* there is a thorn through my plam and I notice it as I walk thru the woods. a larg thorn, like a stake. blood drips from the tip if the thorn leaving a trail of crimson in my wake. a gnarled man stumbles behind me about 20 paces or rahter he crawls on all fours. like a dog. he licks the ground where my blood has landed. he looks up and at my back and his eye's are milky. no pupil, no life, no soul. his lips are stained red with my life and he grins, he knows.*
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