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Okay people, no one liked my last enry, so Im edited it, and added some stuff, so please read it and comment on it even if it sucks!
Chapter One
Falling Darkness
I have never really had good vision, mostly in my younger absentminded years. I could never really open my eyes; I only saw the things in front of me, never really seeing the thick grotesque rising smoke from the factories, rising up like one of those ‘snake’ fire works, big, black and arousing from itself. All I saw was a nice big house, a great loving family, the smell of the bakery not to far away from our own neighborhood, and the smiling faces of friends. Then I learned of everyone’s role in this play that we we are acting out. I learned over time that some of my own friends were more the opposite. It was not actually what I saw really, it was what I heard. Whispers, not just of anyone; it was me that they were whispering about. I would see them huddle together, share there glances, and exchange talk about the strange girl that they had pretended to be friends with. They would cover their mouths suspiciously, their eyes would dart back and forth from the person who they were talking with, and the person that they were talking about. In this case, and in all others, it was me. It wouldn’t happen once and I while, it would happen many times a day, and it wouldn’t be in secret, it was out in the open. They spoke very loudly, and even though I couldn’t really hear what they said most of the time, I would distinctively hear my name being called at from a distance. I would here it, turn to them, and see them playing there little game of ‘telephone.’ It became repetitive for me, a ritual that I would go through every day. And as they assaulted on the things I was lacking, I started to believe every word that they said. “Your fat! Your ugly! Your hair looks like a rats nest!” Soon they had everyone in the school singing my masqueraded friends malicious choir’s, and that made it only worse, to have so many people agree on something made it seem only more true to me. I felt like every good feeling had been stripped from my body, torn apart and only leaving the scraps of loneliness. It was plane to see of the withdraw of friendship that they had not hidden fairly well, but for some reason, I wanted to stay with them. I still wanted to be their friends, because even though I wasn’t cared for, I was accepted, and anything was better than being alone. As I noticed this evilness filling up like water in a tub, I saw a lot of other things in at more, not so naïve, point of view. Like life in general, I saw it as a wicked enemy, and every day I would do battle with it, only to submit to its wicked cringe. Most of my friends weren’t exactly poor, but they weren’t middle class, or I wouldn’t really call it that. I recall one friend of mine, Jeremy, he was one of my best buddies in the world, but I remember a lot of people telling me things about him, mostly neighbors that were snobs of course. They would say, “Haven’t you heard Alice? The kid is poor! He has like 7 brothers and sisters! He lives in a small house that is run down and is all messy, didn’t you know that?” That made me sad, not that fact that he was poor, but the fact that some kid would make fun of another because they don’t have the same things they do. In fact, I thought it should be the other way around, that you should make fun of the wealthy for being such stuck up fancy pieces of cheese, there noises held up in the air, all high and mighty. Of course no one at my school was like that at all (we were all pretty poor), but there were still the snobbish losers, every school has them, some more than most. But then I realized that the world had a lot more problems then just one poor family, it had millions. To think that school was getting hard for me, just in elementary school. Man, I was never prepared for the next step. I remember the good old days, sleeping for nap time, getting rewards and smiles from some of the most simplest tasks from the very nice Mrs. Jones. Well duh, who wouldn’t like to get the little extra sleep, or be said that you actually did a good job when you scribbled on a piece of paper? But of course, I was still very young and my youth was in fact a happy one. That stopped about when I was in second grade. That’s when a lot of the kids refused to hold back their tongues, blurting out the most revolting offensive terms that came to mind. And it wasn’t just me who was being called these things, but of course I thought differently and still was yet to open fully to others situations. Seeing only the person in the mirror and not the whole other world outside the frame that I was setting around only me. Years went by, I made some new friends, and with some came the same amount of vile attitude and deceiving similes. But with others came a much happier out look for me, which kept me going when everything around me drained the life out of me.
