Muddy Feet

It’s jarring to wake up in the middle of a muddy field, barefoot, three blocks from home and without the slightest idea about how I’d gotten there. Suddenly, a dark figure appeared: “It’s about time. I’ve been calling to you for the last three nights.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“My name’s Weir Legion.”

“So why are we out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Because I wanted to deliver this message in person.”

“A message?”

“You’re fucking with things you shouldn’t be fucking with.”

“Like what?”

He grinned and I woke up, back in my bed – feet caked with mud.

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Common Sense

stick and stone make fire
one for the pit, the other for the flame
choose which one wisely

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