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Remedy

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The smell of death hung heavy and pungent in the air. Sickness touched the skin and covered it in a dewy glow that in any other situation could have been attractive.

Castellan held a scented handkerchief over her nose as she walked through the village to the church.

There were many people already on the steps by the time she got there but they did not jostle for front of queue. None of them even stood within arm's reach of each other. All their eyes focused on the closed doors, Castellan's included.

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The House With The Dolls

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I would often ride past the large house on the corner of the long, windy country road. Every time I rode past it, I would glance up at the balcony at all the dolls that were in there.

One day, I had a puncture right outside the large secluded house, and I had forgotten my puncture kit.

I looked up at the black painted balcony and all the dolls. They were brightly coloured with pigtails and of various shapes and sizes. I stood there for a moment mesmerised by the dolls; there was something not quite right.

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Guess Who

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To live is to die and to die is to live; no truer words have been spoken. I, but not you, know what mask I own. Perchance, you may figure in the course of my epilogue my true face, or, you may find yourself contemplating for quite some time to follow. I will never reveal, for I play tricks, I play fools, and the conundrum you face from me, shall be nectar I will suckle on till I find more sweet fruit.
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The Dead Talk Too Much For My Taste

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I was so desperate I took a job attending funerals. It’s not as goulash as it sounds. I would open and lock up the church after the funeral. In between, the minister would officiate and comfort the family, but he couldn’t be expected to arrive a couple of hours before the funeral and stay an hour or two after. I was usually there five hours. The pay was decent enough.

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Footprints in the Sky

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We first saw the footprints on an icy February night.

Milly our black turning gray Lab was outside sniffing and pawing a fresh bootprint close to our outside cellar door.

The fact she had three legs never seemed to bother her too much, while not the most graceful or nimble canine in her old age she could still get around.

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Forged in Shadows

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Screaming was all that could be heard through the bone chilling halls of the dungeon. This was what the supposedly great nation of Hace really was. An ugly abomination lay underneath the stunning Admor Keep, and Caelin made the long journey through it, his head being battered off the stone walls by his captors. He felt pathetic, being bound in iron shackles, bruised and bloody and the Admor guard loved every last taste of his wounds; they had waited a long time for this.

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The Doll

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Hayden had gotten the doll in the mail. She didn’t know who it was from, seeing as there was no name on the box and no return address. The doll was beautiful. It stood three feet tall and had long dark brown hair. Its blue eyes looked far too real in her porcelain face. The doll's features had been made to give her a delicate and pleasant countenance.

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Unforgiven

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Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

So spoke the minister as he tossed a handful of damp soil onto the coffin in the gaping grave. Daniel had felt as if he was in a movie during the theatrical procedure of the burial.

"Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return,” he muttered to himself and then whimsically, “Rain to rain, drizzle to drizzle” in the moment of ghastly silence at the end of the Anglican ritual on this rainy day in Cardiff, South Wales. Yet, this drama was real, all too real.

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Another Day at the Office

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Andreas sighed. It was Saturday, and he hated having to go into the office on weekends.

Why now, of all times? It was his daughter's birthday. There was a party that afternoon, one where he'd be the master of ceremonies for Sally. He had to be there.

But the call had been insistent: extra work had been sent in from head office. His second in command, falling ill with a cold, had begged off sick and told Andreas that he'd have to leave soon, and then who'd be in charge?

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The Performance

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“Cut!”

The director slammed his script to the floor in disgust. This was the eighth take. The eighth time his leading actor had blown the scene.

The actor, dressed in prison fatigues, looked across the open set. It was designed to resemble a small, stark attorney – client room in a state prison.

“What’s that stupid director’s problem now?” he muttered to himself.

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