Assuming their journey takes place in the states, I would think their main goal would be as inland as possible. I'm no epidemiologist, but along with all of the things already listed about the flooding the population would face, I would think some new, horrible diseases would pop up. Maybe even a new Black Death. Disease and virus evolve, especially in places of long contamination.
The swamp people of the Gulf and our own Everglades would probably survive decent enough, with their air boats and all. Hell, they would probably become sort of redneck pirates *shudder*.
On a similar note, and about the sign and navigation situation, they would be very hard to trust, imo. People with less than savory intentions could place makers for unsuspecting travelers to follow, only leading them into death traps.
Does anyone else remember the part of the movie The Day After...where most of the earth freezes over...New York after it has been hit by a tsunami? In that movie, the wolves and predators in the zoo get free...they present a whole new hazard to the protagonists. What if it was the same here? The people are bad enough... but now there are also the four legged kind of predators whose natural food supply is in short supply as well....people are slower, weaker and easier to catch...now what kind of animals should those be? Certain big cats like to swim...as do bears....tigers are known to chase roebucks into the water to catch them....
The Muse leaves you in a zen cloud of well being, positive energy and creative fire. You find yourself succumbing to the overwhelming urge to write and create.......
The house didn’t creak… because the wet wood was tired. Fatboy and Rayn entered the uninviting darkness of the living room only to feel the tainted air steal their breath away.
“Black mold!! Cover your face, Rayn!” said Fatboy while removing one of the larger ziplock bags from her backpack to hand her the dry red scarf within it.
“Mmf… t-what about you, Fatboy?” questioned Rayn as her forest green eyes seem to glow in the darkness.
“I’ll be alright.” replied her elder while pulling his drenched shirt above his nose. “We gotta light a fire tonight.” The duo hugged the wall to feel out the basic shape of the room making sure not to go too deep into the home or too far from the front door.
The rain howled viciously outside as a wounded animal trapped. A thousand beads of water collided against the side of the house as a constant rhythm of perpetual knocks begging for the duo to come back outside. Although the nearing crackle of lightning made each of the two visitors jump, the brief glimpses of light were actually an aid in figuring out the room that they resided.
“What do we have left for fire and light?” enquired Fatboy as he pushed one of the couches towards the bottom of the stairs leading up to the upper bedrooms.
“Two glow sticks, a pack of matches, a roll of toilet paper, and crushed plastic. What do you want to use?” said Rayn as she unwrapped the matches without sight. Fatboy pulled out his pocket knife, removed the pillows from the top of the couch and cut deep into the folded bed built into it. He extracted almost totally dry cotton from the center then broke the wooden chairs in the kitchen to gather wood.
Rayn used her birthday knife to cut the damp couch pillows into long pieces in order to form a circle in the center of the room. She worked in between lightning flashes and finished preparing the area by breaking out two of the windows on the opposite side of the room that was receiving the brunt of the rain. It was a joy for her to do her part now that she was an eleven year old 'grown' woman and it showed by her secret little smile in the darkness each time she looked back at Fatboy struggling to get the fire lit.
The pile of cotton on the bottom of the makeshift ‘campfire’ pile didn’t light until the pack of matches was almost depleted. The cotton burned handsomely and bright on the bottom of the collected wood. The heat from it melted the crushed plastic on top causing it to drip down slowly and burn at a crawl all over the wood. This further dried the wood and eventually made it burn.
“Ta-daaa… we have a fire, Rayn!” celebrated the youth while puffing his chest out with his hands on his hips. “Cough – cough, its gonna take a while to burn this mold in the air. We have any more of the incense stuff?”
“We’re down to the last bit, Fatboy. Let me light it.” Said Rayn enthusiastically as she opened another small plastic bag and unwrapped a small cloth bag inside of it filled with frankincense and myrrh. She then lit it with a small piece of smoldering wood. The strange gummy aroma of the incense was sweet and relaxing to the duo as it cleaned the air around their area.
“We’d better take advantage of this fire to dry our clothes. Go on over there and change into your dry stuff, Rayn.”
“What about you, Fatboy?”
“Quit worryin’ about me so much. I’m gonna be alright,” the guardian paused, “I lost my backpack when we hit the truck outside. It’s probably washed away by now.”
“You can wear one of my shirts… uhm, its going to be tight, but its okay.”
