How far?
That's what it was. A sound in the rain of falling metal, rolling slowly off in the left about a foot
away. A light metallic tinkling. A strange dropped coin spinning before that lying flat sound
coins make. But this rolled. Then only the rain could b heard. Along with his panting. And a
fading. Slipping. A slipping, bending control onto itself. Normally, the only sounds on Monkey
Mountain were distant train whistles and occasional car horns. When hearing another, a
different sound, focus intensifies leaving a blank spot in the center of your thoughts, slowly
filled with recollections searching common situations while the surface forming the outside of a
perceived object, collapses. They left in the morning; it was 20 minutes later when they reached
the site. Monkey Mountain had no light at that time. During the day birds filled thin, twisted
pine trees seeking light at any cost. The forest depth at night reached beyond what most
wouldn't dare guess of. Those who did, roamed its paths without companions. They were no
different from the pines surrounding them. Only they could walk. And in that mobility, that gift
of movement often forgotten halted by a sound which shouldn't have emerged. When things
that shouldn't happen yet do, the attention enlarges through bounds and truth.
How far was it from his foot? Did it fall off the path? If it did then what? And what would you
be looking for should you even think it was that, you sought after? Madness. It was nothing,
simply a car or high pitch train whistle echoing off the trees, changed by the rain on the stones.
No. It was something. He wouldn't have dropped it had it not been. Jovan bent slowly not
wanting to lose balance, removed his left glove and touched where the sound last reached him.
Nothing. Only the wet, cold stone. The story of his life before he saw her, in that one brief
moment. That single time he met her. That moment of clarity it is often said. Yet what is really
known about such a fragment of time, unless it was taken from you? If so its knowledge and
power indeed have your commanding rights. You alone own that and not a soul may alter it.
In that flash he knew they'd only have, that briefness. Remembering the look on her face at that
last second, was looking in the mirror. Too exact with the same thoughts, same eyes, hopes and
fears, yet all would soon be taken. That moment was his. His time. It was his compensation for
he'd all the reasons to understand and all the meanings in his life summed up in one moment.
Like so many, they had their own conception of time. What both their minds processed isn't
very clear, resulted in the fact they'll go the rest of their lives knowing very little, some form of
reality intertwining a form of accursed, horrible nightmare of their own created lives.
The panting grew heavier. He could feel the warm breath on his face. He caught the faint
sounds of whimpering. Shifting the weight on his left foot, he spun around reaching further out
with the left hand. Nothing. He knew he was close to the edge of the path. Whatever made that
noise must be close, either off the past or stuck between it's cobbled stones. The chill of water
and wind on Monkey Mountain crypt over the exposed skin of his hand. He could feel the
coolness of recent deaths decay growing up, into the arm.
Thoughts of warmer spring nights with coffee rose in his mind, then quickly faded, leaving him
only with the cold and heavy breathing of a straining pant. How easy it is for animals, truly
remaining their own masters. And as we are so close to dogs what more could you have for
your own true friend. Their desire to please without reward, commitment to a bond lasted since
both brought together thousands of years hence. The panting and whining increased and the
clicking from the dogs nails on the cold stone circled him. They always walked together. The
German Shepherd only a little in front or off to the sides, never far or too near, was nervous.
'Something you've found has caught us both,' he said. The Cale tilted his head to the side,
searching for a better understanding of what was just said, while looking down urging the man's
wet hand more to the right where what he searches, lies. 'Oh come on Jesus. Are you blind, it's
right there!' thought the Cale.
Coffee, cold, wet animal fur, a mind rounding one of its bends that wouldn't happen till diapers
worn, with teeth in a glass smiling at you next to your head all the while wondering, 'How far
do people actually think?' but he always knew the answer. This whole silly mess, was all rather
boring. The Cale made it real though. Plants too. Anything really apart from people, created
surprising developments. The strain of humanity became too much causing a mind to snap.
Those usually insane weren't, while those weren't, usually were. Animals never lied, nor plants.
They could fool though. Still we adapted becoming both, liars and fools, creating our own
worlds. In seeing her, one world closed, opening another.
Happening on any given day perhaps a hundred times, we become so innate with our own-self
in that nothing really matters. And it is in this shock most have, these worlds colliding, Jovan
mastered. Able to extract from these collisions required perception, a trick most never
accomplished. And becoming this wizard-of-sorts was the very trade never expected. Why
would you? Sometimes the thinking went too well, the insanity too real. So when around Ron
their neighbor, things remained always tilted.
