For Only

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If Anything At All “Such a penetrative stare could not belong to a mere mortal. Some of us live very long lives and we are still subject to surprises up until the very hour of our demise. Those eyes however, they had been hardened by things of another world.” The sound of overwhelming silence came pouring out of the audience. His words had moved them with astounding effect; however, if anything was hardened by things of another world, it would have been the expression on the face of the Chief Officer Edward Norris of the district police as he gave those final words. Sleep had not seen his eyes since we left the hospital, and that was three days ago. Still, he delivered our speech without hindrance. Never has a monotone produced such an uncanny dance with our various distractors. The coffee stains, the unkempt whiskers, the usual talking points for those of more opulent taste were as obvious as the absent thought. The speech had ended the way it began, in silence, the crowd awaiting the signal from the chief. “That is all we have at this point,” The chief said as his head finally turned away and he began to move from the podium. His final words “Thank you”. The crowd erupted. Everyone had a question for someone. Hands, voices and cameras filled the air as I watched from my shadow of a seat in the back. The old ceiling fans of the church hall only appeared every once in a while from behind the chaos. They seemed only to remind me of a persistent inconsistency in a world of the opposite kind. It was time for me to leave. I made my way from the familiar plastic chairs of the local church hall, to the brand new oak doors which I heard had only been installed a week prior to this impromptu meeting. She too carried her scars and misera... ... middle of paper ... ...ircase’. The second storey was in need of a lot more work. The walls were blank, the floors were bare and atmosphere was a dry one. Before entering the bedroom the Constable and I looked at each other, and then we both looked at Miss Sheffield. “Open the door,” she asserted. The door was slowly creaked open and the devil was left to play with the mind. “Oh my God,” she gasped, “was that written with…” “Blood? Yes,” I believed in an imagination which had similar properties to that of most plastic. You could stretch and distort the mind as you forced new ideas into the mind, but there is no way to reset the mind. With each increasingly shocking image, the threshold was only going to be offset by some degree of personal displeasure. The only true danger resided in not having the ability to stretch and meet the requirements of what was standing before our very eyes.
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