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ʰᵗᵗᵖˢ⠘//ᶜᵃᵗᵈⁱʳ‧ˡᵒᶜ‧ᵍᵒᵛ/ᶜᵃᵗᵈⁱʳ/ᵗᵒᶜ/ᵉᶜⁱᵖ⁰⁴⁴/²⁰⁰³⁰¹²³⁴⁶‧ʰᵗᵐˡ ARTHUR LEE SCUDDER ᴬᴺᴰ ᵀᴴᴱ ᴳᴿᴱᴱᴺ PECANS ᵇʸ ᴶᵉᵃⁿ ᴳ‧ ᔆᶜʰⁿⁱᵗᶻ ᵒᶠ ᴮᵒᵉʳⁿᵉ ᵀʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵃ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰᵇᵉᵈ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ⸴ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ᵗʷⁱˢᵗ‧ ᴵ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵐʸ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵈᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ⸴ ᵐʸ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐʸ ᴬᵘⁿᵗ ᴱˢᵗʰᵉʳ‧ ᴵⁿ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ⁿᵉʷ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ⁿᵉᵃʳ ᔆᵉʸᵐᵒᵘʳ⸴ ᵐʸ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵈᵖᵃʳᵉⁿᵗˢ⸴ ᴵʳᵃ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴰᵒʳᵃ ᴮᵉˡˡᵉ ᴸᵉᵉ ᔆᶜᵘᵈᵈᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ʸᵒᵘⁿᵍ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵗʳʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ˢᵉᵗᵗˡᵉᵈ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇⁱʳᵗʰ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉⁱʳ ᶠⁱᶠᵗʰ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʳᵃᵍᵉᵈʸ ˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵏ ᵗʰᵉᵐ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁱʳ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᵇˡᵒⁿᵈ⁻ʰᵃⁱʳᵉᵈ ˢᵒⁿ⸴ ᴬʳᵗʰᵘʳ ᔆᶜᵘᵈᵈᵉʳ⸴ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ⁷⸴ ¹⁸⁹⁹⸴ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʳᵉˢᵘˡᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵉᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᵍʳᵉᵉⁿ ᵖᵉᶜᵃⁿˢ‧ ᴴᵉ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʸᵉᵗ ᵗʷᵒ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵒˡᵈ‧ ᴵᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵗʰⁱˢ ʷᵃʸ⠘ ˢᵉᵛᵉʳᵃˡ ᶜᵒᵘˢⁱⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵛⁱˢⁱᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ˢᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵃᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ⁿᵉᵃʳᵇʸ ᵖᵉᶜᵃⁿ ᵗʳᵉᵉˢ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳⁿᵒᵒⁿ ˡᵃᵘᵍʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵃˡᵏⁱⁿᵍ‧ ᴼⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘˢⁱⁿˢ ˢᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵃˡˡ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳⁿᵒᵒⁿ ᵖᵉᵉˡⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵉᶜᵃⁿˢ ᶠᵒʳ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᴬʳᵗʰᵘʳ⸴ ʷʰᵒ ᵃᵗᵉ ᵖᵉᶜᵃⁿˢ ᵃˢ ᶠᵃˢᵗ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉʸ ʷᵉʳᵉ ʰᵃⁿᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰⁱᵐ‧ ᴮʸ ᵉᵛᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ⸴ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵗᵒᵐᵃᶜʰ ʰᵃᵈ ˢʷᵉˡˡᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ⁱⁿᵗᵉˢᵗⁱⁿᵉˢ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵃᵖᵖᵃʳᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵇˡᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ⸴ ʳᵉˢᵘˡᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ‧ ᵀʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵛⁱᵍⁱˡ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ⸴ ᴵʳᵃ'ˢ “ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗⁱᶠᵘˡ ᵃⁿᵍᵉˡ⸴” ʷᵃˢ ᵃ ᵗᵉʳʳⁱᵇˡᵉ ᵉˣᵖᵉʳⁱᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ‧ ᵂʰᵉⁿ ⁱᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵃᵖᵖᵃʳᵉⁿᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵘʳᵛⁱᵛᵉ⸴ ᴵʳᵃ ᔆᶜᵘᵈᵈᵉʳ ʷᵃˢ ˢᵒ ᵍʳⁱᵉᶠ⁻ˢᵗʳⁱᶜᵏᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ᶜᵘʳˢᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʷᵒʳᵉ‧ ᴬˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵈʳᵉʷ ⁿᵉᵃʳᵉʳ⸴ ᴵʳᵃ ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵒᵘᵗˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍʳⁱᵉᵛᵉ⸴ ˡᵉᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᴰᵒʳᵃ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵒᶜᵗᵒʳ⸴ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒᵐᵉⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵉⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈʸⁱⁿᵍ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ‧ ᴵʳᵃ ʷᵃˡᵏᵉᵈ ᵃ ˢʰᵒʳᵗ ᵈⁱˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵃᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ⁱⁿ ʰⁱˢ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ‧ ᴬˢ ᴵʳᵃ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵗᵒʷᵃʳᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ⸴ ʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ᵃ ʳᵃʸ ᵒᶠ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵒᵃᶜʰ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ‧ ᴵⁿ ᵃ ᶠᵉʷ ᵐⁱⁿᵘᵗᵉˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ᵃ ˡᵃʳᵍᵉʳ ʳᵃʸ ᵒᶠ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ˡᵉᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ⸴ ᵐᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒʷᵃʳᵈˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃᵛᵉⁿˢ‧ ᵀʰᵉⁿ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʰⁱᵐ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰⁱˢ ˢᵒⁿ ʰᵃᵈ ᵈⁱᵉᵈ —ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ᵃˡʳᵉᵃᵈʸ ᵏⁿᵉʷ‧

ʜᴛᴛᴘs://ғʟᴇxᴘᴜʙ.ᴄᴏᴍ/ᴏғᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡ/ᴛʜᴇ-ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ-sᴀɢᴀ ARTHUR SCUDDER AND THE GREEN PECANS ʙʏ Jᴇᴀɴ G. Sᴄʜɴɪᴛᴢ ᴏғ Bᴏᴇʀɴᴇ Tʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜʙᴇᴅ sᴛᴏʀʏ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴛᴡɪsᴛ. I ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɢʀᴀɴᴅᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ Aᴜɴᴛ Esᴛʜᴇʀ. Iɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴᴇᴡ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɴᴇᴀʀ Sᴇʏᴍᴏᴜʀ, ɢʀᴀɴᴅᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛs Iʀᴀ ᴀɴᴅ Dᴏʀᴀ Sᴄᴜᴅᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ sᴇᴛᴛʟᴇᴅ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ғɪғᴛʜ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʀᴀɢᴇᴅʏ sᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. Tʜᴇɪʀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ ʙʟᴏɴᴅ-ʜᴀɪʀᴇᴅ sᴏɴ, Aʀᴛʜᴜʀ Sᴄᴜᴅᴅᴇʀ, ᴅɪᴇᴅ Oᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 7, 1899 ᴀs ᴀ ʀᴇsᴜʟᴛ ᴏғ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ᴘᴇᴄᴀɴs. Hᴇ ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴏʟᴅ. Iᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀʏ: sᴇᴠᴇʀᴀʟ ᴄᴏᴜsɪɴs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴠɪsɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ sᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴀᴅᴇ ᴏғ ɴᴇᴀʀʙʏ ᴘᴇᴄᴀɴ ᴛʀᴇᴇs ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴘᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀғᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴏɴ ʟᴀᴜɢʜɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ. Oɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜsɪɴs sᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴀғᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴏɴ ᴘᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴘᴇᴄᴀɴs ғᴏʀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ Aʀᴛʜᴜʀ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴇᴄᴀɴs ᴀs ғᴀsᴛ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ. Bʏ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ, ʜɪs sᴛᴏᴍᴀᴄʜ ʜᴀᴅ sᴡᴇʟʟᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs ɪɴᴛᴇsᴛɪɴᴇs ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ, ʀᴇsᴜʟᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ. Tʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴠɪɢɪʟ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ, Iʀᴀ's “ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ,” ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ. Wʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀᴘᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇ, Iʀᴀ Sᴄᴜᴅᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴀs sᴏ ɢʀɪᴇғ-sᴛʀɪᴄᴋᴇɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀsᴇᴅ. As ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴅʀᴇᴡ ɴᴇᴀʀᴇʀ, Iʀᴀ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴏᴜᴛsɪᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢʀɪᴇᴠᴇ, ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ Dᴏʀᴀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʏɪɴɢ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ. Iʀᴀ ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴀ sʜᴏʀᴛ ᴅɪsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sᴀᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪs ʜᴇᴀᴅ ɪɴ ʜɪs ʜᴀɴᴅs. As Iʀᴀ ʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ, ʜᴇ sᴀᴡ ᴀ ʀᴀʏ ᴏғ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ. Iɴ ᴀ ғᴇᴡ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ʜᴇ sᴀᴡ ᴀ ʟᴀʀɢᴇʀ ʀᴀʏ ᴏғ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ᴍᴏᴠɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴs. Tʜᴇɴ sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜɪs sᴏɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴅɪᴇᴅ—ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴋɴᴇᴡ.