Fatboy stared at his friend for a moment then burst into a gut wrenching laugh that made her join in. He grabbed his belly in the crackling light and gasped for air as he jumped up in his classic fashion to act out what he would look like in girl clothes.
“Loook at me, I’m Sandra Dee, lousy with my real-tight tee…” he singed, just before tripping on to the floor with a new series of laughter. Rayn jumped on him and they wrestled until she won. The duo then sat hypnotized by the flames while enjoying the warmth for the rest of the night.
Fatboy began to drift off to sleep first, right after throwing another piece of wood on the fire.
Rayn stayed awake long enough to use one of the last glow sticks to update her journal. The final line in her entry was a thank you to God and a remark of how good their day ended.
Last Edit: Mar 29, 2012 1:39:00 GMT -5 by blackmage
A rumbling stomach from hunger and a stiff chill reminded Fatboy that morning had crept into their makeshift living room campsite and it wanted its share of time in their lives. He reeled slowly from the smoldering wood in the center of the floor and opened his sleepy eyes just enough to notice that the room was lighter than normal.
He rose to his feet and staggered into the kitchen to grab more wood for the fire stopping at the window to peek outside.
“It’s drizzling.” He whispered.
“It’s drizzling.” He said loudly causing Rayn to stir from her sleep.
“Mmm… can I sleep a little longer, Fatboy? I’m still tired.”
Fatboy’s face beamed with a smile, “It’s gonna be a light gray-day! YES!!” He vanished into the kitchen for less than a minute and returned with wood to add to the fire. He then remembered to answer her question, “Yea, go ahead and sleep, Rayn.” But it really didn’t matter because she was already snoring while snuggled up with her backpack.
For Fatboy, this was an opportunity to check out the rest of the house. He knew they were desperate to replace the critical supplies that they had used the night before as well as he had lost when his backpack got away from him in the storm.
The kitchen yielded food that had become decayed muck over time and a few small cans of soup; with the tastiest being the ham-and-potatoes. Utensils were corroded and all of the appliances were dank within. He decided that he needed to increase his search.
Gripping his pocket knife, he eased past Rayn without disturbing her sleep and stepped over the couch at the bottom of the stairs. He ascended slowly with his knife at the ready and his nerves on edge.
“I hate this crap!” he thought to himself as he instinctively poked his bottom lip out and stumbled slightly. He reached the top to the stairs and entered the closest room. Inside, everything was decayed and damp. He could barely tell what was in the room, that was, until he saw a collection of baseball bats in the corner along with unwound dingy baseballs.
“They had a son.” He said softly while swallowing. He pulled his dry shirt up above his nose because he began to have trouble breathing with the black mold all over the ceiling and walls. He eased over to the bats and grabbed one only to feel the soft wood tear away in moist pieces. Behind the wooden ones, there was a final bat the reflected the dim gray brightness presented in the room.
“ALUMINUM.” Fatboy said as his heart jumped. “Oh… my… goodness... an aluminum bat!!” he repeated while screaming in a whisper. The bat was near perfect. The head of the bat was perfectly balanced and the weight of it was inviting. Fatboy’s hand twitched before grasping it. It felt natural to him as he inspected it closer and waved it around.
The other objects in the corner fell to the ground, but once the sound of their impact ceased… other sounds behind him did not. They were different.
His body tensed and a spike of fear drove through him. The room behind him on the far end of the shortened hallway came to life with muffled movements. Fatboy eased towards the doorway in an attempt to get back down the stairs as quietly as possible…
Terror would not allow this.
The room on the far end stared at him as a homeowner violated by a thief. The closed door to the room shuddered as the scratches and thumps upon it became louder. Suddenly the house felt angry to the youth.
Just then, the door slammed open and a flood of large bestial cats poured into the hallway with their eyes glaring in the dust light. Their whining was as feral as their appearance. Starvation was their language and death their conversation.
“Crap!” shouted the teenager instinctively, “WETCATS!!”
The beasts began to spread slowly to the sides of one-another making their pack appear larger, as if it was needed. Their hair was matted in soiled black spikes, it was sticky and smelled of rotting meat and trash. Their size was twice that of a fully grown house cat and their claws durable enough to shred flesh like a razor.
Fatboy peered down the stairs at Rayn sleeping, turned towards the pack and raised his bat. “What in the hell are you waiting for?!?”
The wetcats charged the lone youth from all directions focused on his throat and face. It was not unusual for them to take down human prey for food… but today was different.
