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Post by Grace on Jul 25, 2011 0:13:30 GMT -5
I hear stories a lot around here.
Sad stories.
Well, I guess they're sad. They don't sound that sad to me. But my uncles always look so sad when they tell them. To me, they're fairy tales. Stories about when you could play in the rain without having a visit from the Doc later. When the sand was green and cool. When snow didn't have the bitter after taste of death. Back before the world went crazy.
I don't believe those stories. I'm ten, not stupid. Grown ups are supposed to tell happy stories to their kids. They want to give them hope that there's something better. Fairy tales, uncle Jet calls them. But that's all they are. The world was always like this. Every kid grew up with Draculoids shooting at them, with radiation sickness, and running from Scarecrows. If they got to grow up at all. But I'd rather be here than the city. Those kids don't live at all. They've never seen the things that I've seen. The fairy tales can't be true. If the world had been that great, people would've fought so hard not to let it go. No one could be that stupid.
Plus, who's ever heard of green sand, anyways?
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