As I got older, I was more rebellious and toughed skinned then happy. I saw that a lot of the kids my age were gathering together, categorizing themselves into groups. Some actually became more of a gang type, bringing pocket knifes to school, gaining up on each other and threatening each other with their fists. I didn’t really think it was a big deal at the time, I just thought that it was normal. Everything just seemed to flow together with no worries or care’s, like a burse or a cut was just a mere pebble in the flush of the flooding river. How could I know that it was a bad thing, its not like all of the teachers just jumped up and tried to punish or help someone. OH NO, NO, NO! That was never the case, no one did anything about it. Fact: the teachers did know this was going on. Fact: they said that they would give the user of the pocket knife a suspension, but rarely did it become a problem and usually it went unnoticed. Question, “did anyone get hurt?” I cant exactly say for sure, I don’t think that anyone had the guts to stab someone, I was usually told if something were to happen, like a fight. (oh how I love to be informed and know things!!!) Because sadly, the one that would to be in a fight would probably be one of my friends fighting with another, you might picture it all tough guys docking it out, but in a lot of the fights it did involve girls against guy, and in most situations the girls would always win. Which was pretty funny, and I’m glad that lasted a little while before high school when the guys would finally grow for a change. Fact: even though I never knew of any stabbings or inflictions, I do know that there was countless threats, usually a kid would pull it out and say something like, “You don’t want to mess with me,” or, “Stop screwing around!” And yes, I was actually threatened, more than once. I didn’t think much of the first experience because it was just my friend, the in famous Jeremy yet again. We both had a laugh out of it, pretending that we were going to kill each other or something, only polling the pocket knife out once at school, no one noticed. I doubt that even if anyone noticed nothing would be done, no one really cared about someone like me. But the second incident with a blade made me feel the muscles under me crawl with a fear that I had never had before; the fear of being killed. I was being annoying on purpose, just playing around with not a care in my mind. The guy that I was joking around with was Cody Schmitt, usually he would be up to a laugh, but this day he was wearing a serous expression. He scowled at me, his eyes barren with any emotion except the one that shouted out mostly to me, an anger to shut the annoying pest who was getting in his way. I saw this in his eyes, but that didn’t stop my ranting. I was being sarcastic, and I didn’t think that my sarcasm would go that far, but it did. My annoyed classmate took the weapon out of his jacket pocket swiftly and slowly saying coolly, “If you don’t shut up…” I cant really recall the rest, for I was speechless, I didn’t move, and I didn’t want to move. I just stared at the glam of the reflection of the blade, blinding me with its light. At first I felt very nervous, breaking out in a sweat almost wanting to say, “s**t dude! What the hell are you thinking? Put that away!” Then I noticed that he was wearing a smug smirk on his face, he was merely joking with me. He started to laugh, probably from the reaction of my face, so I just thought that it was best to play along with it and laugh along with him, so I did And for a while, I started to look at the incident just as that, a joke. But then I started thinking, more than I usually did about what happened that day. What if he wasn’t kidding? Even when he was kidding he could have killed me on the spot if he wanted to. I realized that my life was so delicate, that it could be altered by the slightest threat or joke. That while I was in that situation I was laughing. Laughing; can you imagine that? I’m sitting there and this guy has the pocket knife in hand and this can go either way, and I’m laughing. And its not like a nervous laugh like you would expect, its like a friendly laugh like the joking laugh when someone says. “Guess what? MONKEY BUTT!” Learning out first hand that how bad things could get for me in a blink of an eye wasn’t what I wanted though.
Laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling like its some wonderful portrait made by Picasso or something. I don’t know how long I was laying there, but I guess I was content with the fact that I wasn’t doing anything. Soon, I rolled over and stared at the phone, begging in my mind for it to call out to me and tell me that my friend wanted to talk to me. I had already called Tara, and waiting for a reply was the worst feeling. I felt like getting out of my brick hard bed to go over to her house to see what the heck was going on, but I was feeling really lazy and the haze of the day wasn’t helping either. Sundays here are always like that; they suck up all of the energy in me like a sponge to water. Even blinking seemed to of an intense task at that moment. Never the less I got up from my bed and glanced at the clock one last time, the blood bold red letters flashed out at me reading 10:15. Despite the gloom of Sunday in the house my little sister still seemed to have energy, and abundant at that. She swerved over to my room, her face glowing, making my room itself seem dull. “Don’t tell me that you just got up!” she said in her annoying voice of hers. I frowned and swished my head to flop the hair out of my face. “For your information I got up at 8:00.” I paused. “I’ve just been in here the whole time…” I said my voice fading off. This wasn’t a good thing to say because that was the perfect opportunity for her to finish my sentence with a rude comment. “Doing what?“ She said to start of her rude comeback. “You didn’t even eat breakfast, and me and mom spent a lot of time and work into making it!” She said, almost spitting at me. “That’s rude; you’ve been in here all this time and wont even come out for one second to at least see what we did for you and dad!” I held my forehead with my hand and closed my eyes, I was half asleep and I didn’t need to be yelled at by my younger sister at that moment. “That’s the thing,” I said sleepily. “I don’t care. If I did I would probably be done there and eating it, but right now I’m not hungry, so just get off my case and out of my room before you get hurt.” She smirked and held my door, swinging it back and forth playfully. “And who will be the one to hurt me?” She said pausing for a dramatic effect on me. “Don’t tell me its going to be you!” She said sarcastically at me, as if I was no threat to her at all. She started laughing as her grip on the door grew tighter, her finger nails digging into the white paint of my door. “That’s funny cause I-.” She was not able to finish that sarcastic pun because I was pissed. I ran over to the door, and with her hands still clinging to the door, I slammed it almost all the way in, if it hadn’t been for her slimy hands to be in the way I could have pulled it off no doubt. I threw back my head in evil laughter as I pushed the door even harder and further in. She squealed with pain. “Alicia! Stop it! It hurts, IT HURTS!!!” I had my revenge, also with some fun, so I stopped shoving the door in just long enough for her to retreat. I could hear her footsteps banging off into the distance, there was no doubt in my mind that she was going to rat on me. There was no point in trying to beat her to mom, she was a good runner (she runs from everything so she has a lot of practice), and she had gotten a head start. I knew that I was beat, so I sighed and walked slowly down the stairs into the kitchen. As predicted, lil sis was clung to my moms hand and was sitting next her, probably done telling her own made up version of the story. My mom sighed heavily and looked at me with her intense hazel eyes. I knew what was going to come out of her mouth, so I just sat down along with them and stared right back at her. “What happened?” My mom asked. I leaned back further in my chair, almost so much that I had to be careful to keep my balance. “Didn’t Cass tell you?” My mom looked at her and then back at me. “Yes, Casey has told me her side of the story but that’s not my question. I asked you what happened, if the stories don’t match up then one of you must be lying.” I sighed again, I didn’t want to be stressed so much on a Sunday, I just didn’t have the stamina to do anything properly. But I attempted my best to talk my way out of it, saying my story as best as I could, and trying to make me sound as innocent as possible. After my mom heard my story, she looked at the two of us like we were in court and about to be sentenced to death. “I don’t believe a word of any of it, neither of your stories sound rational. Although, It doesn’t sound like a big fuss,” she turned to Casey. “In the mean time, lets get some ice for your hands, it’s a superficial wound, you shouldn’t bug about it so much,” she said as she reached for the ice in the refrigerator. As soon as she got the ice for Casey, she spun around and stared at me. “As for you, you need to handle your anger differently, don’t hurt her, come to me and tell me about it.” I nodded, knowing that it wasn’t wise to disagree to my mother. I sat there for a while, not knowing if it was okay for me to go. My mother rolled the ice up in a wash cloth and put it on my sisters bruised hands. “You two need to get used to getting along, why do you fight so much anyways?” Me and my sis locked eyes together, seeing each others hate in the others eyes. Then we looked at our mother and gave the response that we would usually give in unison, “Its cause we’re sisters.” My mother laughed as she sat back down with us. “Then maybe I should tell you right now that one of you is adopted…” she said jokingly. Casey and I looked at each other again and commented simultaneously. “I knew it!” we said pointing at each other. Me and my sis might hate each others guts, but we’re so much alike that we can almost tell what the other is thinking. You see, me and my sis hate each other so much that our ray of hate intertwines with one an