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Ravens And Crows: One

Imagine, if you will, the sloooooow aggravating creak of a chamber door that swings inward upon cobwebbed hinges. Musty seldom-breathed air, thick with sediment inside a claustrophobic dungeon attic, suffocates your lungs. While the throbbing irregular rhythm of a heart being squeezed by the tense grip of dread shudders in your chest.

And what if you should venture beyond this threshold, into the vast recesses of a disturbingly abstract mind? What then?
Don’t look at me. I asked you first.
Think! What should you do? The cuckoo clock is ticking and you must decide . . . Would you hesitate, or plunge forth with delicious anticipation, mercurial abandon?
IT’S TOO LATE!!! The door has slammed. Are you locked in or out? That is the question.
Mwa-ha-ha-haaa! The sinister guffaw resonates. It wasn’t me.
And as you tremble, your kneebones knocking, your teeth chattering like castanets, you wonder what kind of mess you may or may not have gotten yourself into.
Ahhh, that is another question.
So here we are, poised on the brink of expectitude. (It’s a word! Look it up!  Okay, it wasn’t, but now it is.)
Well, have you decided? Have you made up your mind?
It seems you are closer to losing your mind. These days who can blame you? Calamities abound. Everything is topsy-turvy. Nothing is going right. Boohoo! It’s scarier out there than here.
This place is rather cozy. Snug and safe from all that bothers. You’re much better off, really you are.
Ha-ha-ha-hah! The mad strains of pipe-organ mayhem arise, echoing wall to wall, bouncing from floor to ceiling, glancing off surfaces like a pack of banshees. And as sure as you’re a figment of my imaginings, you become aware that something hideous is afoot.
Hey, you there! What are you doing in my skull? Get out! This is no invitation to trespass — it’s a snippet of gibberish I’ve decided to throw into the tome I am trying to finish, DANCE OF THE CHUPACABRAS (which should’ve been completed eons ago).
Well, all right. Since you’re here, I guess you can have a peek around. But don’t bruise my cerebellum. I’m rather touchy about that. Ignore the dust and clutter, the piles and piles of unfinished manuscripts, the stacks of novels and reference tomes. I really should reorganize a bit, but there never seems to be time.
Of course, you wouldn’t know anything about such predicaments. You’re here, which means you actually have time to spare! What does it feel like? Please tell me!
On second thought, don’t. It might be better not to know what I am missing. Please excuse the outburst. My inner therapist insists I cease existing vicariously through others.
Sure, I’m a little eccentric. Don’t sneer. Your sanity is also in question for visiting my ramblings in the first place. I must thencely assume you are so terribly awfully bored — or somewhat braindead — that you seek asylum from your everyday doldrums by embarking upon this peculiar sojourn. I suppose, then, that you have come to the right place. Here you will find the most extraordinary waste of minutes whatsoever.
I am not your average author. I tend to twist and distort every concept of “good” writing. Propriety and etiquette are what you will not encounter. Conventions and orthodox standards cannot be tolerated here!
But enough about you. Let’s talk about MEEEE. Must I be so anomalous? Do I have to be so fey? Do I need to behave with such bizarre dysfunction?
Of course, silly! This is me we’re talking about, and I am slightly not all there! Or here, rather, since we are in my head.
Before you protest that this fatuous impugnity makes no sense in the least and you could undoubtedly find some preferable way to squander your time, such as naming your dust bunnies, let me just say that you obviously came here for a reason. It was a very poor choice, I might add, a clear case of impaired reason-ing. I would stringently advise against proceeding further. If you persist, I shall not be accountable for my own mental actions — or any convoluted repercussions that befall you.
This tour has concluded. Please follow the arrows to the nearest exit.
Who left gum on my gray matter?
You think that’s funny? Perhaps I’ll stick ALL of the above in Tome One and give you NOTHING!
And so I did.
I’ve got to stop doing that.
Oops, I forgot to delete this.
If that was the end, why am I still here? Oh yes, it’s my head.
Disappointed? What did you expect? Some free horror and humor? I suppose you want me to just give away my mad scribbles, my macabre musings. There is always a price . . . even when something is priceless.
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Ravens And Crows


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Lori R. Lopez

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