• Rusty =={Part one|
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    The Adventures of Ulrikaumeko. An idiotic book title. Just as idiotic as the text itself, printed not-so-lovingly on cheap paper that looks like it was experimented on in a chemical lab. I've just read it, for English class. All my friends had read it too, deciding it was a piece of crap along with every other student there. I turn the ripped green cover to see the third page, which has the summary, copyright notices that nobody ever gives a damn to read, and the date. The date. 1821. Old. An antique that doesn't even deserve the title of antique. I like antiques a lot. In fact, I have so many rusty antiques that I placed in probably the worst positions inside my room, every single square inch covered with rusty Victorian-era machinery or yellowed, stained and cracked papers. I sleep on the couch in the living room. Now, bored to death with a book I would have been better off not knowing about, I slowly trace the grain in the waterlogged table with my index finger, studying the alien pattern, trying to figure out how the hell it would make sense to someone.
    I'm wasting my time here. I should go outside, out of this shitty room, and smell the air while it still exists. It won't be long before birds are a mythical species and we need gas masks to take a walk through a forest. A forest that shouldn't be called a forest because it wouldn't be. It would be a trash-house, something that only the cold and heartless could bear to be near. I get up, listening to the small pitter-patter of my feet on the carpet that has extra insulation to fulfill the stereotype of a 'quiet' library. Pushing the old, withered oak door open, I behold a sight that changes my life. Forever.




    {{--------==+==+==+==+[To be continueD]+==+==+==+==--------}}
    a story by h4xx0r5pr33,
    A.K.A. the Archer Monkey.