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The lake’s gentle ripple splashed the cold pebbles and cobbles. No two stones were alike; each was stout and, moreover, unique in both form and colour. According to Bluewood’s original inhabitants, the rocks were timeless bulwarks for lives that had been lived and lost.
As the librarian—a studious woman from a romantic land—looked over the inhospitable beach, and she shivered for its wintry sorrow. The hopes and dreams of the dead crept into her heart like the chill crept into her toes. Surely, she thought, this place was as somber a repository for human sentiment as any of her people’s cemeteries.
She looked up from the misty water. Something was creeping in the blackness between the conifer trunks on the far side of the lake. “It’s them,†she mouthed to herself, clutching her bundle of books like an anchor on the ocean.
As she wandered and wobbled across the stony shore, she wondered, would her excitement be sealed in stone one day. If so, she hoped her soul would become an agate. Maybe a little girl or boy would find her lingering foothold in the material world, and carry it home, cherished, in a jacket pocket.
She imagined, as she continued to navigate the edge of the lake towards her friends on the far side, that maybe her eternal agate would be sat… in a little box of memories. What an honour, she thought, to be held precious alongside hopeless love letters and postcards from Italy or Spain.
“Gosh!†she exclaimed, as she twisted her ankle on an irregular cobble. “Am I really in such a rush to die?â€
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“Well, she was an American girl…†Tom Petty was playing the background. “...raised on promises.â€
The kids’ brains were straining to grab the truth that was just beyond their comprehension. The human burden was the knowledge that there’s something on the top shelf, but you’ll never be tall it enough to reach it.
“Things aren’t just the things they are. Come to think of it, for every irrefutably measurable molecule making up an object, there are a billion more thoughts in the heads of people concerning the molecule or molecules or WHATEVER. So, what’s really real?â€
Hmpf. Came the reply. “I kinda just wanted to play some video games.â€
“I guess you’re right, man,†he said grabbing a crusty DS4 controller. “Fuck it,†he said nihilistically, “let’s play some fucking FIFA.â€
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Meanwhile, in another alternate universe…
“You know, shipping it from Tonga is kinda gross. It’s kinda decadent. It’s kinda obscene.â€
Our hero was, of course, talking about the drink of the aesthetic generation—Tonga Water. Bottled in Tonga and then shipped, at great cost to the environment, to the United Colonies of Ameriga.
“But,†whined the hero’s companion, “I really like the bottle.†The companion leaned close, whispering directly into the ear canal, “it’s just my tap water, I re-filled an old bottle.†As the companion pulled away, he winked. “Fake it till you make it.â€
The hero scoffed. “So, when you make it,†he hushed back, “you’re going to buy endless supplies of Tonga Water?†Obliged by his status as a hero, he just had to disapprove. But, the truth was, like the rest of the aesthetic generation, nihilism had him by the toe.
“Look, forget it,†snapped the under fire sidekick.
“You’re right. We’ve got some fellas to take care of before they pull the rug out from under the UCA position.â€
Sure, their universe had fancy commodities like Tonga Water, but a shadow war was being waged in the ancient transcontinental train tunnels.
The tunnels had become a vaguely humanitarian solution to warring states. Nations could test their military might underground. Thereby, resolving any territorial disputes without damaging the overworld (or incurring civilian casualties). The latter was spin, the former was the true objective.
The 23rd Century’s infrastructure was super duper valuable, you see.
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Name of Thread: Amputation & Them Cool Sakura Gelly Roll Pens
Name of Participant: Gum do Mugu
Number of posts: 13
Rewards:
Gum do Mugu receives:
1690 EXP
170 Gold
all rewards have been added.