Ron retired at sixty-three, obtaining his wealth through a chain of hardware stored owned and
operated over forty-five years. He'd stand there, legs spread wider than the shoulders scratching
his back against the wall spouting the same ten things he always spoke about leaving Jovan
wondering whether these were the only ten points in Ron's life. Even in the rare chance of
meeting on Monkey Mountain Ron was never far from his points. Away from his store empire
but holding the scribbling's that no one could ever decipher of how to repair this or that on
paper which he always carried to remind those he ran into, as most wanted to avoid him, that he
was in charge. Ron was looking to make it all the way to the end. And no one, for any reason,
could change that. Joan contemplated on walks with Cale if Ron was truly insane. When you
talked with Ron something in him changed. And you knew if you looked too deep into that,
you'd get scared. Jovan supposed that's how Ron survived with his stores. He also supposed
Ron collided all the time, but only with himself, so in that last effort in reaching, his fingers
feeling something colder than the rain, and it was Ron he felt, as they closed around it.
Cale moved quickly licking Jovans hand. His gloved hand moved for the neck of Cale to calm
him but the dog turned quickly extremely alerted looking back where they came. Something
was there. Not far off. To get close was rare when Cale was near. The dog always vigilant, even
sleeping Cale would cry out chasing some dream, paws running in the air. When challenged
he'd stand the ground not moving until commanded or the threat was too high in which instinct
took hold. In their world the conflict was short and always extreme. Our world was the
opposite. Things simply dragged out till both parties gave up, killed each other, or had sex.
That's why the animal kingdom prevailed and Jovan enjoyed it so. There was no second
guessing. No imagination on exchange of money, or whether it would even matter. True,
animals did offer food and territory in trade, but it was done in accordance with another code
which we don't really abide with. An animal will run from battle to fight another day just as we
would. It will relinquish a carcass to one who is greater just as we would. But an animal would
not lie just as we would. Cale was not lying when is body began to shake. It was not the cold
for this weather was his true domain he reveled in. There was no greater joy sensing his
constant excitement in running through boundless scented woods. It is a constant near climax
they endure. And now what feared him approached too swiftly to be human.
How he heard her the first time. Yes I'm free to meet. On the Mountain at times caught in that
voice. 'Where's my morning kisses?' was another. Aria was very clever and highly intelligent.
Beauty with an erotic twist. An artist alongside her own gallery she was successful having
created a unique style when only twelve. Her only flaw was forgetting those very obvious
tasks. This occurred seldom but Jovan had to take note of such importance's altering in time or
reconfirming so as not taking offense for she was one you did not want to irritate. She was
straightforward, polite and if you didn't see eye-to-eye you would not be a prisoner for none
such were taken. You were simply banished in the purest of senses. He wondered if it was due
to the arts or was she born with this. Aria was good for Jovan. As he was fearful of her wrath
he often spoke openly of nearly everything going on in his mind. This at times proved to be too
much for her. Not that she didn't have time to listen but rather his somewhat undisciplined and
fragmented mind would move from topic to topic at speeds she couldn't follow, nor bare. She
spent an equal amount of time at the gallery and at home. She was excellent in finances,
established a solid income, and bank account before they meet. Why does she stayed with me
was often thought, and that's exactly the reason why, because he was such a child. Through his
eyes everything was new and fresh, had not been corrupted. In that simplicity was the honesty
she desperately needed.
Aria wasn't reluctant in meeting him. She often told him she knew exactly who he was and
what he would become. Having complete faith in her abilities her perceptions, his case was no
different. He was in fact, in destitution before they met, having so for several years. After their
initial greeting the next sentence Aria spoke, 'My God you are grey!' It was not the color of his
hair rather his complexion that of fog coming in from a cold sea. Overwork and anxiety was a
strong factor in his life. It showed quite easily, he was one never able to hide anything. It was a
wonder she thought, he survived at all.
So they moved in together, bought small trees they planted in big pots, placed in the house and
saved Shepherd from a cage where perhaps there was room enough for one dog but where
actually three were kept, while fed nothing but rotting, melted pig fat. They lived on the fifth
floor of a moderate apartment complex just at the right height where they could feed rice to
birds which during the winter would fill with a variety. It was only five minutes walk from the
main entrance of Monkey Mountain. When Ron moved next door things changed. Privacy was
gone but they adapted, and listening to his stories became a conversation event behind closed
doors. Learning after all came through many points.