Fatboy closed his eyes and swung his bat with all of his might ignoring the soggy crunching sounds at the end of each of his strikes. He hollered out at the top of his lungs and pushed into the pack forcing them away from the stairs. The wetcats piled on top of him scratching into his jacket and shirt searching for flesh. He slammed his body into the wall crushing the felines to his rear and continued to swing as tears flowed from his eyes and fatigue set in.
“You ain’t getting pass me!!!” He screamed out. “Rayn!!! Run for it!! Get out the house!!”
Rayn jumped up from her sleep only to catch the brief sight of Fatboy upstairs covered with wetcats falling into the bathroom shouting.
“FATBOY!!” she cried. His answer was a muffle ending with the word, ‘out’.
Rayn started to shake and scream, “FATBOY!!!” The little girl couldn’t move, but his final command forced her to go. Grabbing her backpack and charging into the front door with tears in her eyes, she burst into the drizzling rain of what would normally be a beautiful light-gray day.
She ran from the house wavering from puddle to puddle and breath to breath as her tears became one with the weather.
She would only whisper between gasps, “Fatboy.”
She was now alone.
Last Edit: Mar 30, 2012 23:12:47 GMT -5 by Michelle
Man, I really felt something with that...seriously superb. Just when I was getting comfortable, just when I thought they may see this through together, I was reminded this is a cruel world. No one is safe.
The most common question asked around a campfire was, “What were you doing when the lights went out forever?” It was the easiest way to make friends and the most inviting way to talk about memories forgotten.
Everybody had their own ideas as to why power stopped everywhere, but no one really knew. Nothing worked – no phones, no television, no cars… no internet. It wasn’t long after that the screaming started. The distrust became normal, paranoia was rampant, and everyone blamed everyone for everything.
I saw my first dead body when I was ten.
He seemed to stare at me with dry eyes. He was my neighbor. The police didn’t come and he was the first of many others. I saw people stabbed, shot, and beaten. I saw the dead piled in the backyards of my friends’ homes. Everyone kept to themselves and stayed in their homes at night.
I remember when the storms started. It wasn’t long after the lights went out but it was the day that no one speaks of. The heat, the humidity, and the gray skies provided the backdrop just before the first rain drop and the first rumble of thunder.
My father was gathering tools from the shed when the rain started… he was gone less than a minute later. My mother screamed out the window as lightning struck everywhere. Cars exploded, homes caught fire, trees shattered, and my ears bled. There were just SO many lightning bolts in the sky… they – they looked like the fingers of God playing a song on a piano with my town being the piano keys.
I remember praying. I remember asking God if he was mad. I remember talking to God to try to clear things up. I remember arguing with God because the lightning strikes would not cease, they were so loud. I remember begging to God when my mother didn’t return from the rain after going after my father.
I remember giving up on God when I realized I was alone. I hated being alone.
Rayn is alone and she needs me.
“W-K P… BO..!” “WAK… UP… BO..!!” “WAKE UP, BOY!!”
“Ugh, wh – who are you?”
“Shhh… you the only one in this house? Open your eyes… wake up!! You the only one in this house?”
“Ugh… cough-cough… no… uhh, can’t breathe. Yea. Yea, I’m the only one here.”
“Look like you killed your share of these here wetcats boy! What do they call you?”
It took a moment to regain his senses as the fifteen year old leaned against the tub filled with dead feral cats and the edge of a broken toilet. He attempted to peer at the person helping him to his feet but was stopped by the pounding headache making his poor health well known.
“I gotcha, kid. Here lean on me. What’s ya name?” The vague image asked again.
The youth vomited in a collected puddle of water and forced his way into the hallway to search downstairs with his poor vision. His strength gave out as he collapsed gasping.
Grabbing the boot of the man standing beside him, he mustered up a whispered answer to the man’s question.
It was a heavy rain. Heavier than yesterday, and heavier than the day before. The type of rain that wears you down; felt like each drop was a weight. The rain drops stung my face as the airboat sliced through the brown water. We bounced rhythmically up and down as we approached the Seminole village. Good thing too; I’m sick of seaweed.
Water brings life. In some cultures rain used to be a sign for everything positive and a harbinger for good times ahead. Rain represents something different now. I can assure you, the irony is not lost on me. Some say this is God washing away our sins from the past, washing away everything; starting anew. I have so many problems with that last sentence; I can taste the vile rise up from deep down in my stomach as I write.
