207 lines
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HTML
207 lines
12 KiB
HTML
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<title>The Homestuck Epilogues: Prologue - Chapter 1</title>
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<body>
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<div id='s2'></div>
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<div>
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<h1>Chapter 1</h1>
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<div class="o-story_text o_epilogue type-rg type-sm line-caption line-copy pad-x-0 pad-x-lg pad-b-lg">
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<p class="no-indent"><span class="opener type-hs-opener-rg type-hs-opener-sm">I</span>t starts
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with a crack. Everything else rises up from that like steam: a
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trembling thread that cuts through space in jagged lines,
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splintering the void into razor-sharp shards of putrefying leptons
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and quarks popping apart like raw eggs in a microwave. It’s coming
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undone at a subatomic level, from the bottom up, from the inside
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out. From the top down it looks like the eye of a storm—a black
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hole so supermassive that it spans the width of eternity. It turns
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infinity into something as thin and fragile as cellophane; shreds
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it of its dimensions, a piece of paper pinched together at either
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end, a hole poked through it.</p>
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<p>At the center of that hole the edges can be heard fraying.
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Pandemonium, as continuity buckles in the middle and the two ends
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come smashing together. Around the hole, ghosts scream. They claw
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at the dying borders of their dreams with fingernail-chipping
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desperation. They whip together like the wind, trailing the
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mutilated streaks of their hypothetical futures with them. It’s a
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multifractal neon cyclone of primordial conclusion. A churning
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blender of hyperfinal, catastrophically terminal, overwhelmingly
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permanent double-death. The screaming distorts and plunges low as
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it gets closer to the cavity.</p>
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<p>At the center, that distortion turns into an eerie music. That’s
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where the cacophony ends—the shattering, the screaming, the
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squelching, the sounds of elemental particles being torn apart like
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string cheese shoved through a meat grinder, then dumped down a
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strangely melodious garbage disposal. It all returns to the same
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tonic dominant, matching pitch and tone, ironing out the rebellious
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flats and sharps until the discordance becomes exquisite. A
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subharmonic symphony that can only be heard in the bones. At the
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<em>dead center</em> of the event, it is extremely quiet. A silence
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made of all the suffering that limitless sempiternity can hold,
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bleeding together until the prism turns to obsidian. It’s too vast
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to comprehend, too black to behold without closing your eyes.
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Retreating to the back of your own eyelids is to seek the comfort
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of a familiar darkness. It is to reject an absolute tenebrosity so
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perfectly alien, it threatens to rip the humanity right through
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your eye sockets.</p>
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<p>This is the end of everything. This is the end of Paradox Space.
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You...</p>
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<p class="Command">> Wake up.</p>
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<p class="no-indent">Your name is John Egbert, and you have just
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had a terrible, deeply pretentious nightmare. You snap out of bed,
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soaked in sweat, your heart hammering like a fire alarm. It is just
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as you feared.</p>
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<p>You’ve been dreaming in anime again. And you have no idea what
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it could mean.</p>
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<p class="Command">> Look outside just to make absolutely sure
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the world is not ending.</p>
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<p>The sun is coming in through your window in bars of soft yellow.
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The only sound you can hear for miles is the wind skimming the
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hollows of your neighbors’ pipe homes. It’s a normal day in the
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salamander village, which you refer to as Salamander Village
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because the damned salamanders never bothered to give this village
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a name, you guess. Absolutely nothing of note has ever happened
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here in the entire history of the planet, which you would know,
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because you created it.</p>
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<p>Beside your pillow, your phone is vibrating. Rose is calling.
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The screen of your phone reads 9:30 a.m. April 13, and also the
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number forty-six, which is how many text messages your friend left
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you while you were sleeping. A bit excessive, even for her.</p>
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<p class="Command">> Answer the phone.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Since when are you known to operate your
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telephone?</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: since... i don’t know. has it really been
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that long since i called?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I can’t remember the last time.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: neither can i. anyway, what’s up?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: First of all, happy birthday.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: oh, yeah. thanks.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: fuck, i forgot.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Am I correct in presuming this April
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Thirteenth will be as uneventful as the last?</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: yeah, i don’t want to do anything this year.
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i hope that’s ok.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Of course it’s ok. It’s your birthday after
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all.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: rose...</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Yes?</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">You wander to the window and watch the
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salamanders go about their day. All over the neighborhood, the
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little dad-salamanders are putting on their little rumpled hats and
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picking up their little suitcases and kissing their little families
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goodbye for the day. You’ve always been confused about what,
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exactly, they contribute to the global economy. But it’s pretty
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cute how much they love playing at being suburban businessmen.</p>
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<p class="no-indent">The silence over the phone is growing awkward.
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You’ve stalled long enough. You decide to just come out and say
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it.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="john">JOHN: i’ve been dreaming in anime again lately.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: i have no idea what it could mean.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I see.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: it’s horrible, every time.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: and i don’t mean because anime is bad or
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anything. it’s not that.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: whenever i have these dreams, everything’s
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breaking apart.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: millions of people are screaming and
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dying.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: i mean, dying permanently. not the kind of
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bullshit dying that we’ve been doing a lot over the years.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">A couple yards over, a salamander blows an
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astounding spit bubble. Truly one for the books. Your eyes trace
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its meandering journey into the sky as you gather your
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thoughts.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="john">JOHN: what do you think it all means?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: What do I think ‘what’ means?</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: what do you think it means that i’ve been
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dreaming in anime?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I don’t have the slightest idea what it means
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that you’ve been dreaming in anime, John.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: To be honest, I...</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">You wait for Rose to finish her thought. She
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doesn’t, which is troubling because you have never known Rose to
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leave a thought unfinished in over ten years of acquaintance. You
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suppose it’s possible it may have happened one of the times she
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died. You wouldn’t bet on it though.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="john">JOHN: rose... are you ok?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Not exactly.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: what’s wrong?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I think my condition’s been getting worse
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lately.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: condition?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: It’s why my message probably sounded
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urgent.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: you left 46 messages.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Yes. They were all urgent.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: oh.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I don’t think I can wait much longer before
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telling you.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I held out for as long as I could. I figured
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your birthday was as good a time as any to let you know.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: let me know what?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: It’s crept up on me, these last couple of
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years.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Gradually enough to ignore as it was
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happening, but I can’t anymore.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Lately the visions have been
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overwhelming.</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: visions??</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: John, I have terrible headaches these days.
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Talking on the phone doesn’t help at all.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Would you mind flying to my apartment, so we
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can continue this in person?</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: oh, yeah. you mean...</p>
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<p class="john">JOHN: now?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Yes, now is the time.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I’ve put it off long enough.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">You move the phone away from your ear and
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assume an expression you haven’t practiced in years. It is the look
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of a man who actually has something to do. Holding the phone
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directly in front of your face, you speak into the receiver.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="john">JOHN: ok, i’m on my way. bye, rose.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">As you hang up the phone, a familiar feeling
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settles over you. A feeling of...standing? Standing, and being
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alone. In your bedroom. As a young man. On your birthday. You swear
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you’ve felt this feeling before. It’s almost like...</p>
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<p>A young man stands alone in his bedroom. It just so happens that
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today, the 13th of April, is this young man’s birthday. Though it
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was twenty-three years ago when he was given life, and ten years
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ago when he was given a name, it feels like it is only today that
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he will begin to understand what all that means.</p>
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<p class="Normal ParaOverride-7"><span class="Standard-Text">That
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young man is YOU, John Egbert.</span></p>
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<p class="Normal ParaOverride-7"><span class="Standard-Text">What
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will you do?</span></p>
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</div>
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</div>
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</body>
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