Then, there was Hans. He was a big man and secretive. He and his wife Lizzy, both Jovan and
Aria found difficult to understand fully, who exactly they were. Perhaps this is the point in not
knowing, it keeps alive the enigma. Hans was much older than Lizzy, and claims his money
comes from the South. Though listening and watching him becoming more and more apparent
he was as crooked as a dog's hind leg extorting and tortured to get that wealth. He walks as if
he was in the past some form of security force. His speech in fact his entire mannerism, dictates
a complete man accustomed to getting anything he wants. His wife was no different. The
heiress of the world renowned sheepdog convention held each year for the wealthy to attend,
made her considerable sums. It could be said placing a German Shepherd and a sheepdog sideby-side,
the only comparison made being that between a shark and goldfish. From the
beginning they didn't get along. Neither Cale nor the sheepdogs would respond when they met
during a walk and both couples mutually greeted each other in passing.
One of the more unfortunate aspects of all of this Hans loved to talk. He could talk the paint off
a wall and if he thought dogs would understand he'd preach endlessly to them as well. For it
was just an inexplicable style of preaching continuing until your mind simply had to run away
taking you along. How Lizzy could stand him was beyond any form of comprehension except
that for finances. It seems both were together forming some agreement toward the extended
fostering of their own empires. And how ironic this could be for Hans stated often the brain of
a sheepdog is no larger than that of a pigeon. This may be true however pigeons are very
sensitive to their surroundings, can find their way home for the most part yet sheepdogs have
been witnessed to become completely lost in their own pen. It became clear soon after their
first meetings with Hans his hatred for these dogs, the surroundings he lives in, and his life as a
whole is a ship just wanting to sink for the sole purpose of escaping from its own captain.
Slowly you could see there were changes in him for Hans's health was deteriorating, certainly
over the past few months the shaking in his hand became more prominent. Aria and Jovan
visited their apartment only once to pick up some dog food that had been left over because
Hans's dog was killed. It was during that particular visit clearly seen as he held the big glass of
water nearly a quarter of it had spilled simply from his constant shaking. Lizzy paid no
attention. Aria and Jovan upon leaving the apartment yet waiting until entering the lift and
finally upon its dissent Jovan stated, 'What was that?'
Aria replied 'He drinks too much.'
'Coffee?' said Jovan.
'No.' replied Aria.
'Alcohol then,' boldly Jovan.
'Perhaps but I think it's something more' exclaimed Aria.
'And what of the story about his dog? He said the dog barked at someone and they kick the dog
then ran across the street and was hit by a truck, ran off into the bushes, thats when Hans
started attacking the man' Jovan asked.
'I am not sure of any of it.' Coldly stated Aria. 'And what does it really matter maybe the dog is
better off. Whatever you do be careful what you say and watch Shepherd when he's near.'
'So we have cause for alarm?' said Jovan.
'Open your eyes and see what you think,' nodding her head forward illustrating the world
around them. 'Look at this place and tell me what you see.'
'There is proof of nothing,' said Jovan shyly.
She slowed her walk and took his arm then softly whispered, 'Listen. Do not be deceived in
what you see nor feel. Do you understand?'
Jovan paused a moment, then softly spoke,'I will try.'
She smiled pulling gently on his arm and forward they continue the walk up the path away
from Hans and Lizzy's most uncomfortable apartment.
It was often the calming she had over him, that quieted those storms. His mind for the most part
splintered into many different places and times, hurling normal everyday situations far beyond
any form of understanding. Things change. Adapt and move on. Jovan knew its importance,
still the past was held in one small part of his being, which happened to escape on occasions
causing minor innocent inconveniences. There was that one time which changed many things
however, having occurred long ago, now forgotten. Everything seemed that way. Antique.
Disregarded.
Often gazing towards that time for guidance and understanding with his current and near future,
but it grew blurred. A walk might open a window looking out upon a place of stillness and
sounds both lost in the place he now lives. In this place he chose to come, rests upon wealth
and gains for the person. Why would you then choose such a place as this to exist? You could
ask for anything, anywhere, yet here he decided upon. It is a question asked many times. Most
simply looked at him scratching themselves thinking, or openly acknowledging, 'Jovan, you are
about the simplest that every walked.' No matter how he tried he always stumbled, dropped
many things in many places and they'd kept after him. Till he withdrew, and its closure he saw
something very special. Very special indeed that most seemed to have, simply over-looked.