Even as a park ranger, my dream had always been to be a journalist. My fiancé, Jordy thinks it is pointless now. I think it’s more important than ever. I am going to document everything I experience. But I do have other responsibilities. I come from a family of law enforcement. My parents were both park rangers, my husband a police officer, and my son was an officer in training. They are all dead. With the crack of lightning, law and society changed as we knew it. Call me naïve, but the badge still means something to me, and I will provide law and hope till my dying breath.
Native Americans have always been able to adapt, and the Seminoles are no different. For reasons I will probably never fully comprehend, they had an understanding of the climate change. While the scientists couldn’t get out of their own way, the Seminoles were preparing their villages for the New World. People mocked them when they started building houses on stilts, now those same people, if still alive, come to some of the few civilized towns left. This is going to be such a shame…
We slowed our airboat down as we approached the village and drew out our guns. Jordy, with his shotgun, and I had my favorite revolver. Good thing about being law enforcement in these times is our hearty supply of firearms and ammunition. I don’t particularly enjoy what Jordy and I do, but like I said; I will provide hope and law. For my people. Hopefully, this tribe is similar to the others: scared, low on ammo, and willing to give up some of their weaker members without too much of a fight.
The focus of this entire project is for us to create, produce, collaborate, learn, and grow.
This is NOT about having something pre-planned down to the tee and perfect. This is about us making mistakes during real time storytelling and allowing our creativity to solve the challenges.
Your title was as much of a part of your story as the components that you didn’t mention (cannabalism?). This subtle reversal in storytelling is what makes this piece of work an art form. You are allowing the reader to make assumptions based on their interpretation. This is a critical component when creating the desire for more.
"River City". That's what they used to call Louisville, Kentucky in the old days my mother once told me as we kept on the move. How ironic? I have to think as I stand here now looking down on what was once the Ohio valley. They had no idea just how prophetic that name was? Ever since the Ohio river over ran its banks the city now looks like a gigantic lake with only the tallest of buildings, those with more than 6 stories, that can still be seen poking out of the center of the lake.
The surrounding hills that once ringed the city became islands. Islands that were once covered in tents and make shift shelters that housed the refugees from the early days of the great flood, when people were trying to "wait it out".
Eventually the rain took its toll. The elderly were the first to succumb to the elements. The relentless rain caused an epidemic of pneumonia, which became the feared killer it once was. They began dying in shockingly high numbers far more quickly than any one expected.
Unable to bury the dead in the downpour and constant lightning threat, nor able to cremate them for the same reason, the dead had large stones tied to their feet as they were dropped into the deep water via a raft. No doubt the bottom of the river looked like a macabre wax museum for a time with so many upright figures standing silently there.
Mom said that Dad is down there somewhere. I can barely remember him. "Hello Dad...I'm home." Wait! There they go! They're leaving. Look at all the ships. No doubt they are going to make another raid on one of the surrounding villages. Now is my chance.
I start paddling my canoe toward the tallest building. The one with the lights. Mom said the name of the building was Norton's Hospital, but I never learned to read. That must be what those giant red lights near the top say.
Of course it's no longer a hospital anymore...Not since he took it over. "Jimbo Murphy". Such a pleasant friendly sounding name isn't it? I wonder how old he is now? Some say 80's, others 90's and some say over 100. Unheard of these days when the average age of those not so privilaged is 40 at the most. He may be the oldlest living man on earth now.
He used to run this city in its glory days. One of the Bourbon kings, he wasn't satisfied with the profits from his legit business alone. No his real money came from prostitution, and drug dealing.
When the disaster struck the hospital was evacuated with the rest of the city. Murphy knew full well that hospitals all have back up generators so he and his men moved in. Neither money nor gold had any worth any more. Canned food was the only currency. He that collected the most ruled the city.
He had rivals of course but as time progressed he won the turf war and rubbed out all of his competition. People rioted in the early days and robbed every grocery store and small convenience stores stripping their shelves of food. Why not? There was no longer any police force or laws to prevent it. There was only one law left, the law of the jungle. Survival at any cost.
Murphy knew that all of those who stole the canned food lived in the surrounding refugee villages on the new islands. He had the men and the guns. With those his raids began collecting more boats and canned food. Rumors were he took young children too. No one knows why? It's supposed for the sex trade. All payments made in canned food. With the hospital generators he has amassed a fortune in food and maintains his extravagant life style at the expense of anyone unlucky enough to cross the path of his pirate crew.
