reading I was given for my dissertation, that has been a hmm semi success and my notes are due in this Monday. I’ve just had too much to do =/ 

Anyway, as soon as this is out the way I’ll try to get some of my multi-chaptered stuff up. =) 

Toilet Paper Tail

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Note: This came from a prompt. ”A young child comes out of the bathroom with toilet paper tucked into the waistband.” The name Grumble Bumpkin was also inspired by a friend of mine by the name of Ben so thanks for that Ben! 

 

”Eric buddy.” Anthony called from where he sat at the table. ”Eric, Eric woah where are you going!” Anthony said grabbing his son around the waist and reaching for the toilet paper sticking out of his waistband.

”GERROFF ME TAIL!” Eric shouted wriggling out of his dad’s grasp and taking off around the venue. What Eric’s dad was highly unaware of was the fact that whilst in the bathroom his son had undergone a wonderful transformation. No longer was he Eric Brennerman, boring school boy, no, now he was Eric Brennerman turned Monkey Boy. The incredible superhero who used his powers and gadgets to save the world. Who was he saving the world from his father would wonder? Why the evil Grumble Bumpkin of course, the wickedest witch to ever roam these planes.

”ERIC GET DOWN!” His grandma yelled.

That’s when Eric saw her, his wrinkly arch nemesis. Grumble Bumpkin, famous for her grumbling throughout the land. Her grumbles were so loud at times that they shook the very foundations of the earth. There was only one thing that Monkey Boy knew off could defeat the evil witch.

Toffee, not just any toffee but special caramel toffee that stuck her teeth together and stopped the grumbling, made her remove her greatest power; her false teeth. It would leave her weak and unable to talk at all.

Eric raced across the rocks stopping him from falling into the lava covered floor. He dodged two of Grumble Bumpkin’s guards and dived under the table out of sight. This would be his hiding place, he needed to find some toffee! Lot’s of it and quick but it was all kept over in the great town of Buffet. Where Chicken Drumstick Mountain lay and Fizzy Drink Creek ran.

He’d have avoid to the Big White Poof and the slippery floors of Dance Hallery if he wanted to get over there. He lifted up the invisibility cloak shielding him from view and peered out. There were too many enemies and not an ally insight. A gap was emerging though if he timed it right he could grasp the toffee and slide into the Caves of Buffet, crawl around the back of Djonia and leave some of this special toffee on Grumble’s desk. She would be non-the-wiser, she’d reach out for it and not realise it was going to render her powerless the rest of the evening.

Five year old Monkey Boy Eric darted out from under the table and made a run for it but he was stopped suddenly as he felt the huge arms of Gorilla Man scooping him up. Yanking on his tail until it was out of his waistband and the illusion was shattered.

”Daaaaddddd.” Eric moaned loudly.

”Come on let’s go play football on the green, can’t be much fun for you in here. Ey’ Monkey man?” Anthony said. Eric frowned for a minute, still angry about his tail but he couldn’t resist the prospect of football with the worlds greatest commentator. Eric tilted his head and looked at his dad for a minute before he replied.

”Ok then! Only if you don’t cheat this time though!” Eric said wriggling out of his fathers grasp and charging off towards the corridor. Grumple Bumpkin would have to wait until next time. 

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