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Aͣrͬᴛⷮhͪuͧrͬ S͛cͨuͧdͩdͩeͤrͬ aͣndͩ ᴛⷮhͪeͤ grͬeͤeͤn рⷬeͤcͨaͣns͛ Aͣrͬᴛⷮhͪuͧrͬ S͛cͨuͧdͩdͩeͤrͬ dͩiͥeͤdͩ Oͦcͨᴛⷮoͦвⷡeͤrͬ 7,̓ 1899 frͬoͦmͫ eͤaͣᴛⷮiͥng ᴛⷮoͦoͦ mͫaͣny рⷬeͤcͨaͣns͛,̓ вⷡaͣrͬeͤly ᴛⷮwoͦ yeͤaͣrͬs͛ oͦf aͣgeͤ. нⷩeͤ s͛рⷬeͤnᴛⷮ ᴛⷮhͪeͤ aͣfᴛⷮeͤrͬnoͦoͦn grͬeͤeͤn рⷬeͤcͨaͣns͛ uͧndͩeͤrͬ aͣ рⷬeͤcͨaͣn ᴛⷮrͬeͤeͤ aͣs͛ faͣs͛ᴛⷮ aͣs͛ hͪeͤ cͨoͦuͧldͩ. Вⷡy eͤvͮeͤniͥng,̓ hͪiͥs͛ s͛ᴛⷮoͦmͫaͣcͨhͪ hͪaͣdͩ вⷡeͤeͤn вⷡloͦcͨᴋⷦeͤdͩ,̓ rͬeͤs͛uͧlᴛⷮiͥng iͥn hͪiͥs͛ dͩeͤaͣᴛⷮhͪ. Cͨhͪiͥldͩ oͦf Wiͥlliͥaͣmͫ Iͥrͬaͣ & Dͩoͦrͬaͣ Leͤeͤ S͛cͨuͧdͩdͩeͤrͬ

🍁🌙🥧🍂☕️🎃🕯

https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/102416085/doreen-watsford https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/206856573 https://newspaperarchive.com/broken-hill-barrier-miner-jun-30-1943-p-1/ Doreen June Watsford Doreen's barely a tweenager when she slipped near a rocky grotto by her cousins home. Doreen lost her footing balance on some unstable terrain crumbling down below with her. Doreen's lifetime was c. 193X-194X BURIAL Rookwood General Cemetery Rookwood, Cumberland Council, New South Wales, Australia PLOT Anglican Sect 15 grave 2539 MEMORIAL ID 102416085 ·

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⣀⣀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⢁⣴⣾⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⣄⢀⣠⣤⣠⠀⣀⡀⡀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣼⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠻⠽⢿⠽⠿⡤⠿⠷⠇⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣞⠥⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠄⠼ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠤⠟⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡻⣛⡝⣫⢏⡵⢋⣽⣿⣿⣍⠻⣶⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢷⡛⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣧⢚⡵⢪⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣸⠳⣜⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢧⣙⢦⡹⢧⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣁⣽⢣⠞⡱⢎⣝⡹⠿⡿⢷⠺⣍⠳⣬⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢦⡙⢦⣙⢮⡱⢫⡝⣫⢛⡭⢲⡍⣞⣱⡿⢫⡜⣣⠝⣎⠳⣌⠳⣌⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡖⡹⢎⡜⢦⡹⡱⢎⡕⣫⢜⡣⡜⢦⡿⣘⢧⢚⡥⣛⢬⢳⡩⢳⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡫⣜⢣⠵⣙⠮⣜⢻⣿⣟⣿⡟⡵⣩⠖⣭⠲⣍⡚⣦⣽⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣥⣟⣌⡳⣌⠳⣎⢻⠞⣏⠶⣡⣛⣴⡯⠶⠟⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⣯⣟⣿⣯⣿⢻⡝⣯⢟⣿⣿⣯⣟⡻⢳⣞⣿⣾⣞⡛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⣽⣳⣿⡞⣷⡹⢮⡝⡶⣫⢾⣿⣷⢿⣟⣿⣿⡽⣿⢿⣿⡶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⣿⡿⣷⡿⣇⠿⣶⢹⣇⢿⢱⡏⣿⣿⣏⡾⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢿⣿⣿⣹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣽⣻⣟⢻⢻⣮⣗⢮⣏⣳⣿⣿⣿⡱⣏⢷⡹⣎⢷⣛⢯⡻⣭⣛⡟⣷⢢⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⡾⣽⣏⢎⡳⠜⡮⢿⣶⣿⣿⣽⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣎⣷⣹⣶⣽⠾⡵⢯⠾⣵⠿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣯⣟⣿⡏⢮⡱⢫⣜⣿⣿⣿⡟⣧⢻⡜⣧⣻⣼⠷⣛⠟⣭⠳⡜⢦⡛⣜⢣⡛⡴⢫⡔⢮⡹⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⡾⣽⣿⣿⣷⣷⣾⣿⣿⡹⢞⣱⣯⠾⣏⡝⢦⡛⣬⠛⡴⣋⡜⣣⠞⣬⢣⡝⣜⢣⠞⣥⠳⣍⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣽⣿⡹⣍⠮⣽⣿⣶⡿⣻⠹⣌⠳⡜⣜⢣⡕⢮⡙⢶⠱⣎⠵⣚⠴⡣⢞⣌⢳⡚⡴⢫⡜⢣⠿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣾⣻⣱⢎⣵⣾⣿⣿⢔⣣⢛⡬⢳⡙⡜⢦⡙⢦⡙⣎⠳⣌⠳⣍⢞⡱⢭⡜⢦⡹⢜⡣⢞⡥⢻⣽⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠷⢿⣽⣻⢾⣿⣷⣊⠞⡴⣋⡜⣣⠝⣜⢣⡝⢦⡹⣌⠳⣌⡳⣜⢪⡕⣣⠞⣡⠝⣎⠵⡣⢞⡥⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⢉⣿⣻⣟⣷⣙⠶⡱⢎⡕⣫⢜⢣⡚⣥⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⡜⣥⢚⡥⣛⢬⡚⢵⢣⣚⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⢳⣯⣟⣾⢻⣾⣑⢫⡜⡥⢎⢧⡙⢦⡛⣬⠳⡜⡳⣌⢳⡹⡔⣋⠶⣩⠖⣹⠪⣕⣺⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠿⣻⣯⢾⡽⣯⣟⢾⡽⣧⣞⡡⢏⠶⣙⢦⡙⢦⡛⣜⡱⢎⡓⠶⣹⣿⣷⡥⣛⠦⣛⣴⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡶⣞⠻⣌⢳⡱⢎⡟⣿⣽⣯⣟⡾⣝⣯⢿⣾⣵⣩⠖⣭⠳⡜⢦⡙⢮⣍⠳⣍⠻⣍⠶⣡⣻⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣴⠋⢹⣿⣯⡜⢣⡞⢱⣾⠋⠉⠉⠙⢻⣽⡞⣽⣮⡟⣯⣿⣷⣷⣽⣦⣽⣶⣬⣷⣬⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣽⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⠞⠙⢦⡀⠈⠻⣷⣭⣶⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢷⣯⢾⣽⡺⣵⢯⢷⣻⠿⣽⡻⣟⣯⣿⣽⣟⣽⣛⣶⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⣿⡄⠀⠀⢙⣲⠶⣤⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠳⠿⢿⢾⠿⠗⠛⢋⣭⣼⣛⣳⣶⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠙⣇⠳⢄⡀⠈⠳⣟⣛⡷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⡀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣻⣾⡷⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠙⠦⣝⠦⠤⠬⢤⡄⣬⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣟⣻⠾⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠒⠒⠚⠚⠓⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

