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Rey de la RataMy name is Caroline Florence Donnel. On January the sixth of 1894, this year; I accompanied Dr. Franklin G. Welles to the city of Leon Hidalgo, Mexico; to assist in treatment and research on the rare and exceptional disease known as 'la muerte roja,' the red death. If you are reading this journal now, you know that the endeavor was a failure. In this journal I have left the accounts of exactly what has happened and why I and Dr. Franklin will never return. If this journal has been turned over to the authorities, I urge you not to try and take action as no evidence will ever be found.
Upon our arrival to Leon Hidalgo, I and Dr. Franklin had set up our operations out of an old mission, owned by Maria and Alejandro Lopez. We were given the run of the mission, and Maria proved to be a most generous hostess. This was surprising, as their fellow residents of the city had received us coldly. Dr. Franklin had objected to the mission, saying he could hear rats in the walls. We set to work that
HHVU: Introductions part 2II
On the other side of Somewhere, the little white clouds in the big blue sky had slowly come together into a vast, clumping grey sheet, and had enveloped and darkened the entire horizon with rain. The unpleasant stretch of weather pummeled the land with hateful little droplets and went over the submissive hills sputtering and cursing.
A stout jeep, the color of those nasty olives found in seedy salad bars, was barreling resolutely down the stricken highway. If one was on the road at that time, one might hear a steady thump of bass from a distant stereo growing nearer and nearer before being sprayed by the passing jeep as it flung itself carelessly through puddles and potholes.
If one had the presence of mind to watch the jeep as well, one would see that the driver was a woman. Lorraine Lascaux swerved slightly across the wet road as she steered with her knee, furiously attempting to light a cigarette. She crushed the empty pack in her hand and tossed it over her shoulder to the back
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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