Often spoken there isn't enough meat on this, so it won't be of any interest and why speak often
about the meaning of it all, why write, or just plain why? Why anything? It's always the same.
As long as you ask that particular question Jovan thought then you won't understand. And then
he stopped questioning. Gave it up. Stopped expecting. Demanding. Counting.
Outwardly he seemed light hearted with a twisted smile he knew looked horrible. He'd practice
in the mirror applying a simple toothless slit till a full-blow grin arose. None fit well. How
could there. Nothing would ever natural develop within Jovan, from which inside grows
features terrifying should they ever be seen. Yet when he saw her that storm did calm, that
window could be opened again.
Aria is a combination of worlds. In meeting both found a common field to explore. To walk
and lay in. To lounge about as lovers do. To be their own private devas. A great treasure, that
of privacy. The world around them grew brash and incoherent, knowing little of its structure
only that of the strong surviving, personal profit most cultivated on it. It was exhausting to go
out into this place. Upon returning they'd collapse trying to reclaim their sense of what
transpired ann taken during it's detour. Both well educated in statues for which the society they
lived functioned. They simply didn't abide by them very well. The current form of lunacy had
enacted without their consent so why should they participate? Was there a common election for
the entire goings on?
They made their lives knowing what was at stake. It mattered not should you hold any
impairment, for if you distinguished the traps, than half the path was clear. The other half up to
you and your own ventures, quests. Out right demands, should you wish. Both weren't
demanding though before seeing each other across the busy street that late afternoon, both
traveling on a particular trail of common idiocy. They were movers in their own genre capable
and most important, dependable. She was a rising star with her own art gallery, some
containing her own works, some from friends, never from those she detested. One of the
stronger features produced. She has a decisive mind which calculates in a moment what lays
beneath the surface in a person, very valuable with her line of business and social activities
including romance. Not through ambition did she build her bridges, extending far beyond the
city center, rather they came to her. She waited. Took time. And they come. Jovan was less
fortunate. Always headstrong, take action, onward. It cost him profoundly. Close to his end
they met were she then quieted and educated him.
And now this business with Hans which neither of them wanted has come into the picture of
their life more prominently. Both felt it always best keeping a distance from him, be polite but
that's all. He maintained a dominating figure in the apartment complex telling people what to
do, when to do it, and how to do, and of course why it should be done. People would get out of
the way when they saw him walking on the sidewalk. He acted as if he was the apartment
security. He was a big man well over 250 pounds and more than 6 feet tall. The only friend he
seemed to have that of his dog whom he affectionately called 'JB' after the drink, was part
malamute, part basset hound. The two seen often together always early in the morning around
seven walking at a steady pace. His wife Lizzy however was a very different sort, younger by
probably 30 years, it was obvious Hans had the money and she was in for it. But went together
they did establishing a well rehearsed show when reviewed by a seriously intellectually
impaired person, as genuine affection. The interesting note, she had money so what was she
doing with Hans?
If you met Lizzy passing on the street you would notice very little except for one extremely
distressing thing. She always dressed plainly not much makeup simply a little highlighting, and
she always had with her a sheepdog puppy. It was hard to tell if it was the same puppy that just
never seemed to grow or another since at that age is very difficult. All you knew they were
white and gray, tail was cut and you could never see their eyes for the hair that fell upon them.
Without the puppy she would look extremely boring but as soon as she had the puppy close to
her in her arms where she always carried them something about her would change. A spring
would come to her step a wider and whiter smile came upon her face. Talking with strangers
wasn't the problem the puppy simply were an outsource for communication, becoming a greater
focal point for her world. If you were to visit her at the breeding facilities she owned you would
see in her own right among the dogs, a star. Whether it is film, theater and other assorted arts
she would shine brightly above the rest in her realm surrounded by what she holds most dear.
And without that is to say what she would be? But so disquieting about Lizzy was you simply
couldn't focus, because you couldn't keep your eyes from hers. They drew you in, removed all
those protective layers we carried. Immediately you felt she could see right through all the way,
past your present life, into anything you'd had in the past, and even if you didn't believe in such
things all would swear she knew the secrets they'd locked away not wanting them ever
disturbed.