ᴶᵒᵉ ᴬˡᵗᵒⁿ ᴳᵘⁿᵗᵉʳ ᴮᴵᴿᵀᴴ ¹¹ ᴹᵃʳ ¹⁹⁴⁷ ᶜᵒˡˡⁱⁿ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗʸ⸴ ᵀᵉˣᵃˢ⸴ ᵁᔆᴬ ᴰᴱᴬᵀᴴ ² ᴹᵃʸ ¹⁹⁴⁷ ⁽ᵃᵍᵉᵈ ¹ ᵐᵒⁿᵗʰ⁾ ᴬⁿⁿᵃ⸴ ᶜᵒˡˡⁱⁿ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗʸ⸴ ᵀᵉˣᵃˢ⸴ ᵁᔆᴬ ᴵⁿᶠᵃⁿᵗ ˢᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᴹᵃʳʸ ᴿᵒˢᵉ ᴼ'ᴰᵉˡˡ ᴳᵘⁿᵗᵉʳ⸴ ᵒʳⁱᵍⁱⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᵇᵘʳⁱᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵒᵗᵗᵃᵍᵉ ᴴⁱˡˡ ᶜᵉᵐᵉᵗᵉʳʸ⸴ ᶜᵉˡⁱⁿᵃ⸴ ᵀᵉˣᵃˢ ᴴᵉ ˡⁱᵛᵉᵈ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵐᵒⁿᵗʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ²¹ ᵈᵃʸˢ‧ ᔆᵘᶜᶜᵘᵐᵇᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒⁿᵍᵉⁿⁱᵗᵃˡ ᵐᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍᵉᵃˡ ᵈᵉᶠᵒʳᵐⁱᵗʸ

https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/page/684513 https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/2639497/684513