So there he sits in the lap of luxury while all around him what's left of the refugee's children, like me struggle daily to even eat. Well that ends tonight!
Oh oh! Here they come! A row boat with two men is coming toward me. Time to slip into the black rushing water of the Ohio lake. When they find the dead derelict I found and put in the canoe with me, they won't think to look beneath it. Plus it's too dark for them to see the long plastic straw I am breathing through. The only thing left of the old world is all the garbage. We do what we can with it.
There goes the derelict into the drink. It's hard to cling to the bottom of this canoe dispite the two rings I attached to it. Ok here we go. I knew they would take the canoe back with them. Any kind of boat is too valuable to let go.
I'm inside!! I can see the bright over head liight right through the water! I've never seen artificial light before. My mother used to tell me about them, but I had no idea how beautiful they are! My head is halfway out of the water now behind the canoe.
"Miller! Report!" The voice seemed to come from nowhere. Then I realized that they are talking over those little boxes they are holding...My mother used to tell me stories about such things but I thought she was making it up.
"Just a canoe Mr. Murphy. Drifting with some old dead dude in it. We brought it back with us." "Well done! Another boat for our fleet. Have the men left on the raid yet? We need more horses for our generators." "Yes Mr. Murphy. They left not long ago." "Good. Good."
Horses? What could he mean by that? Wait a minute. The other man left. I slowly take the knife out of my boot being careful not to make any splashing sound to give my self away. Then I take out one of the rocks I use in my sling shot and toss it over toward the other side of the dock. It hits with a loud bang and the guard looks toward the sound. His back is to me. I toss my throwing knife. A lifetime of hunting for food has made me a marksman. I get him right between the shoulder blades. He's dead before he hits the floor.
Quickly I hop out of the water and onto the smooth dry surface of the floor. I've never felt tile floor before. I rush to him and quickly strip off his clothes and begin to put them on, hoping I can pass for him. Most importantly I take his gun. I've never shot one of these before, but I've certainly been shot at by Murphy's pirates during their regular raids.
It was one of those raids that took my mother's life three years ago. I got home to our teepee just in time to see her trying to run from the pirates. They cut her down like an animal and seeing we owned nothing of value they burned our make shift home. They didn't see me, but I saw them and vowed to one day take there lives in turn.
I shove the dead pirate into the rushing water and head for the nearest door. There are strange red letters above this door but I can't read what it says. Slowly I open it and see a staircase. I begin to climb.
I climb and climb and just before I get to the top the door opens and two more pirates emerge. They see me two flights below.
"Miller! Get up here! The boss has been calling you? Your radio dead?" I say nothing, just nod, hoping my hat will disguise my face. They go back inside.
I make it to their floor and open the door a crack that I just saw them coming out of. I can't believe my eyes as I look inside. It's a large room filled with bicycles? With kids peddling them but they are bolted to the floor? What is going on?
Just then one of the bigger boys stops peddling. One of the pirates shouts at him and points his gun at him.
"Keep peddling punk! You know what happens it you don't!" "NO! Everyone stop peddling! They don't dare kill all of us. Everyone st..."
He doesn't get to finish his sentence as the loud crack of the thugs pistol goes off shooting the boy right between they eyes!
"Anyone else want to stop peddling?" He shouts at the kids. Some of them can barely reach the peddles. Seeing enough I leap into the room my gun drawn and squeezing the trigger I shoot both of the pirates in the back!
"You're free! All of you follow me! You two bigger boys, take their guns!" I shout. "What is your name?" One young girl asks me. "I'm the Red Cross and I'm here to rescue you."
I remembered my mother telling me about someone she called the Red Cross helping us when I was little, so I took his name, whoever he was.
"My name is Roy! I know where old man Murphy is?" "Before we leave could you tell me why they were making you all peddle those strange bicycles?" I had to ask.
"The machines they use to make their power are hooked up to these bikes. They used to run on some kind of fuel but they ran out a long time ago. So they began kidnapping us on their raids to make us peddle non stop for them. Whoever gave out first got shot. They're holding many others somewhere in this building as replacements."
"Show me where Murphy is?" I say and together we all leave. We met suprisingly little resistance since most of his men were gone on the raids. That was what I hoped for when I was waiting and watching the building from the banks.
