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The Rusted Spoon
I'm on the beach having a miserable time. I hate the beach, and the ocean. The only use the ocean offers for me is it's pretty to look at, from a porch away from the annoyance of sand. God forsake it the hoards of people who dwell there. When an old crooked backed man approached me. He is holding a rusted spoon with razor sharp edges. He looks to be infected with the well renown disease which drives people to carve out any eyes they can stumble upon. He comes closer and attempts to scoop out my eyes with his rusted spoon. I move away and he quickly loses track of me. He had already cut out his own eyes, because of the the disease ravaging his mind. Blood and other bodily fluids ooze down his face, secreting from his empty, cavernous eye sockets. He walks further down the beach till he reaches the water. He wades in and is then swept away, quickly drowning, being sucked into the ocean's depths.
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I dont much like the beach, and my mind wonders when I am brought there through family trips, and work like this is usually the outcome.