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⠀⠀⠀⣠⡄⠀⣠⠀⠀⢀⡴⢤⠻⣤⠲⡄⣀⡀⣠⣾⣯⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣿⣻⣟⡿⣻⢿⣽⣻⢯⣟⡿⣽⣻⢯⣟⣯⣟⣯⣟⣯⣟⡿⣽⣻⢟⣿⣻⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣴⣳⢮⡽⣙⢧⣛⢶⣚⡴⢩⠗⢮⡙⢧⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣯⢿⡽⣞⡷⣯⢿⣽⣻⢾⣽⣻⢾⣽⣳⢯⣟⣾⣳⣞⡷⣯⣞⡾⣽⣳⢯⣟⡾⣭⣟⡾⣿⣏⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣾⣿⣾⣿⣽⣿⣷⣟⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠄⠀⡀⠠⠀⠀⠄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀ ⣤⢖⡯⣞⣱⠹⣎⡝⢦⠳⡜⣣⠝⢦⣙⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⢯⡿⣽⢯⡿⣽⣻⢾⣽⣻⢾⣽⣻⢾⣽⣿⣾⣳⣟⡾⣽⣳⢯⣟⡷⣯⣟⡾⣽⣷⣯⣿⣽⣿⡇⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⡿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀ ⣟⡮⣗⢧⣎⠳⡜⣜⢣⠓⡴⢁⠊⣴⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣟⣯⢿⡽⣯⣟⡷⣯⣟⡾⣽⣻⢾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡾⣽⣳⣯⣿⣾⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠇⢧⡛⢯⣹⣍⣮⠵⠭⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣟⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀ ⡿⣱⢏⡾⣌⠻⡜⣌⢃⠟⡴⢊⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣟⣾⡽⣯⣟⣷⢯⣟⣷⢯⣟⣷⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⡛⢯⡱⣊⡷⠀⠀⠘⢛⣉⣥⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣟⡵⣫⠞⣭⠳⣜⡌⢎⡲⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⡾⣯⣷⢿⣻⣽⣾⣟⡿⣾⣻⣟⣾⢿⣻⣿⡟⣾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠻⣍⣳⣜⠧⠞⠓⠋⠉⠀⠀⣠⣞⣫⣤⣤⣀⡈⠙⢦⡀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡝⡞⢧⡛⣧⢟⡼⣜⢧⣳⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣽⡿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⢿⣻⣽⣾⢿⣿⣿⡿⣹⡿⢸⣿⣿⢿⡛⣭⡶⠭⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠻⣿⣿⣆⠀⢹⡄⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡽⣜⡣⡝⢦⡛⣼⣯⢿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⢱⡿⠁⣾⣫⡼⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣿⣟⢾⡇⠀⣷⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡿⣜⣧⢿⡼⣛⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⡟⠀⠰⠋⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣮⣿⡧⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⢿⡾⣹⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢁⠎⠀⣰⡾⣿⣉⣉⠹⠷⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣷⣉⣿⣾⠿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣟⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣻⠁⠀⣰⢟⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠙⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⡱⡾⠋⠀⣸⠃⣾⣟⣿⣿⣇⠀⣹⣷⢻⡆⠨⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣷⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⡱⣮⠛⠀⠀⠀⢿⠈⣷⣏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣻⣇⡠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣟⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣽⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡘⡖⡡⢎⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠹⣾⡜⣿⢻⣿⣽⠶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣣⣜⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡿⣿⡽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡵⣘⠱⡌⢂⠁⠀⠀⠙⠦⡬⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠁⢨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢌⠳⡌⡅⢊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⢾⣿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣽⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⢳⡘⡜⣠⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⡶⣿⢿⡻⣭⢿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣾⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠿⡿⣟⣾⣿⢿⣯⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢜⡰⢡⢒⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣯⣽⣾⣷⣏⡷⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣴⣿⣿⣿⠈⣿⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⡰⢂⠤⢀⠒⡄⢛⠿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠛⣛⣛⣛⡻⢿⣮⡖⡩⢆⠣⢌⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⠦⣤⠬⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣈⣴⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠄⠡⠀⠆⠌⡐⢠⠁⢠⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⣠⣶⠿⣝⣮⣽⣽⣷⣝⣿⣵⢊⡕⣊⠖⣀⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢄⣸⣶⣿⣿⠁⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠄⠁⡀⠂⠀⠄⢀⠀⡀⠄⠀⠉⢛⣿⡿⠋⠀⢀⣴⣿⢻⡵⣻⡽⠋⠁⠀⢀⣻⠼⠿⣿⣶⣡⠚⡤⣉⠆⣡⠈⠄⠠⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⢀⠠⣀⣦⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠛⠉⠁⠀⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⠂⠀⠄⢁⠀⢂⢀⣠⣴⡾⠟⢻⠟⠀⢀⢴⣿⡻⣜⢧⣻⢹⣷⣄⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣥⣚⡤⢋⠬⣑⢂⡒⠤⡑⢌⠰⣁⢢⣌⣴⣴⣾⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⢡⠀⢀⣄⡀⠀⣠⣴⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠂⠀⠌⢀⠂⠔⢨⣶⡿⠉⠀⠀⠊⢠⢰⣩⣾⢷⡹⢎⡳⢥⢣⢻⣏⠀⣠⢴⡶⠒⠋⠓⠢⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡷⠾⡶⢿⣶⣿⡞⣛⠻⣍⣻⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣛⢻⠁⡀⢀⣿⣢⣿⠲⡭⢳⣿⡁⢀⣀⣀⣀⢀⣠⠤⠤⠤⢄⣀⠬⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢈⠡⡈⠄⠂⠌⢂⣿⡟⡀⢀⠂⡔⣩⢖⣽⣟⡳⢎⡵⢫⡜⢣⣙⣦⣿⢿⠗⣉⣁⣠⢔⣆⣄⣿⣍⡷⠞⡉⢄⠒⡄⠣⡐⢢⠀⠶⠽⠻⠷⠾⠿⠽⣧⢷⣦⣽⣦⣝⠦⡓⡔⣼⠋⡥⠤⠌⢍⣙⡹⠓⣯⡬⠿⢌⡩⠒⣉⣉⢉⠒⢬⡙⠟⣱⠒⠦⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢈⠱⢀⠩⠈⢆⠈⣿⣷⡱⢎⡵⣪⣵⡿⣿⢼⣱⡯⣾⣗⡛⠉⠩⢡⢻⣇⢰⣷⣦⢈⣿⣟⡼⣿⠏⢆⠱⡈⢆⠡⢌⡑⠌⠤⡉⠔⠢⡑⢂⠒⡌⢒⠠⢂⠤⣩⣽⣿⣷⣥⣼⣾⡄⣧⢸⢼⡶⣦⣌⠳⣌⠱⢠⠎⣰⠟⠋⣉⡛⢾⡤⡙⣆⡏⢰⡿⣶⣌⠳⣄⠀⠀⢠⠖⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⢆⠡⢊⠡⢠⡀⠈⠻⠿⡾⢿⣟⣉⣤⠟⠋⠁⠀⣧⣀⣈⡓⢦⠁⢎⣿⡄⠛⢲⣏⣤⠆⢰⣯⣏⠤⢃⠜⡠⢃⢆⡘⢌⢢⠑⡌⠱⡈⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⣨⣾⠋⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠀⡇⢿⠈⡜⡇⠈⠻⣶⢌⣧⡏⣜⡇⢼⣢⣵⡿⠊⣗⡱⣻⡇⢾⠃⠀⠻⣇⠼⡄⢀⠆⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠉⢆⡑⠌⡆⠥⢂⠡⡐⢠⣴⠟⠁⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠾⡇⢸⣟⣧⠀⠘⠿⡿⠀⡼⢻⣾⡹⣎⡖⣡⠋⡴⠘⡌⠦⣉⠲⣡⠱⢌⢢⠱⣌⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⡇⣏⢷⠀⠃⢹⣎⢾⣷⢮⡽⣌⡛⠉⢀⡰⢧⣳⣿⢌⡿⠀⠀⣰⢫⡼⢁⠎⠀⣠⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡘⢄⡒⠬⠰⣉⠌⡒⡀⠿⣷⡞⠉⣉⣧⣄⡤⠞⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢣⣿⡤⢶⡖⠛⣟⠛⣿⣷⢻⡵⣏⡷⣹⢴⡩⡜⢢⢅⡓⠤⠓⡌⢆⣳⣯⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡌⣷⣛⣾⡄⡔⣸⣞⣿⠙⢿⣾⣵⣫⣭⢷⣞⣷⠟⡽⣎⣧⣴⢪⡶⠟⠀⡞⢀⣼⢹⡆⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢾⡀⢇⡎⢱⠈⣆⠁⢇⣸⣿⠀⡾⠉⣿⣿⠁⠀⢿⣿⢿⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⣹⣷⠸⢸⠇⡈⣿⠀⣿⣏⣷⠿⣾⣹⡹⡾⢷⣹⢷⣎⡸⣁⢏⡸⣸⢷⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣿⡾⣾⡇⢰⣿⣿⡇⡾⣀⣹⣿⣿⣹⣾⣿⡀⠀⣿⣸⣿⣎⡿⡆⠀⡾⢱⡎⣈⢇⡰⠾⡆⠀⠀⠀ ⢢⠍⣆⠸⣀⠣⢘⡘⢤⣿⠃⣼⠁⠀⠉⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⢀⣿⠜⣽⡇⣏⠛⡜⡐⠣⢀⣿⣟⣮⢟⣧⢷⣿⣹⢯⣳⢯⡞⣷⣛⣮⣷⢏⡻⢄⠢⡄⢤⠠⢄⠤⣠⠐⣄⠢⡔⣧⢸⣿⣳⣿⣿⡿⠋⡔⢃⢸⣏⢿⣏⣧⣾⡟⢡⢀⣷⣯⠉⢻⣯⣟⣾⣏⣷⠛⠛⠛⢶⢭⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠣⢞⡰⢃⠆⣑⠂⣀⣾⡟⣡⠻⣆⠀⢀⡴⠳⢤⡤⠖⠃⠀⢀⣺⢏⣼⡿⡜⢦⡙⡰⢁⠂⢬⣟⡿⣼⣛⣮⡿⠚⣉⢻⡷⣯⣽⡞⣵⣳⣿⣮⣶⣍⣳⣩⢖⡙⣎⠶⣡⢏⡲⣙⣴⣹⡘⡿⢿⣛⣉⣐⣛⠒⣚⣈⣿⣋⠉⢀⡙⣴⠾⣈⣉⡉⢔⣀⣛⠉⢙⣿⣁⣀⣀⣀⠸⠷⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⡙⣆⠱⡊⢔⣡⣾⡿⠛⠡⢀⠣⠌⠩⡉⠄⣁⣢⡼⠀⠀⠂⣰⡟⢬⣾⢳⡙⢦⠱⢡⠊⡐⢸⣿⣟⣵⠟⣡⣰⡵⠞⠉⠀⠀⠉⠙⣻⠓⡛⢋⠉⣉⣿⡛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠛⠟⠛⠛⠛⠉⠑⢲⢨⢿⣽⡏⢳⣹⡏⢸⢳⣻⡿⢿⡇⠈⣶⡟⠙⣟⣾⣛⣿⡿⢸⢺⣿⣹⢽⣿⡷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡱⣊⠵⡘⣦⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠰⠦⣬⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⠃⡀⢁⢰⡿⢌⣿⢣⢧⡙⣎⠱⡁⢆⡁⣿⣼⢯⣱⣾⣋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⣁⠒⢠⠁⡒⠠⣿⡁⠀⡀⢀⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠸⠾⢿⠦⠾⠛⡿⡼⡷⠩⡄⢻⠷⡶⠛⢽⡶⠟⠙⢧⠿⡷⠼⡿⢿⠾⠿⠻⡷⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⡱⢣⡚⣵⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡿⢿⡿⠋⠀⠄⢠⣿⡱⣺⣏⡏⢶⣉⠦⣃⠱⢠⣸⣧⡿⠾⠛⠉⢉⣻⣆⣧⣲⡶⢛⠡⢒⠠⢊⠄⠂⠅⣸⣿⠄⢂⠠⢀⡌⠀⡄⢂⠄⡐⠈⣀⣈⣑⠂⣒⣂⣂⠙⢒⣑⣒⠀⠉⢒⣂⡐⠈⡑⣐⣉⣁⠒⠓⠒⢶⣒⣐⠒⠐⠒⠒⣚⣡⠒⣔⠢ ⣱⢣⡝⣿⢇⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠿⠓⠋⠀⢀⠐⣠⣿⢣⣳⣟⢮⡙⢦⡃⢞⡠⢣⢥⡿⣾⣯⣵⣶⠿⡛⢏⡛⢻⠱⢌⢢⡑⢌⠢⣁⢊⠡⠌⣼⡿⠀⠂⠀⣄⠠⠓⣈⠦⠂⡄⡟⠁⣀⠈⢹⠀⢠⣈⠇⢰⠃⢹⠀⡎⠁⣀⠈⢷⠋⢀⢄⠈⢱⡌⠑⣎⠀⢹⠄⡁⢬⠟⠁⢸⠄⠠⠀ ⢦⠳⣜⣿⡖⡌⢆⡁⢂⠐⡀⠂⠄⡀⠄⠐⡀⢂⢠⣿⢧⣓⢿⣜⢧⣙⢦⡙⢦⣱⢣⣿⣿⢯⢷⡭⣆⢣⡙⢢⡉⢆⠳⣈⠆⡜⢠⢃⡐⠢⠌⢰⣿⠇⠀⠌⠐⠠⢘⠐⠀⠂⠁⡐⡇⠀⠹⣇⢸⠀⠘⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⣇⡃⠀⢿⣀⣠⠀⣋⠈⡇⠀⠀⡀⠸⠀⢸⠀⡼⠁⠐⠂⠘⠆⢠⠁ ⣏⠷⣎⢿⣷⡙⢦⡑⡎⠴⡠⢅⢢⡐⢌⡒⡄⢆⡚⢿⣧⡻⣞⡽⡿⣾⣶⣽⣧⡿⣟⣷⣯⡟⣞⣳⡽⢦⣑⠣⡜⣨⢑⢢⢩⠰⡁⠆⡌⢡⠊⣼⡟⠠⠈⢀⠂⠄⡁⢠⠐⠈⢀⠀⡞⠒⢤⠀⢹⠀⢰⡂⢸⠁⢈⡀⠸⡌⠢⠤⠀⢱⠀⠹⠴⠃⢠⠀⢸⡄⠀⢸⠀⠘⠒⠒⡀⠀⠐⢢⡘ ⡞⣷⢿⡾⡽⣿⣷⡿⢾⢷⡷⣾⡶⣽⣶⢷⣎⢧⡝⡶⣹⢻⣷⣽⡳⢧⣻⡜⣧⣿⢿⡽⣞⣽⣻⢧⣿⣹⣎⢷⡰⡡⢎⢒⠢⡱⢌⠒⢌⠂⢬⣿⠃⠄⠡⠀⠂⠄⡄⠡⢈⠐⠀⡀⠘⠦⠤⠤⠚⠠⠄⠤⠃⠐⠀⠃⠤⠓⠤⠤⠐⠃⠑⠆⠠⠐⠛⠢⠘⠘⠤⠜⠀⢀⠀⠂⠅⠀⢀⠀⡀