It didn't take us long to find the prisoners. We killed the only guard and freed them. Then we all paid a visit to old man Murphy. I'll never forget the look of sheer terror on his face as the swarms of kids mobbed him. They tied a long cord to his neck and carried him to the window and tossed him out. His body will be the first thing the pirates see when they return. That and the flames of this building.
Luckily they had more boats then men to sail them. We raided the kitchen and storage rooms and formed an assembly line on the stair case. In less than two hours we had removed every can of food and set the building ablaze. We watched it burn as we rowed away in our boats.
We'll take the food to the surrounding villages. Don't worry everyone, the Red Cross is on the way.
Last Edit: Apr 10, 2012 20:24:28 GMT -5 by John Reid
Knighthood that was AWESOME! You just provided Rayns world with the seeds of a legend. Even in worlds such as this, rumor spreads like wildfire. The gossip train will spread the word of hero's like RedCross and of people driven to desperation like those in SteveB's chapter.
The Muse leaves you in a zen cloud of well being, positive energy and creative fire. You find yourself succumbing to the overwhelming urge to write and create.......
Glad you liked it. I figured in a world with no police, no military or National Guard, real life superheroes would emerge as a force for justice for the people. It's just the way my mind thinks naturally.
Omen: Get in line, I have been working like crazy also. I have two major projects I have to finish and hopefully everything slows down. Haven't had time to log into the board... I actually miss it. It feels good popping my head in to see what's going on.
Aug 3, 2017 11:16:19 GMT -5
The Muse: time to get stories rolling again!!!
Aug 3, 2017 16:15:48 GMT -5
The Muse: *POKES OMEN...wanders off looking for Redmage and Magister while mumbling to self.."Now where did knighthood get to....?"
Aug 3, 2017 16:24:51 GMT -5
The Muse: Wednesday!!! Yay! Halfway back to F R Y D A Y!
Aug 9, 2017 14:29:33 GMT -5
Magister: Ive been lame, but ill be making it a point to be on this forum daily! We will rise it from the ground I've let it rest on for too long, to the skies of everlasting geekdom!
Aug 10, 2017 17:11:23 GMT -5
The Muse: woooo hooooo!!! Geekdom rising!!
Aug 11, 2017 21:08:09 GMT -5
The Muse: Woohoo hoooooo! Friday!!!
Aug 18, 2017 11:18:58 GMT -5
The Muse: Gearing up to deal with Hurricane Irma....scratch that...packing to leave town!
Sept 5, 2017 22:45:14 GMT -5
The Muse: Survived the hurricane...as did Omen, Redmage and Magister although they dont have internet yet. How did everyone else in the southeast fare?
Sept 15, 2017 16:10:18 GMT -5
g40t90yes: Good Morning. Now I am no political activist, but with is going on in today's activist world, I have a question. Last Sunday Vice President Pence walked out of a Colts Football game because the Players took a knee. I would like to read your View about this
Oct 11, 2017 7:50:37 GMT -5
g40t90yes: Continue. Now The NFL Owners (Jones-Cowboys, Ross-Dolphins) are going to demand their players stand for the Anthem. Again just thinking out loud. Couple of weeks ago Owners (Jones) knelt with players. Now you are pulling back. Why??
Oct 11, 2017 7:54:40 GMT -5
g40t90yes: One more thing. Some people view The NFL Draft and NBA Draft as a modern day or fashionable auction block for black young men. Thoughts!!! Please.
Oct 11, 2017 8:04:49 GMT -5
The Muse: Im sure there are going to be a lot of thoughts on this...why not start a thread on the topic under the "chat" board. It will be easier for everyone to read and comment on it there. This shoutbox is kinda cumbersome to have to scroll through to read stuff.
Oct 11, 2017 17:15:26 GMT -5
The Muse: Where does the time go?
Nov 7, 2017 9:26:16 GMT -5
Omen: I don't know... some say time goes around in circles - for me, its just a dreary long squiggly line, in some places in its a smile, in others... its not.
Nov 8, 2017 0:02:19 GMT -5
The Muse: Sunday's are for cooking.... Let's do this!!
Nov 26, 2017 13:45:55 GMT -5
The Muse: Monday....yay
Dec 4, 2017 11:47:42 GMT -5
The Muse: IT'S s Friday!! Staring in the face of almost two weeks of down time. This is WAY overdue. 😛
Dec 22, 2017 11:12:47 GMT -5
dakoolah: Happy New Year!!
Jan 1, 2018 17:38:08 GMT -5