It became clear living near Hans and Lizzy took its toll. You can see the false shadows of their
play act. If she was alone you see a depressed downtrodden individual but when she was with
her animals she was queen, but from a different age. For most it would be unsettling to think
she could actually communicate with the dogs that surrounded her. Of course there is the
obvious connection that most have with animals but Lizzy seem to possess something a little
different, something a little more, intense. It had been noted on several occasions customers
saw her talking with the dogs as if they were students in a class and the dog simply got up and
walked away as if they knew exactly what she was saying and all in different directions.
Quietly and calmly they simply moved out toward their appointed quest. She simply informed
others around her its dog training, pure and simple. However the breeding facilities never
offered any formal training. And when questioned she simply smiled saying these are friends
that are always with me.
Her facilities were renowned producing high quality sheepdogs for naturally, a considerable
high price. Marketing was a fiasco as agents were constantly asking to brand her product. They
thought of having sheepdogs on towels on sweaters, table cloths, sheets, shower curtains,
dishes and bowls, cutlery, scarfs, thermoses, magnet for your refrigerator door. The list was
endless. Her reply, 'Why, when you can have real love.' It made little sense to them either. If
she'd market branded her goods they estimate she could make over 30 percent profit.
Hans, Lizzy, and Morton the groundskeeper for the apartments at times seen talking along one
of the sidewalks running throughout the apartment complex. The apartments are in block style
rising up to 18 floors with a series of seven blocks in total. Each floor consisted of 2 to 3
apartments depending upon their size and covered roughly a square mile in its entirety. Morton
was in charge of all the grounds with a workforce of three women and four men. Women
obviously did better caring for some of the plants than the men, in fact is generally stated in this
line of work, women are much better at almost everything. It's no surprise walking or driving
you see men simply standing or sitting on the corners smoking cigarettes and gambling away.
Most of the women do the heavy work, have greater care and understanding of how things
should be managed yet you will have men in positions of power with absolutely no idea what to
do. They are there only because they are connected with someone who could appoint them.
Morton was just one of these men. He knew someone, who knew someone and through that
has a very comfortable employment doing little but walking around and pointing fingers. The
three of them work very well together. If they ran for government and won everything would
be lost.
Morton liked JB in particular and it was often quoted they look similar to one another though
not loud enough so Morton would over-hear. Indeed there was a strong resemblance. Every
time they saw each other they'd roll around on the ground, and bothered Morton none the least
to be completely filthy afterwards. He was always happy to be around Hans so what did it
matter. Good buddies backslapping all the way to the bank for everyone knew Hans was
wealthy and if he associated with Morton he must be as well. One day a plan was put forward
to use high pressure water to clean off the sidewalks throughout the complex. It's not for sure
whose idea it was most likely Hans but it proved disastrous. Only after three days from the
completion of the last part of cleaning the sidewalks started to crumble, its foundation
weakened from the high pressure cleaning. No one was put to blame, no one asked questions,
as if no one seemed to care. The golden rule being however, keep silent and be invisible. There
was a complaint later from Hans concerning the fact that upon returning from one of his
vacations there was a note posted in all the elevators alerting of a planned union forming for all
occupants should they wish to state their suggestions, complaints, and concerns of the
apartment complex. He was furious at not being notified this and took several hours for him to
calm down but only after the superintendent assured him he would sit on the board committee
for the union. They'd hoped he wouldn't return from vacation during the election thus posting in
his absence. But he did, bringing significant consequences. And if you were lucky enough to
see the four, JB included, blocking the sidewalk pointing in all directions, writing their notes,
screaming into phones, you realize, they were something which should never have been
created.
'Phillips or flat head which!?' Jovan's father yelled. It wasn't he didn't love his father he was
confused by him. His father was very good with his hands and to manage affairs but couldn't
manage his family. Jovan was the youngest of four sons, there was a 13 year difference
between the first two and the last and this of course was a big surprise so when Jovan was born
this belief his father had nine months previous he thought, must be his punishment. For nine
months Jovan's father wanders aimlessly struggling with this concept asking 'Why, where, and
how the fuck?' into mirrors, doors, steering wheels, glass bottles, blank TV screen, small dogs,
and cactus for they homesteaded in the desert, just about every place he went during the
working day he would ask that question over and over, until it spilled out one night, at just that
moment, while lying in bed next to Jovan's mother that she had had enough and picked up the
pan collecting the rainwater from the broken roof and dumped it on his head, yelling all the
while 'For the love of Christ shut the hell up goddamnit!'