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🧗🏾‍♀️👧🏽🧭🐒

·˚ ༘🎃˚.*°࿐ 。text °˖

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🕸🕷🍂☠

𝙾𝙲𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝟸𝟻𝚃𝙷 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟿

😈👻🎃HALLOWEEN🎃👻😈

🎃🦇🕷🕸🍬💀🕯️🖤🕸️🔪🔮🕷️🕯🤡🧛🧟🧟‍♀🍂🍫🍭🎈🩸🍁🌕⚰☠🧙🏚🧛🏻‍♀️😈🧛🏻🦴🥀🪦🧟‍♂️

October 🗓️

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣮⠷⠛⠛⠛⠛⠾⣗⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠟⣡⠄⠉⠉⠉⠙⠲⣌⠻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⢁⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⡌⢿⣥⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⡤⠶⠶⠶⠶⢯⣥⣢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡟⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠶⠃⠀⠻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠻⢿⣭⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣮⣣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣷⡟⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡿⠻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣮⡟⢀⡟⠀⠀⢀⣠⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠶⣄⡀⢀⣴⠖⣿⣏⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⠀⠈⠛⢮⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⠁⠘⠀⢀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣆⠀⠀⣨⣿⡿⠗⣐⠋⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠦⣤⣀⣺⣇⣀⣤⡶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣆⣾⣏⣽⣷⣶⣿⡿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣎⠉⢿⣿⡟⠀⢳⡿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠸⡆⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⢳⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⣳⣦⣤⣶⣺⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠙⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢻⡄⠀⢀⣀⠀⠈⣷⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣯⣿⠀⣰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠞⠁⠀⠘⠧⠤⠤⠤⣤⡤⠤⠤⠤⠤⣤⣤⡼⠇⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠙⣧⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣴⣾⣿⡆⠀⢻⣣⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣾⠃⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⢀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣷⠀⠸⡟⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣷⡟⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠛⢩⣾⣿⢭⣭⣉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⣿⡿⢶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⢁⡴⣿⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢔⣵⠟⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⡿⠋⠀⠀⠈⠹⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡆⢉⡻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⠿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⠶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠄⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣷⠀⠉⠚⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠟⠙⣧⣼⣇⡿⠀⠀⣿⢸⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⣧⡀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢠⣿⡿⣸⡇⠀⠀⣿⣯⡀⠀⠀ ⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠘⢿⣶⣶⣯⡛⠿⠋⣹⣭⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣶⣿⠟⢡⣿⣀⠀⠀⣿⠙⠿⣗⢄ ⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⢿⣄⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣡⣴⣿⣧⠁⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠈⡏ ⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⣹⢷⣤⡀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⣠⣀⣠⣤⡄⠀⠈⢉⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⣼⠳ ⠀⠙⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠈⠁⠀⠈⠛⠳⠶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡴⣾⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⣀⣿⣭⠏⠀⢀⣴⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⢀⣼⡿⠁ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⠷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣄⠀⠀⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠿⠋⠘⣆⠀⠀⣰⠟⢀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⢿⣷⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⠶⢟⣨⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⣼⣫⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠋⠛⠿⢷⣶⣶⠆⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠻⠷⠶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠶⢶⣾⣿⠛⣿⡷⣦⣄⣀⣸⣷⣶⡖⠿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣷⣄⣀⣀⣴⣿⣿⠏⢀⣏⠇⠈⠙⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠉⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⣡⣴⡿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡾⠟⠓⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⢀⣻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠙⠛⠋⠉⠛⢿⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⡶⠾⠻⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

ᵀʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ʷʰᵒ ᴱˡⁱᶻᵃᵇᵉᵗʰ ᵗʳᵘˢᵗᵉᵈ ᶜᵒⁿᵛⁱⁿᶜᵉᵈ ʰᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷ ʰᵉʳ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒᵒᵈˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʷᵃʳᵉ ˢʰᵉ ⁱˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˢᵗᵃᵇᵇᵉᵈ· ᵀʰᵉ ᵗʳᵃᵍⁱᶜ ˡᵒˢˢ ᵍʳⁱᵉᵛᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰᵉʳ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵒʷⁿ·

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👻-🎸-👻 || 🎸-👻-🎸 || 👻-🎸-👻

🍁🍂👗👢🎒

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓████████████████████████▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█████▓▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██████▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░████▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓███▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░███░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░███░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░██▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░██░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░██░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░██░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░██▒░██▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██▓░▒██░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░██▒░██░░░░░▒▒▓███▒░░░░░░░▒███▓▒▒░░░░░██░▓██░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░██░░██████████▒░░░░░▓██████████░░██▒██░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░████░████████████░░░░░████████████░████░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░███░▒██████████░░░░░░░██████████▒░██▒░░░░░░░░░▒░░░░░ ░░░░▒████░░░░░░░▓█▒░░█████████░░░░░░░░░█████████░░▒█▓░░░░░░▓████░░░░ ░░░░██░▒██▒░░░░░██░░░░██████▓░░░░█░█░░░░███████░░░░██░░░░░███░░██░░░ ░░░░██░░░██▓░░░░██░░░░░░▒▓▓░░░░▒██░██░░░░░▓▓▒░░░░░▒██░░░░███░░░██░░░ ░░▓██▒░░░░████▓░░██░░░░░░░░░░░░███░███░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░█████░░░░▓██▒░ ░██▓░░░░░░░░▒████████▓░░░░░░░░████░███▓░░░░░░░▒▓████████░░░░░░░░░███ ░██▓▒▓███▓░░░░░░▓████████▓░░░░████░███▓░░░░▓████████▓░░░░░░████▓▓███ ░░███████████▒░░░░░░███████░░░░██░░░██░░░░██████▓░░░░░░▓███████████░ ░░░░░░░░░░░▓█████░░░░██▓▓░██░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░█▒██░░░▒█████▓░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒█████▒▒█▓█░███▓▓▒▒▒▓▒▒▓▓▓███▒███░▓█████░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒████▒▓█▒▒█░█▒█░█░█▓█▒█▓░█░█████▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██░░██▓█▓█▓█▒█▒█▓█▓████░▓█▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓████▓░▓█▓█░█▒█░█░█▒█▒███▒░██████░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓█████░░██░░░▒█████▓█▓█████▒░░░██░▒█████▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░▒██████████▓░░░░░███░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░██▒░░░░░▓██████████▒░░░░ ░░░░░██░░░▓▓▓░░░░░░▒██████▓░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░███████▒░░░░░░▓▓▒░░▒██░░░░ ░░░░░▓██░░░░░░░░▓████▓░░░█████▒░░░░░░▒▓█████░░░▓████▓░░░░░░░▒██▓░░░░ ░░░░░░░███░░░░████▒░░░░░░░░▓█████████████▒░░░░░░░░▒████░░░░███░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░██░░░██▒░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▓██░░░██░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░██▒▓██░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▒██▒▓██░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░████░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░████░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

