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Lackadaisical, et al.

She cringes at the sight of black ants, rowdy while devouring a lifeless flesh of their next of kin. Instead, she forces herself to look at the mirror and her eyes radiomatically wanders amidst the flaws and flecks of her face. Her forehead is wide; her cheekbones are not that prominent. Not a trace of divinity: she is even plainer than Jane. She continually wonders, at the same time wanders, why, of all adjectives, sophisticated is bound to be her middle name.

Wearing only panties, she scribbles innumerable phrases, phrases which when she says aloud, the loose connection in between her words create a more intricate and sullen weave of imagination and emotion. As usual, her mind is in erratum and eventually, no one could convey what she really means but: "Come her way, come what may!"

She writes about her thoughts but she almost never speaks about them. Her mind is in a constant battle. Like when a catlady decides which deathly color should her curtains be: violet or mauve. Even with the most gruesome things, she is easily fascinated. Every word is a dreamy grim. And every punctuation is a grimy dream.

Sentences with incomplete thought -
Stories with alternate endings -

Next parchment, please.

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Eяin Heяoin

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Lackadaisical, et al.

She cringes at the sight of black ants, rowdy while devouring a lifeless flesh of their next of kin. Instead, she forces herself to look at the mirror and her eyes radiomatically wanders amidst the flaws and flecks of her face. Her forehead is wide; her cheekbones are not that prominent. Not a trace of divinity: she is even plainer than Jane. She continually wonders, at the same time wanders, why, of all adjectives, sophisticated is bound to be her middle name.

Wearing only panties, she scribbles innumerable phrases, phrases which when she says aloud, the loose connection in between her words create a more intricate and sullen weave of imagination and emotion. As usual, her mind is in erratum and eventually, no one could convey what she really means but: "Come her way, come what may!"

She writes about her thoughts but she almost never speaks about them. Her mind is in a constant battle. Like when a catlady decides which deathly color should her curtains be: violet or mauve. Even with the most gruesome things, she is easily fascinated. Every word is a dreamy grim. And every punctuation is a grimy dream.

Sentences with incomplete thought -
Stories with alternate endings -

Next parchment, please.

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