other so we can almost here what the other is thinking, or that’s what we say as an excuses. My mother got up with a smile on her face, she went over to the counter and grabbed a plate from the third row shelf. She put the dish down with a clang and scooped up some eggs with a spoon and threw it on the glass dish along with some bacon. Once she had served herself, she came over to me, then I realized that it wasn’t for her, but for me instead. “Eat up.” she said almost dropping the dish down on the table. I looked down at it, it wasn’t that I hate eggs and bacon or anything, its just that sometimes I just don’t like eating breakfast. “I’ll pass.” I said smugly as I pushed it aside. My mom frowned as she looked at me. “Sometimes Alicia, you make me want to cry.” she said putting on an adorable puppy face on, her eyes almost tearing to add up the effect on me. “Your cuteness is not compatible with my evilness.” My sister spun around in her seat and looked at me with her big bright eyes that were a beacon of hope to reassure me. “Its not poisonous this time I swear!” she said, suddenly regaining her strength from the wound that I had ‘wrongfully,’ given her. “Anything you touch has to be rotten.” I said staring back at her. “Hey!” said my mom loudly as she but into the conversation. “I made it too Alicia! Do you think that my cooking is really that bad?” Now both of them were starring at me. I looked down at the plate full of the food, I didn’t want to eat, I just wanted to get out of that house! But arguing was only going to keep me in there longer so I looked up at both of them and said. “Fork.” They both leaned in, not knowing what I really meant by ‘fork’. I waited a while for them to ask me what I meant but they were obviously waiting for me to tell them so I did. “I’m going to need a fork to eat this.” Both of them practically jumped up out of their chairs, I knew that all they wanted was for someone to taste test their food, but no one was really up to it so they kind of choose me automatically. My sister dashed to the silver wear dour and ran back with a spork. She threw it down on the table almost hitting me in the process. I laughed out loud. “You know, I really love these things, they can do anything.” “That’s cause it’s a spoon and a fork!” she said with a smile on her face. I laughed again as I looked at their smiling faces. “I really do appreciate you guys making me this, sorry if you were under the impression that I’m not.” They both nodded. “We know.” I ate it, with them breathing down my neck the whole time, but it was still a good meal. I got up, with them still watching me; and put the dirty dish in the sink. And with them still watching me, I put on my shoes and went half way out the door. I stopped in between the door frame and looked back at them. “I’m going to Tara’s house, see you soon.” And with that last note I shut the door behind me and began to walk there. I wondered where she was, she said that she would be home this day so that we could talk over the phone (we would do this often) But her absence wasn’t going to stop me from trying to get a hold of her, I was stubborn like that, and I guess that I will regret that for the rest of my life.
It was a warm summer afternoon, the wind was blowing ever so fondly, that it wasn’t a hurricane, and it wasn’t an ever changing wind either, just a pleasant wind that felt good on a warm day such as this. It was right after that flowers were in bloom, and the birds were singing there graceful songs in choir. It made me feel a lot better to get out side that Sunday morning, I felt bad that I had originally planed on staying that day inside, almost making me feel good that Tara had decided not to call me that day. The trees were shading the sidewalk and the streets, in such a way that the made and arch over the small suburb. But soon I would have to come out of that private drive into the city, for Tara lived across a very big and busy subdivision. Then it was time to approach that big subdivision. I crossed the big red stop sign, shouting out the commanding words for the cars to see. And as I did, I came into city territory. Even though I didn’t know it, that day, there was a small car, heading my way, and I was fare game for a collision. I started to walk north, the rhythm of my shoes hitting the ground echoed in my head. There wasn’t very many people walking down the side walk as there was on weekdays, after all, it was Sunday. I don’t really remember how the walk was, but I will never forget what it was like when I came to the side walk. I remember the color of the crumbled pavement as I approached it, the weeds growing from beneath it crawling through the cracks. I remember the taste of the fresh air, and I remember the rusty poll that held the shinning stop lights. I remember the Mexican restraint that we would go to at least once ever two months. I looked up at the flashing redness of the symbol of a hand, warning me to stop. And I did, I waited, and waited for the light to change. I remember the zooming of the bright cars passing me, the sound of there wheels turning and the faces through the glasses of the vehicle. I remember the bright yellow strips embedded on the street of the road jumping out at me. And as I waited, I looked up again at the sign, it had finally changed, the symbol of the walking person lit up into a blue color. I didn’t realize that I should have never crossed that street that day, I didn’t realize that I should have never set foot on that pavement that day. But I did. And as my foot stepped onto the road, it changed the entire cores of my future. It changed my destiny, and it would soon change the person who I was. One step was all it took to sink me into a deep dark hole of no return. I kept walking. Every step I took only sealed my fate.
It wasn’t until I was in the middle of the road that I heard the car coming straight for me.