🤎 🍫 🤎 🍫 🤎 🍫 🤎 🍫 🤎

ᵒᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ²⁰ᵗʰ ¹⁹⁹⁹

🕯🔮☠🧣🦊

🤎 ⚰️ 🤎 ⚰️ 👓 ⚰️ 🤎 ⚰️ 🤎

💕🍬🍭🍭🍬💕

⓿❶-❶⓿-❷❺❻❺

ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ³, ²⁰⁰²

꧁▚⃢Ⓔ⃢Ⓛ⃢Ⓘ⃢Ⓩ⃢Ⓐ⃢Ⓑ⃢Ⓔ⃢Ⓣ⃢Ⓗ⃢▞꧂

₁₀.₂₁.₂₀₁₂

ᵒᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ²⁰ᵗʰ ¹⁹⁹⁹

⑨⑦.①⓪.⓪③

ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ²¹ˢᵗ ¹⁹⁹⁴

₂₇.₁₀.₂₀₁₅

₂₀₁₆.₁₀.₂₁

²⁰⁰¹ ₁₀. ₀₁

²⁸.¹⁰.¹⁹⁹³

⁰².¹⁰.²⁰⁰⁷

②⓪①③/①⓪/①⑦

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⣒⣨⡤⣄⣠⣤⣤⣈⠱⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠒⠒⠒⠢⢀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢺⣴⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣯⣟⣿⣷⣼⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣷⣶⡷⠗⠚⠲⣤⠳⡀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢿⣿⣿⠀⡀⢀⢀⣹⣧⢇⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣟⡻⢿⢿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢧⣼⡿⣥⣶⣦⢄⣶⣦⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢸⡞⠿⢿⡿⠸⠿⠟⠡⣙⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣯⣿⡟⣇⠈⠛⣉⢈⡛⠛⣹⣟⠀⢀⣀⣈⣿⣤⣤⣭⣴⣼⣶⣼⣻⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣢⢱⣼⡿⣷⣼⣿⣯⣭⣿⣳⣶⣯⣿⣿⢿⣿⡽⣻⣿⣿⢷⡂⠤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠉⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⣢⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⢭⢷⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⣻⡷⣖⣦⣁⡖⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⣤⡈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⣹⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣹⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣷⣻⣭⣿⣷⣿⣿⠖⡫⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⡿⣦⢻⣷⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠑⣋⠟⡚⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⡻⣷⣽⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣚⡼⣿⡥⣚⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣷⡝⣷⣿⡾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠐⡊⠔⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⢯⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣻⣿⣟⣿⡿⣽⣽⣷⢞⡙⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢧⢿⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⢮⣑⣼⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣻⢾⣿⣿⣿⣷⠿⡋⣵⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡿⢳⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⢿⣞⣿⣿⣯⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢿⣿⢻⡝⠾⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢿⣽⢯⡄⢳⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣼⣹⣏⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⢹⣧⣼⣿⡉⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠻⠙⠻⠿⣿⣿⠿⡿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡟⣷⢿⣿⣻⣷⣾⡿⢾⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⡟⣄⡲⣰⣰⣄⠲⣤⢤⣲⢴⣇⣤⠠⡈⢍⢿⡿⠟⠛⠻⢿⣻⢿⣿⣷⣿⣾⣶⣿⣿⡿⣽⣣⣼⠿⢿⣻⣿⣟⣷⣷⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡛⢟⠩⢉⡉⣛⢿⣿⣾⡛⣛⢋⣿⣟⣿⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡷⠏⣕⣢⠶⣭⢿⣧⣯⣽⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡱⣬⣎⣗⣣⢞⡵⣮⣿⣱⢷⡬⣿⣿⣿⣷⡸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⢦⡟⠛⢻⠛⠿⠿⠿⠟⣋⣰⣸⡾⣿⡿⠟⠓⠚⠏⡀⠀ ⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⢯⣿⣷⣻⡼⣿⣟⣞⡷⣿⣹⡿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠘⠂⠀⠀⢀⢺⡍⠙⡖⢼⣹⠜⠙⠲⣎⡟⣛⣯⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡂ ⢠⣿⢯⣿⣿⣿⢾⣷⣯⣟⣿⣿⣽⣻⣷⣿⢷⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠰⡄⣻⠏⢀⣤⣴⡶⠟⡿⠏⠻⢅⡴⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼ ⢯⡿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣟⡾⣷⡽⣾⣿⣾⣻⣟⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣆⠀⠀⠀⠐⠄⣷⢋⡐⠌⣼⠷⠈⢀⠀⣠⢲⠞⠓⠋⠒⠀⠀⠀⣠⠇ ⠀⣿⣷⡿⣾⣿⣿⡿⣽⢾⣽⣯⣿⣷⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⡀⠜⠂⠀⠀⠀⣨⢇⢢⠐⣼⣯⡤⣆⢭⡲⡴⠋⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⢀⡴⠃⠀ ⠀⣿⣽⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⢦⠀⠀⢠⡿⣾⣻⠰⡿⠯⠿⡞⢧⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⡀⠐⣸⠊⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠙⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣄⠀⣿⣯⣷⣽⡎⣧⠀⠀⢀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢄⡖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡴⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢯⣠⣻⡟⣿⣻⡿⡼⠀⣀⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠿⣟⣫⢝⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣯⣓⣋⣬⣿⡼⠁⠀⣷⣿⣦⡱⢖⡀⣤⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡟⠋⠉⠀⠸⣿⠁⢿⢇⣚⠿⣿⡝⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣛⣉⠐⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣇⣖⣦⢲⡴⣿⡄⠘⣾⠛⣿⢻⣿⣺⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣻⣿⣯⣾⣻⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣽⣧⡀⠈⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⠢⢍⣝⣳⣎⠇⠀⠈⠓⠛⠓⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⢿⣏⣱⡞⣡⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣷⣌⣙⣷⣈⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⢿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠯⢭⠶⠾⠀⠀⠀

²⁰⁰⁹⁻¹⁰⁻²²

🧸☕🍂🦉

I Begged You “Please, I am literally begging you,” I warn, but the executioner only sighs and gives me a truly sorrowful look... The chaplain sits beside me. “Once he pushes the button, death will come soon after,” he explains, even though I have heard it so many times before already. “Any final words?” “Just, again, I tell you, begging you not to do this,” I say. clean conscience. That’s the thing, though; I haven’t murdered anyone. It’s been this way my The chaplain nods sadly, sorrowful that I do not face my executioner with a clean conscience. That’s the thing, though. I haven’t murdered anyone. It’s been this way my entire life. I don’t know why, but whenever I would accidentally hurt myself others near me would receive the wound. I once got a paper cut in class that caused the three people around me to bleed from their fingers. In high school, I was in a car accident, and even though my side of the car was hit, my girlfriend developed a broken leg. I’m always very careful. I take care of myself, trying to stay in the very best of health. But when I was mugged by that trio and he shot me in the face, theirs exploded, not mine. And when the cops came, they found me kneeling by their bodies, trying to figure out what to do and stupidly holding their gun. Around thirty seconds after the execution started, I see both the executioner and chaplain fall to the floor with a hard thump. “I told you,” I begged sadly. —stellarpath

