primeval maximum fragment of a work in progress novel.

 



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Therapist - “I think you should morn the children you’re not going to have… as if that loss was measurable and as tragic as it feels.”


 Drew - “I am trying to but it’s hard since we still talk.”


Therapist - “I fall on your discernment of whether us seeing each other is too hard on you or not.”


Drew - “I don’t think I can handle a life without you…”



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Alison Josephine Mouse (she changed her last name so she would share one less thing with her father). Was looking for a choice that did not involve leaving her old man with a piece of cooling lead inside of his cranium. 


There seemed to be no way around it though… whatever he typed out the black hole of a brain he had hid away inside his skull came to pass in the world of fiction that Mrs mouse lived in.


“I understand” she was thinking “this is all a part of the hyper neurotic fiction of his identity trying a sense of self in what he is typing…”


And she was right I made all of that up. But this is as much her story as it is mine. 


This is one more tragedy happening while we all wait for the apocalypse.


This is the high cost and karmic hassle of trying to be a non combatant.   

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