I blinked awkwardly, wondering if I was only hearing the roar of an engine. I looked up as I kept walking. The headlights of the car were set up on me, blinding my vision and confusing me. It was in the middle of the day, why would a car have there headlights on? That’s what I was thinking at that time. I didn’t even notice that the beam of the headlights were closing in on me, coming closer and closer towards me. Then I saw it, the wheels of the car still turning as they crossed that white line that divided us. I didn’t try to run to get out of the way, there wasn’t a thought in my mind that the car would hit me. I was calm, a little confused of why the car kept coming closer and closer towards me, but I wasn’t worried until it came to the point were I could see the driver through the shaded glass. He looked rugged, he was wearing his short brown hair in a messed up, uncombed style, a hat was covering up most of it, worn backwards. He was wearing a white T-shirt, it was torn in places and you could see some sweat in his arm pit area. But aside from his basic appearance, the only thing that I could clearly remember about him, was his eyes. They were brown, the same as his hair, but it wasn’t the color, it was how he looked at me, or how he didn’t look at me. It seemed as if his eyes weren’t focused right, as if he wasn’t looking at the walking girl on the pavement straight in front of him. As if I was as see-through as the glass I was looking through to see him. Glass… that’s kind of what we humans are like. Some come in different colors, some are dirty, some are tall, some short, almost all contain something. If you get to know a person you’ll be able to see right through them, some are just hollow. We are all fragile, just like glass, in a moment we can stand tall, the next, just by a push, we can shatter everywhere. That’s what happened to me, I was shattered. I closed my eyes as I let the car collide into me. I toppled over, and fell to the ground. No pain, nothing. Just darkness. Suddenly I didn’t think about the pain of my body any more, or the voices around me, just the thought that I would never wake up, that the darkness would never end, unfortunately, my worst night mares where about to come true.
I awoke, my body was cold, except my hand, there was warmth coming from my hand. It was being held, I dint know who, but they had a tight grip on it. I didn’t want to open my eyes, I was to afraid of what I might find outside of the darkness of my eyelids. So I laid there. For quite I while I was wondering when I would decide to open up and see the world around me. I wondered if I was dead, I wondered where I would end up if I was died or not. I had done some bad things, but not that bad… right? It was time to unmask the truth, to find out where I really was. I opened my eyes. Nothing. There was nothing, just the same blackness of what was inside my eyelids. I sat up, I could feel the softness of a bed with my free hand, I could feel something on top of me, it was warm and soft as the mattress below me. A blanket. I squeezed un to the hand that was holding mine, I turned my head to the figure, or where I thought the figure was. I was scared, I couldn’t see anything, and I grasped the hand that was holding mine even tighter, I felt something cold on the inside of the had, something wrapped around the persons finger. A ring. This person was married… I could feel the cold object on this persons ring finger. I looked down at the hand and then back at where I thought the persons face was. “Who-” I stammered. “Who are you?” Then I heard crying. Sobs of sadness coming from this stranger that was holding my hand. “Honey.” said the sobbing voice, It was hard to understand the voices words, it was almost like the person was drowning in a sea of sadness, a sea of tears that they were crying out with all of their might. And its not like a light rain, it’s a hurricane of mixed emotions that I heard coming from this person. “I’m hear, I’m right hear!” said the now desperate sounding voice. The person held their grip even tighter to my hand, indicating that this person was there, that this person was with me. Then I a light went on in my head. I had heard this voice before… it was so familiar that it was scary. I felt so sad. I felt so sad that I couldn’t even tell from the beginning who this person was. I felt ashamed, so ashamed that I didn’t want to even speak to this person anymore, but somehow words in my head just couldn’t be held back. I wanted to cry, but the tears never came. I almost leaped forward in excitement, but the pain in my leg and arm were just to much. “Mom?” Then I felt water on my hand, It was cold, it was wet, it felt rough, almost like a sandpaper drop of water, containing something. With these mysterious trickles of water, there came a sadness that I had never felt before, it was the sadness that you couldn’t see, it was so strong that you didn’t need see it to know what was happening. it was obvious that they were tears from her. She came forward and clung onto me, hugging me with all of her might. “Honey, I was so scared that you were going to die! I was so scared that you were going to leave me!” The pain in my arm grew. I still couldn’t see anything, and I still couldn’t cry. I stroked her back gently to try to calm her down, to was very ironic sense I was the one that needed to be calmed down, not her