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⡀⠤⢄⡀⢀⢞⡕⠒⠒⠒⠭⣕⡢⣀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠤⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢞⠵⠊⠉⠁⠈⠉⠑⠮⡛⢸⡇⠀⢀⣤⣄⠀⠉⢮⡣⣀⢯⠏⠉⢣⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠄⣀⡀⠀⠀⡰⡱⠃⠀⡠⢖⣒⡲⣦⡀⠀⠈⢾⡇⠀⢸⢨⢝⢿⡄⠀⢳⠛⡾⠀⠀⠈⡎⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⢵⣖⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠒⠮⣕⢤⢳⠃⠀⡎⡜⠁⠀⠈⢳⢻⡀⠀⠈⡇⠀⢸⢸⠀⡇⡇⠀⡸⢰⡇⠀⠀⡀⠸⡜⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢏⢿⡄⠀⠈⣟⢛⢷⣦⡀⠈⠳⣼⡀⠀⢣⠣⡀⠀⠀⣠⢻⠃⠀⢠⣷⠀⢸⠸⣚⠕⠁⡰⠁⡾⠀⠀⡼⣧⠀⢱⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⡞⣿⡀⠀⠘⡜⡟⢮⢻⡄⠀⠈⣧⡀⠀⠑⠮⠭⠭⠖⠁⠀⢀⡞⣿⠀⠈⠉⠀⠠⣞⢵⢰⡇⠀⠀⠋⠉⠁⠀⢧⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⠄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡼⣷⠀⠀⠘⡜⡄⢇⢿⠀⠀⡟⢿⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣤⢻⠀⠀⣷⣦⡀⠈⠳⣾⠀⠀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠈⡎⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡹⣧⠀⠀⠸⡜⡜⣼⠀⠀⡇⢶⣉⣻⣿⣟⣉⣥⢄⠉⢱⠆⢸⣤⣤⢣⢝⢿⣦⢾⢧⣀⣸⡰⠁⠀⢢⢿⣀⣼⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⢿⣆⠀⠀⠹⣰⠃⠀⣸⢱⣞⣇⢼⣻⣞⣾⣾⣿⣃⡞⡜⠑⠒⣒⠥⠤⠵⠍⣉⣓⣺⣡⠭⠍⢭⢪⠊⠓⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⡱⠃⠘⡜⣆⢑⡫⠝⠋⣁⢛⢼⢪⠕⢯⣶⢉⣭⢙⠼⡄⣖⡚⠹⡸⠽⣼⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⢄⣀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠒⢦⣀⠴⠒⠒⠤⡀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢎⢿⡄⣠⠔⠋⣚⢒⡪⡍⡥⡌⡟⣉⡑⢾⡘⡜⡇⡇⡎⢦⢻⡆⢩⡺⣄⡇⢞⡧⡄⢧⢻⣎⣳⢱⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠑⠢⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠾⠯⣰⡚⣩⠼⢈⡳⡜⢸⠠⢳⢓⠷⣃⡇⠣⠔⣧⣑⢜⡼⢹⡼⢿⢞⣳⣒⡒⠧⢜⠯⠭⠗⠉⠀⣀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢠⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⢳⠈⣟⣨⣁⠇⢮⢳⣼⣘⡜⣼⡸⣒⠭⠕⠚⠛⠊⠓⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢏⢧⠥⣒⡛⠺⠬⠕⠒⠒⠈⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠒⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡄⠀⡞⠁⣠⠞⢋⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⡆⡶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣶⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⣟⢸⡇⣼⢃⡾⢋⣀⣀⣹⠇⢠⣤⣄⣇⡿⡽⣠⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⢦⣯⢧⡿⣤⢶⠀⠀⠘⣦⡹⣌⣇⢿⣾⡼⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡟⢍⠳⣿⣟⣁⠐⣄⠈⡆⢘⣄⡠⠤⠀⠀⠀⠤⠤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣝⡯⠋⡟⡏⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢾⣿⠮⠻⠷⠒⠒⠶⠦⢤⣄⠀⣿⢘⢠⣖⡲⠞⣀⡈⣆⣷⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠿⠭⠿⣤⠐⢁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⡠⠒⠈⠉⠒⢤⡠⠒⠺⢷⡟⣿⣿⡏⣠⣀⣈⣚⢯⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣀⠉⠙⠒⢤⡙⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣟⢹⡄⣼⢋⣙⠻⣄⡸⡀⡴⠋⠉⠑⣆⡥⠒⠲⣜⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠈⠳⡌⢢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠹⡇⢯⣀⡝⠀⢱⠀⢇⠀⣶⣶⡼⡅⢠⣖⣼⡗⢲⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢙⣆⠹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠹⣶⡶⠉⠉⠉⠀⠈⠉⠛⠩⣄⣽⠚⠛⠁⠛⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⢽⣷⣤⣤⢤⣤⣿⠜⢮⢦⣰⠠⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣖⡄⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⡏⠲⠤⢄⣀⡠⠤⠚⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⢧⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠙⠋⢈⣬⣷⡦⣄⠈⣿⣿⡆⠀⠑⢙⣟⠙⡆⢀⠔⢦⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣧⣠⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⢫⡉⠓⣄⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⣫⣽⣬⣭⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢫⣾⣹⢹⡜⡇⢸⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠨⡛⢗⠋⢀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠻⣦⡀⠀⠈⢣⣀⠩⠥⠍⠀⣀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⣾⢃⣴⣋⡟⡏⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣎⣛⣋⠼⠗⠃⠈⣿⣿⣯⣶⡀⠀⠀⡟⢳⡟⠉⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢦⡀⠀⡹⠉⠉⠉⠻⣍⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⣎⠛⢛⣣⣧⠼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢸⠥⠤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡖⢲⣄⠀⠀⠀⡿⠙⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⢟⠀⠀⣶⣖⡚⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠞⠀⢧⢠⢳⡇⢠⠀⡇⠀⠈⢆⡠⠤⠤⠤⣀⣸⣿⣿⡿⡿⡪⠟⣻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡤⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠰⢄⠀⠀⠙⢦⣗⠬⣝⣳⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡜⢱⣤⣅⡴⢿⡀⠀⠎⠀⠀⢠⠊⠁⠀⡼⢋⢞⠞⢚⣉⠥⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣖⠒⠲⣤⠇⠀⠀⢀⡠⢺⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠲⢶⠤⡤⠬⢽⡦⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⣷⣬⡉⠻⡟⢯⢧⣄⣈⠏⠀⠀⠐⠃⣞⣞⣉⡡⠤⢲⡿⠶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⣁⣠⡤⠒⠉⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠤⠤⠼⠦⠉⠓⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣃⡾⢙⡦⢸⢸⣺⡴⠞⠳⡀⠀⠀⢸⣹⡩⠤⠒⢚⡟⠙⢗⣆⠀⠻⡿⠷⣖⣒⣒⣚⠽⣹⣡⠊⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⢀⣠⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⢽⢠⠏⠀⢸⣴⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢢⣄⢸⡧⠖⣚⣉⣾⠀⠀⠀⠙⣇⠉⠻⡤⠀⢀⠀⠠⠤⠔⠋⠳⡄⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⣷⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣯⢟⡽⠊⣠⡷⠟⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⡉⠛⠯⠭⠖⠋⠸⡆⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⢧⠀⣠⠔⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢽⡥⣶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠘⣟⡆⠀⠀⢀⡏⠉⠙⠛⠒⣶⣤⠤⡇⠀⠀⠀⢺⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣾⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⢄⣀⡼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢰⢻⠁⠑⠓⡶⡶⣆⡼⢉⡗⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⡇⠀⠀⢠⢧⢟⣉⡤⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣛⠁⡝⡃⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⢡⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⡱⢄⣀⣸⢸⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠸⡼⡄⠙⠷⣀⡠⠶⠋⣠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⠦⣅⣇⣹⠀⠶⠦⠤⠤⢤⣤⣤⡤⠤⠤⠶⠶⠿⠛⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠙⠮⣓⣂⣘⣻⡴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠒⠒⠒⠛⠲⠤⣀⠀⠀⢀⡟⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠚⠉⠉⠙⠲⣄⣼⠃⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣇⠓⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠈⢳⣄⠀⡾⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡸⢧⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣄⣁⣠⠞⢹⠻⣇⣀⡬⢷⣦⡀⠀⣠⠔⢋⣟⣦⠟⣾⣀⣠⣤⣤⡶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠄⠄⢈⣷⠻⡀⠈⠣⡀⠀⣰⠟⠁⢹⡞⣁⡏⠭⠀⣠⣶⣿⡿⡫⢚⣵⣪⢵⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠹⢽⣹⢦⡀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⢸⡼⣮⠀⢠⠾⠿⠿⣾⢞⡴⢛⡩⢔⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡶⠛⠹⡄⠀⠘⠊⠧⣿⠽⠎⠐⠺⠤⣀⠀⠘⣧⡏⠀⠀⡰⣣⠿⣚⡥⢶⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡟⡆⠀⠀⠹⣄⠀⢀⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠢⡘⣧⠀⣰⣳⠗⣋⡥⣶⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⢳⡀⠀⢠⠬⠵⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠘⣧⣧⢗⣫⣵⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠞⣯⢷⡀⢨⠩⠭⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠓⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢷⡳⣄⠉⠉⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢮⣗⣒⣺⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

