I think its time to say a little something else about some things that have turned up in the electronic ether here on Mental Vomit. They are two short stories hand-crafted by the Gods and transmitted via my fingers.
The first is okay. The second is terrible.
Do not judge them as you haven't the capacity to tangle with my genius.
There is no news from Melinda, just the gentle rustle of decaying leaves.
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