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October 29, 2011
I see a little old man, no bigger than my hand, with big squirrel eyes. His face is rotting on the right side. He looks so sad, huddled there on my pillow. He tells of disaster averted.

Stepping through the cars outside is a skinny giant in a top hat and white gloves. He peels them off one finger at a time just before he attacks. He warns of disaster to come.

Bleeding through the paint on the wall is a girl with ink hair and a gruesome wail. Self inflicted scratches decorate her cheeks. She watches disaster happen.