at that moment. But I waited, I waited until her falling darkness ended, her moment of sorrow. Then I heard her breath lighten, and her grip on my loosened up. Then I remembered all of the things that I wanted to ask her, but one question was the most important thing to me at that time, and it was so important that I almost screamed it. “Mom,” I said, my voice shaken and full of worry. “What’s wrong with me? I cant see anything, I’m scared!” I griped the sleeve of her shirt harder, wanting so much to see her at that moment. There was a long pause, one of the longest times in my life, waiting for that response that would hit me even harder than that of the car that rammed into me. Then the truth came crashing down in on me. Her voice sounded as if she was walking on broken glass, every word that she managed to mutter out was painful and cut deep into her soul and mine. “Honey,” she said, her voice trailing off. Her subs subsided, she was dead serious and that made me scared. “The accident took away your sight,” her voice chocked and she began to cry again. “your blind.” I waited again, I waited for her to say something like, “but its only temporary.” The same thing that she said when I got a cast from breaking my ankle while playing soccer, or getting my braces. It would heal, I would get those things off, and I treated this situation the same way. But the answer never came. I became desperate, so desperate that I had to ask her if it was true or not. “But mom… its not going to be forever right? The doctors can fix them right? They can fix my eyes, like they fixed my teeth and my ankle… right?” There was another long pause. Then it dawned on me, I wasn’t going to get better. I wasn’t going to get through this, this was something that was going to stick with me forever, something that I would have to live with, and it was because that my mom knew these simple facts that she couldn’t bare to tell me the truth. It was to much for her to say, and I didn’t want her to tell me. I didn’t want her to be forced to say it, she knew that it would hurt me, and it was already hurting her. “Mom… You don’t have to say it.” That’s when I heard her crying again, and this time it lasted a long time, and through out that whole time, she held me close to her. And in those hours or so that she was holding me, I knew that she was sad because she was confused, that she probably wouldn’t know how to handle something like this, something like me. This thing that I have become, and would be for the rest of my life would drag me down and ensure that I would have no more independence, no more standing tall and proud, and no more sight. After a while my mouth couldn’t handle the words that it was concealing any longer, the key of confusion opened up my lock of pride and soon my mouth was full of shame, and out came these words, “Mom, that car should have killed me! That car was supposed to kill me, I’m not supposed to be here, I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve to be in your arms, ITS NOT FARE TO YOU OR ME!!!” As I blurted out those words I was clenching my fists and pushing myself away from her, because she didn’t deserve something like me, she should never have to put up with someone like me. I wanted to be independent, I didn’t want her to have to worry about me, and because of what I became that day she would have to put up with me and my disability. My mothers hands suddenly grabbed my shoulders tightly. I could feel her breathing on me, she was that close to my face, and even though I couldn’t see her eyes, I knew that she was starring me down. “Now you listen here!” she said, her voice strong, regaining its strength and volume. “For one that car didn’t hit you, a man did, a drunk man who doesn’t even know that your hurt right now because he is dead! He did this to you, god didn’t, and you most certainly didn’t intend this to happen to you! So don’t beat yourself up, and don’t curse at god or even that dead man! Because it wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t yours, it wasn’t gods, it wasn’t that drunk mans. It was an accident. And don’t let that fact get to you, because you are better than that, you a strong enough to get over this! You will still have a life and you will be normal. You are, and you will never be a burden to me! I will always love you, no matter what, so don’t say that you were supposed to die, because it hurts me inside.” Through the whole time that she was talking to me she was practically yelling and shaking my shoulders in furry. But I knew that she was only doing this to get a point through my thick head, and because she was in pain. But I was scared, I was scared that I couldn’t see her, that wouldn’t be able to see her, or anything else for that matter. I knew that I had to get over it though, I knew that I would have to get over it to get on with my life. And from that point on, I made a promise to myself- to not regret my weakness, no matter how hard it got. And to push forever forward, to try my very best. I collapsed in my mothers arms again, and hugged her with all my might. “Mom,” I said with a whisper. “Thank you for letting me know that.” My voice was still shaken, but not because I was sad, because I loved her, and knowing that she loved me back.
[Caricature_of_Intimacy] · Thu May 03, 2007 @ 12:46am · 0 Comments |
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