‘Seeing Red (The First Day of School)’ by Zenryhao Everyone loves the first day of school, right? New year, new classes, new friends. I like the first day of school for a different reason, though. You see, I have a sort of power. When I look at people, I can…sense a sort of aura around them. A colour outline based on how long that person has to live. Most everyone I meet around my age is surrounded by a solid green hue, which means they have plenty of time left. A fair amount of them have a yellow orange tinge to their auras, which tends to mean a disease or fire; some tragedy. Anything that takes people “before their time” as they say. The real fun is when the auras venture into the red end of the spectrum, though. Every now and again I’ll see someone who’s basically a stoplight. Those are the ones who get in a car crash, or even a victim of crime. It’s such a rush to see them and know their time is numbered. With that in mind, I always get to class very early so I can scout out my classmates’ fates. The first kid who came in was basically radiating red. I tsk tsk tsk. Huh. But as people kept walking in, they all had the same intense red glow. I finally caught a glimpse of my own fading reflection in the window, but I was too stunned to move. Our professor stepped in and locked the door, his aura a sickening shade of green...

Horror Short Story: The Accident In this horror short story, a man tries to cope with what he has done. Written by: Reddit user Minnboy Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn’t moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home. Why did you run, you fool? He’d never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone. Why not just go to the police right now? Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me. There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. Trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light. “Mr. Halverson?” asked the grim officer. He let out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Let me —”I am terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your son’s bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I’m very sorry for your loss..."

I miss my papa ✨ I really wish I didn't poison him

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠆⠄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣷⣠⣄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⡈⠀⠂⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠐⢄⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠂⢢⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠩⠀⠌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⡉⣤⣶⣮⣭⡉⠓⢦⠈⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⢻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⡁⠆⢰⣹⣿⣯⣿⣿⣯⢆⠀⡱⣈⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣂⠙⡛⢉⠠⢁⡐⠌⡐⢺⣿⣤⣿⣿⣿⣦⣾⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⡁⢂⠐⠠⢂⠂⡐⠂⠌⡙⣛⣿⢻⣽⣾⣿⡿⠻⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢡⣐⣂⣐⡀⢊⠐⡀⢂⠡⢈⠐⠀⣰⣶⣿⣿⡋⢻⠗⢶⡶⣤⣧⣉⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢱⣾⣿⠉⠆⡀⠉⢆⢁⠰⡀⠆⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣆⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡻⣿⠟⢋⢼⣿⢿⢷⣴⣦⡜⡀⠀⣓⣠⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡿⢿⣿⣻⣿⣿⠿⢛⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠁⡐⠈⠤⢺⣿⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡁⢄⡖⡠⠙⡉⠡⢀⣳⣿⣿⠁⢀⣀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢁⠂⢌⠐⡈⠜⣌⣛⠛⢫⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡿⣧⡁⠂⠤⢁⣾⣿⠛⢁⠠⣛⡼ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣲⠖⡒⠲⡒⡖⢐⣠⣾⣿⣿⣟⠙⡟⠻⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠷⠝⣡⡄⡅⣢⣿⠟⡡⠑⢈⠂⠡⠙ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣡⢦⣶⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣈⡛⠙⠟⠲⣷⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⠂⠔⠛⢋⣡⡾⠋⠀⡒⡴⢩⣅⣡⡀⠄ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢢⠀⠴⢄⣡⣱⠒⡘⠿⠿⢿⡿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⠿⠟⡋⠄⠂⠁⣨⣴⣟⠏⣤⣼⠶⡱⢥⢏⣉⠈⢻⣄ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⡈⠄⡈⠀⠦⣰⢸⡡⠐⠀⠠⡀⠄⢊⠉⠛⡉⠄⢂⠐⠠⣐⣨⣵⡟⠏⢀⠠⣻⣿⡟⡔⡿⠭⠤⢦⠮⠤⠤ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡃⠀⢀⠀⠃⡀⠀⠤⣧⣄⣀⣃⡠⠘⡀⠜⣠⣀⣘⡤⠼⢛⣻⠛⣟⡻⢼⣄⠤⡀⡟⣸⠠⣇⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠣⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⡹⣆⠍⣻⢻⢭⣩⣉⠙⡒⢊⠍⡍⣡⢎⣳⢳⡡⠌⠷⣧⡘⡼⡤⠿⣿⡙⠒⣁⠚⣹ ⢸⠛⠿⠿⠿⠷⠿⠟⢋⠛⠥⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠰⢸⡊⠔⡇⢎⡧⡉⠏⢍⠃⢎⠩⠑⣎⡇⡣⢧⢉⠢⡉⢿⣶⡓⠣⢤⣍⣳⣶⣒⣁ ⢸⠈⠠⠀⡅⡔⠗⡈⠄⠂⠐⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⢑⠌⡂⠜⡀⢁⠘⠰⡈⢌⠂⡅⠣⢰⢹⡰⢡⠊⡔⠁⢆⠸⠱⢄⡐⠚⠒⠓⠚⠓

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You know you ve grown up when a nap no longer feels like a punishment but a reward December 29, 2014

r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago MintClicker Moments before the tragedy At 3, she jumped off the bed. At 7, she unbuckled her seat belt. At 12, she went to a sleepover at a friend's house. At 17, she finally received her driver's license. At 26, she said yes. At 30, she went into labor. At 39, she had one last hurrah. At 46, she signed the papers to make it final. At 55, he was diagnosed and had no one to share the news with. At 61, she celebrated her remission with a night out. At 22, she looked at herself in the mirror. At 87, surrounded by her family and friends, she smiled. There are moments before every tragedy, quick flashes of boredom or happiness, of the expected and unexpected. These moments I see. The little girl jumping off her parents bed and into an unresponsive final state. Another girl attending her first sleepover, excited and giddy, only to succumb to an unknowing fatal nut allergy. The young woman whose proposal near the shoreline was poorly thought-out, never allowing her to live to see her marriage. The older woman who finally divorced the man she came to loathe, and for that man to not take the finality of it all with dignity or peace. The man whose diagnosis was terminal. The woman whose 40th birthday ended in heartache and disaster. The girl whose last glimpse in the mirror was of herself, relieved, then raising the pistol to her temple. These moments, as innocuous as they seem, are the final looks to life before tragedy ultimately hits. And I watch them. I have to. It's my responsibility to take you all from this realm to the next. It's my duty. And I am sorry; I truly am. Because now? At this moment, they read the final sentences of a story. Some bored. Some happy. Some expecting this ending; some not. And I watch as they read these last words, fully oblivious as they are, that this, this is their moment.

Mel Ignatow, the killer who died the same way he killed his girlfriend | Mel Ignatow was a convicted murderer who killed his girlfriend by tying her to a glass table and slicing her. Years later he himself fell on the glass table and died from the cuts.

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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏 𝟐𝟎-- ˚｡⋆ ೀ ༘˚

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