Had Jovan known the real weight of those words his mother spoke he would not be in the
situation he was right now for if so, things would've been much fuller of life. The fact is he
only knew those words much later and with great difficulty and true understanding there
meaning. He'd heard often his family talk about 'laying low and get the job done' but never was
it so poignant while holding Aria's hand in Hans and Lizzy's kitchen feeling her energy
tightening around his lips, keeping his heart still, listening to the three discuss summer holiday
plans, did he want to scream 'God what's that on the counter!!' but could not. Clearly there was
some horrible malformed creature twisting, deep red and black fluids with long writhed hair
trailing after, as it dragged itself slowly over the surface of their imported massive Swedish oak
wood counter. Jovan felt her hand further constrict, his mouth drying-up. The smell consumed
him. Bile climbed higher up his throat. He felt the greatest urge to vomit releasing a powerful
jet retching upon the counter, walls, floor, ceiling for no doubt the pressure building in his
stomach would certainly change the interior of this horror house they'd both entered. In a
second lunch would join this insane gruesome parade. What ever tit was, humped its way,
curling on a side then flopping forward with a sickening creep spattering fluid further around
itself. In its movements there was something within also caring a motion as if trying to escape,
pushing against a thin outer skin. It had a skeleton of thin bones struggling in motion and faint
clicking sounds came from its movements. There was no-rhythm-of-movement here that was
recognized, and the longer he looked at the abhorrence the further he felt from common
surrounding.
Blisters would form, build, then erupt upon its skin loosening a thick, creamy purple and
yellow which oozed spreading out along the body.
'Well give me the south on a winter's day anytime' barked Hans.
'Yes you do love that warmth don't you?' replied Lizzy.
'Am telling you, there's no other place worth living. Here we have inbreds can't figure their own
way across the street. There, we haven't the inbred to care about!' he squealed.
'Now dear, remember what they said…' rattled Lizzy.
Their conversation a faraway shadow related to what was happening on the counter before
them. Jovan knew they must see this, smell this for the stench was unbearable. As each blister
erupted it spouted forth a nauseating gas from hell's own sewers causing his eyes and nose to
scorch, and tasting of acid curdling in his throat. Yet beyond all this hopelessness he could feel
an energy coming from it corroding his soul.
Watching this Jovan understood nothing of the world he knew. It had abandoned him. What
moved before him was not from any dream he'd dreamt nor thought before, or curse given to
another. No language for this existed. Not born from a circumstance or period this dwelled in
places never expected, where no time was invented.
His screaming came in a rush. Not able to contain, it was thrown upon them with a force of
beauty holding still the room in a silver and maroon light. Its pitch increased instantly causing a
vibration in the light. Abruptly what crawled on the table screeched and twisted. It wanted to
escape. The vibration and light produced an immense eruption of its fluids splashing onto the
floor and over the front of their clothes. Writhing it slide along the table the skeleton stretching
to break through the skin, finally could be contained no longer. It split open and set forth along
the entire surface of the table a blackness of yellows, blood reds, dank greens, and countless
off-springs that immediately began their own slow, no-rhythm-of-movement their creator
possessed.
'I'm expecting a call and we have to go.' Calmly stated Aria.
Was there ever a time when talking ceased and thought prevails rendering the helpless their
needed hand, then now was it. In that moment between thought and speech, or lack of comes
the multitude of non-essential elements we'd always wished we never took on. Something we
bought, which now we don't need, which is broken, now laying in our way. First friends and
lost ones. Or how to get out of this one. Sex. A blank mind. Any thought will cross a mind
simply resting in the middle allowing a brief pause of our own defined sanity, that incurring
silence taking hold, sweeping us off. Saved. In this way Aria planted a thought in Jovan's mind
of being still. Laying low. In her thought he receded toward a pointless place where what he
just witnessed were no more than just shallow, distant whispers of near-forgotten childhood
nightmares.
Note: part 2 in
post no:2 bind part 2
Source : write by Lucus Anthony Ren
@mistersteem