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telepathy 2
hello.
here's a short that never thought it'd be pasted over here. i had previously posted a similar thread called Telepathy short. this is basically what follows it.
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Sweat. Drench myself next time I fridge my fear and chair my senses away from this sympathetic mind. Theory beckons my mental capabilities to watch over a sudden storm that sheds it's mark and tears all over this pale purist. Inconvenient sermons amounts up to nothing bigger than a climb up the everest of doubts. I sheltered myself from understanding. Why did I bother clapping to the inattentive crowd? Then it happened once again, as I watched through my window, boarded up beyond the horizon, the scope of a fresh ward mimics my insensitive thoughts, hurried behind horrid imaginations, spasms scratching at my door. Had I been reckless of my suggestive worry? When have I ever laid trust on my gut?
My room is coffee. How vindictive.
I'm running low on ideas. Where am I expecting my rush to come from? Have I not inflicted much damage already? Wrapped the sun and caused the shadow, blinds a casual vanishing astonishment? I'm scampering. What becomes and how do I mutate a question to an answer although I'm sure there's no need to mend an unsolved riddle. Heavy. Just heavy.
"Breathe," I said.
Sending pulses back again, a cringing leg, a branch the overhead a sheltered son from a rainy day, to the kitchen, I made my way. As I opened my refrigerator, I realized I've not stocked up food to last me the next several weeks of my self-imprisonment. I should not have poisoned myself. I had neatly arranged ice-cubes in my glass from a previous day and that glass, the glass, the same glass, I filled it up with a dark cola. As it settled itself, I too, embarrassingly, made a subtle reflection of it and settled down on a sofa. How clever. Self-appraisal. That's how I lost everyone. Why couldn't they have just read my mind and realized I meant well. Odd.
My cup is precipitating and the droplets form minimalist beats of a tribal prayer, the imposing duties of the superiors to ensure the safety of their tribe. I begin to worry. Judging the distance between me and the effects of everything else, I decided to casually slip a sip to sense a fresh a rye. -. ,. y. Fuck.
I looked down on my cola, the bubbles that formed stars at the bottom of the glass, and witness space that was painted shot up my cerebral branches. I shotgun out of the sofa, drove a violent swing to my toolbox, snatch a hammer, driving a nail right through my skull.
I'm so happy Me.
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thanks for reading.
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how insensitive.
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