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Thursday, September 20, 2012
Okay, back for a while I hope. The grandbaby is not doing well. She just got home from 26 days in the hospital. She is still not doing very well. So, something new came to mind tonight, I had it all typed out and the computer froze. all that I wrote is completely gone. I am going to attempt to recreate it here and hope that it sticks this time. Standing there in the complete darkeness. Everthing is still, there is no breeze, no sound. It is complete nothingness around you. It is as if you are in some spot between life and death. The empty space, feels blank. Then a breeze comes in. You feel it as it caresses your skin. Like a million hands gently touching you as it passes by. The breeze becomes more than a feeling, it becomes sound. You hear the whispers. The garbled almost static like voices are carried around you. They are twisting and turning in some sort of spiral of communication. The sadness and desperation in it envelopes you. You can hear the pleas, on the breeze. Then as suddenly as it begins, it stops and you find yourself. You are standing there staring at the block of cement. You cannot read what it says. It is dark outside. A car passes and you follow the stream of light, begging it to highlight your surroundings so that you can see where you are. Moving forward you turn and sit on the block, the light has passed you by. This feels like it is a repeat, although you are not sure why. You see another car approaching and you hang your head, knowing that like all the other times, it will just pass you by. Then it turns sharply and comes directly for you. You stand feeling an instant of hope, you will finally know where you are. You turn and look around, anxious to have it all revealed to you. Then you look at the block, it is your name but the dates are wrong. There are gravestones all around you, with fresh graves dotting the surface all near you. This is the only one with your name on it, you can feel that without even looking. The car stops and a man gets out. He walks toward you with a flashlight and flowers in his hands. He places them on the grave, then he turns to you and asks, "How long have you been here, watching her?" This does not make sense, watching who I think. He says my name,and I do not move. He says it again, louder this time as if I cannot hear him. When I fail to answer he moves towards me and shakes me, now screaming my name. I scream and the scene changes, I am standing with the man from the dream, he is screaming for me to come out of it.I look around at the scared people at the table, they are shaking, I have scared the clients again I think as I calm myself and sit down. I look over the notes on the paper that I have created with free writing. It is not my handwriting and the messages do not make sense to me. I hate when this happens.

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