To The Stray Dogs
Thread Topic: To The Stray Dogs
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I don't want to say it
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no,no.... she cares about me. :)
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my teeth are moving and I want to cry so I'm not sleeping I'm looking for my retainer
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its not in any f my pants pockets or bags
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I love poe
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"are most of your online friends Asian?"
No, I... oh, wait... -
haaaaaaaa.......lets listen.......
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I hate feedback cuz it means I did something wrong
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yaaaaaaaaaaay perfect<333333333333333
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YAYY PERFECT ON BOTH
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yayayayaayayyayayayayayayay
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I use this to learn japanese- -
LOL WHAT IS THIIIS
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TW: Gore
Side A
A young man laid in his creaky bed, the water dripping from the ceiling into a bucket made a faint tapping sound that he paid no mind. He was thinking of a conversation that had taken place two years ago.
“Get on that train and don’t come back to San Francisco."
The young man stated to his brother, who was four years younger than him. His brother looked up at him, his saddened behavior from recent events momentarily shocked at the demand. “What..? you're sending me away?...” he asked, narrowing his eyes while something deep brewed beneath them.
“No, no, I'm not- just- listen, I'll come back for you when it's safe, okay?” The young man tried to explain, his brother was baffled to say the least. “But why? Where are you sending me to?” his confusion grew.
The young man sighed, he knew it would be rather difficult to explain why he was doing this.. “A nice family in the countryside. Reginald won’t come looking for you there.” the young man's brother furrowed his brow. He was so young it made the young man's chest hurt. “...even after… but you’re all i have left!-”
The young man pulled his brother into a tight hug, his voice shook with fear and desperation, but he tried his best to keep it hidden. “Please. I can’t lose you like I lost them-” the young man's brother shoved him away, voice shaking with rage and face twisted in hurt.
“You weren’t the only one who lost them! You’re being selfish!” The brother shouted. The young man reached out but stopped himself. “...you’re right. Which is why I have to send you away so we don’t lose each other.”
The brother looked away, the man finally placed his outstretched hand on the other's shoulder. “Please just write to me. Even if it’s to tell me how much you hate me.” His voice shook, he attempted weakly to smile. The brother glanced over his shoulder at him. And silently, picked up his briefcase.
“Fine.”
Was all he said before walking away.
Now the young man closed his eyes. He stopped receiving letters six months after his brother left, meaning he failed to protect another person he loved.
Side B
I remember it like it was yesterday. He told me to never return to san fransisco.
I was upset, of course I was, but I went. I was angry. Angry at the world for taking my sister, angry at the world for taking my parents and happiness. I was only twelve, how could I know why he was sending me away? To this day, I still don’t know. I’m still angry, and i firmly believe he was selfish.
But he didn’t really know what would happen to me there.
He requested I write him letters describing my hate for his selfishness, and so I did when i first arrived at the farmhouse he sent me too. The chores were daunting, but I was used to difficult tasks. The nights were cold, the days were hot, and the roosters crowed as the sun rose early in the morning. The wife of the farmer would do the laundry and hang the clothes on the clotheslines, me and the farmer did the landwork while she took care of the animals. They could never have children. I wasn’t ever sure how my brother had ever known these farmers.
Life passed as normal, I fired off the letters, which he never replied to. Maybe he asked for letters to give himself peace of mind? Another attribute to add to the list of selfish things he had done.
I had lived at the farm for six months. I never made much effort to form a relationship with the farmer and his wife, and I felt as if they only viewed me as a worker useful to cultivating their land for them. One day after I had successfully weeded the cornfield over many long hours, i hiked back up the large hill to the house.
“Haaa….” I panted, mounting myself up the steep mound. “Damn, you… damn it all…” I muttered as tears came to my eyes. “Why me? Why’s it got to be me?” Before I could notice, my vision blurred with tears that seeped from my eyes onto the ground.
Why did it have to be me?
I asked again and again, and when I reached the top, I heard blood curdling shrieks.
My blood ran cold. My heart skipped a beat, the world felt like it was spinning around me and like my stomach had decided to upchurn any contents it could have possibly had. My knees buckled, my legs shook, but suddenly I found myself bolting to the front door of the house. I slammed open the door in a panic, shouting out the names of the farmers.
No response came, my breath hitched as my vision focused on the sight around me. The blood that coursed through the two farmers' bodies to keep them alive was splattered everywhere like an art statement, their expressions stood petrified on their faces, forever freezing the extreme terror they had experienced and burning the image into my mind. A man wiped his mouth, he held a knife in his hand which matched the crimson on the walls and seeped through the victims necks. He had white patchy hair and a green waistcoat, and he turned around grinning.
“Well now… are you ready to come home?”
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