Historycore Emojis & Text

Copy & Paste Historycore Emojis & Symbols https://hopkintonhistorical.org/hopkinton-rhode-is

į“æįµ‰įµįµ‰įµįµ‡įµ‰Ź³ā±āæįµ įµƒ Ė”įµ’įµ›įµ‰įµˆ įµ’āæįµ‰ įµˆįµ’įµ‰Ė¢āæā€™įµ— āæįµ‰į¶œįµ‰Ė¢Ė¢įµƒŹ³ā±Ė”Źø āæįµ‰įµ‰įµˆ įµ—įµ’ įµ‰āæįµˆ įµƒįµ— įµ—Ź°įµ‰ į¶ įµ˜āæįµ‰Ź³įµƒĖ” Ź°įµ’įµįµ‰ įµ’Ź³ įµįµ‰įµįµ’Ź³ā±įµƒĖ” Ė¢įµ‰Ź³įµ›ā±į¶œįµ‰ā€§ į“¬ įµ—įµƒįµ–Ź°įµ’įµ–Ź°ā±Ė”įµ‰ ā±Ė¢ įµ’āæįµ‰ Ź·Ź°įµ’ įµ—įµƒįµįµ‰Ė¢ įµƒāæ ā±āæįµ—įµ‰Ź³įµ‰Ė¢įµ— ā±āæ į¶œįµ‰įµįµ‰įµ—įµ‰Ź³ā±įµ‰Ė¢āø“ įµ—įµ’įµįµ‡Ė¢įµ—įµ’āæįµ‰Ė¢āø“ įµ’Ź³ įµįµ‰įµįµ’Ź³Źø įµ’į¶  įµ–įµƒĖ¢įµ— Ė”ā±įµ›įµ‰Ė¢ā€§ įµ€Ź°įµ‰Ź³įµ‰ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ Ė¢įµ’ įµįµƒāæŹø įµˆā±į¶ į¶ įµ‰Ź³įµ‰āæįµ— Ź³įµ‰įµƒĖ¢įµ’āæĖ¢ Ź·Ź°Źø įµ–įµ‰įµ’įµ–Ė”įµ‰ Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ į¶œįµ‰įµįµ‰įµ—įµ‰Ź³ā±įµ‰Ė¢ įµƒāæįµˆ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³įµ‰ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ Ė¢įµ’ įµįµƒāæŹø įµ–įµ‰įµ’įµ–Ė”įµ‰ Ź·Ź°įµ’ įµˆįµ’ā€§ į““įµƒįµ›įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜ įµ‰įµ›įµ‰Ź³ įµ—Ź°įµ’įµ˜įµŹ°įµ— įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— ā±įµ—? į“°įµ’ į¶ Ź³ā±įµ‰āæįµˆĖ¢ įµƒāæįµˆ į¶ įµƒįµā±Ė”Źø įµ—Ź°ā±āæįµ įµ—Ź°ā±Ė¢ ā±Ė¢ įµ’įµˆįµˆāø“ įµ’Ź³ įµˆįµ’ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Źø Ė¢Ź°įµƒŹ³įµ‰ įµ—Ź°ā±Ė¢ ā±āæįµ—įµ‰Ź³įµ‰Ė¢įµ— Ź·ā±įµ—Ź° Źøįµ’įµ˜? į“°įµ’ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ė”įµ’įµ›įµ‰ Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµˆā±āæįµ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ‰įµ–ā±įµ—įµƒįµ–Ź°Ė¢? įµ€Ź°įµ‰Źø į¶œįµƒāæ įµ‡įµ‰ įµ—Ź°įµ’įµ˜įµŹ°įµ— įµ–Ź³įµ’įµ›įµ’įµā±āæįµāø“ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµ— Ź·Ź³įµ‰āæį¶œŹ°ā±āæįµ įµƒāæįµˆ Ė”įµ’įµ›ā±āæįµā€§ į“³įµ‰įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ įµƒ Ė”ā±įµ—įµ—Ė”įµ‰ įµĖ”ā±įµįµ–Ė¢įµ‰ ā±āæįµ—įµ’ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ–įµ‰Ź³Ė¢įµ’āæā€™Ė¢ Ė”ā±į¶ įµ‰āø“ ā€œį“®įµ‰Ė”įµ’įµ›įµ‰įµˆ į¶ įµƒįµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³āø“ į”†Ź·įµ‰įµ‰įµ— į“¬āæįµįµ‰Ė”ā€ā€§ įµ‚Ź°įµ‰āæ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Źø Ź·įµ‰Ź³įµ‰ įµ‡įµ’Ź³āæāø“ Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Źø įµˆā±įµ‰įµˆā€§ Źøįµ’įµ˜ į¶œįµƒāæ Ė”įµ‰įµƒŹ³āæ Ė¢įµ’ įµįµ˜į¶œŹ° į¶ Ź³įµ’įµ Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµˆā±āæįµ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ—įµ’įµįµ‡Ė¢įµ—įµ’āæįµ‰ā€§ į“°ā±įµˆ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Źø Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ įµƒ į¶ įµƒįµā±Ė”Źøāø“ į¶œŹ°ā±Ė”įµˆŹ³įµ‰āæāø“ įµ–įµƒŹ³įµ‰āæįµ—Ė¢āø“ Ė¢įµ–įµ’įµ˜Ė¢įµ‰? įµ‚įµ‰Ź³įµ‰ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Źø ā±āæ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ Ė¢įµ‰Ź³įµ›ā±į¶œįµ‰āø“ įµƒāæ įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµ’Ź³įµ‰Ź³ įµƒāæ įµƒŹ³įµ—ā±Ė¢įµ—āø“ įµƒ įµ–įµ’įµ‰įµ—? į“µĖ¢ ā±įµ— įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ‡įµ‰įµƒįµ˜įµ—Źø įµ’į¶  į¶œįµ‰įµįµ‰įµ—įµ‰Ź³ā±įµ‰Ė¢? įµ€Ź°įµ‰ įµ–įµƒŹ³įµ Ė”ā±įµįµ‰ Ė¢įµ‰įµ—įµ—ā±āæįµ Ź·ā±įµ—Ź° įµ’Ź³āæįµƒįµ—įµ‰ įµ—įµ’įµįµ‡Ė¢įµ—įµ’āæįµ‰Ė¢ā€§ įµ€Ź°įµ‰ įµ–įµ‰įµƒį¶œįµ‰ įµƒāæįµˆ Ė¢įµ‰Ź³įµ‰āæā±įµ—Źøā€§ įµ€Ź°įµ‰ įµˆįµ‰į¶œįµƒŹøā±āæįµ įµ—įµ’įµįµ‡Ė¢įµ—įµ’āæįµ‰Ė¢ įµ’į¶  Ź·įµ’įµ’įµˆ ā±āæ įµƒ įµŹ°įµ’Ė¢įµ— įµ—įµ’Ź·āæā€§ į“æįµ‰įµāæįµƒāæįµ—Ė¢ įµ’į¶  Źøįµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµ‰Ź³Źøįµ‰įµƒŹ³ā€§ į“¬ Ė¢įµ—įµ’Ź³Źø įµ’į¶  įµƒ įµ—ā±įµįµ‰āø“ įµ’į¶  įµƒ įµ–Ė”įµƒį¶œįµ‰ įµƒāæįµˆ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ–įµ‰įµ’įµ–Ė”įµ‰ Ź·Ź°įµ’ Ė”ā±įµ›įµ‰įµˆ įµƒāæįµˆ įµˆā±įµ‰įµˆ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³įµ‰ā€§ į“µĖ¢ ā±įµ— įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµƒŹ³į¶œŹ°ā±įµ—įµ‰į¶œįµ—įµ˜Ź³įµ‰ įµ—Ź°įµƒįµ— įµˆŹ³įµƒŹ·Ė¢ Źøįµ’įµ˜? 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į“°įµ’ Źøįµ’įµ˜ Ź·įµ’āæįµˆįµ‰Ź³ įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ–įµ‰Ź³Ė¢įµ’āæ? į“µ Ź·įµ’įµ˜Ė”įµˆ'įµ›įµ‰ įµ‡įµ‰įµ‰āæ įµƒāæ ā±āæį¶ įµƒāæįµ— Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæ Ź°įµ‰ įµ–įµƒĖ¢Ė¢įµ‰įµˆā€§ā€§ā€§ įµ‚įµƒĖ¢āæ'įµ— įµŹ³įµƒāæįµˆįµ–įµƒ įµ‡įµ’Ź³āæ ā±āæ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ Ė¢įµƒįµįµ‰ Źøįµ‰įµƒŹ³? į““įµ’Ź· įµˆā±įµˆ į”†įµā±įµ—Ź° Ė¢įµ–įµ‰āæįµˆ Ź°ā±Ė¢ įµ—ā±įµįµ‰? įµ‚įµƒĖ¢ į”†įµā±įµ—Ź° Ė¢įµƒįµ—ā±Ė¢į¶ ā±įµ‰įµˆ įµ‡Źø įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ—ā±įµįµ‰ Ź°įµ‰ įµˆā±įµ‰įµˆāø“ į¶ įµ˜Ė”į¶ ā±Ė”Ė”ā±āæįµ įµƒĖ”Ė” Ź°ā±Ė¢ įµˆŹ³įµ‰įµƒįµĖ¢? įµ‚įµƒĖ¢ ā±įµ— Ė¢įµ˜įµˆįµˆįµ‰āæ Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæ ā±įµ— Ź°įµƒįµ–įµ–įµ‰āæįµ‰įµˆāø“ įµ’Ź³ Ź·įµƒĖ¢ ā±įµ— į¶ įµ’Ź³Ė¢įµ‰įµ‰āæ? įµ‚Ź°įµ‰āæįµ‰įµ›įµ‰Ź³ į“µ įµįµ’ įµ—įµ’ įµƒ įµŹ³įµƒįµ›įµ‰ŹøįµƒŹ³įµˆāø“ į“µ įµ—įµ‰āæįµˆ įµ—įµ’ Ź·įµƒāæįµ— įµ—įµ’ įµ‰Ė£įµ–Ė”įµ’Ź³įµ‰ āæįµ‰įµƒŹ³įµ‡Źø įµŹ³įµƒįµ›įµ‰Ė¢; Ź³įµ‰įµƒįµˆā±āæįµ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ āæįµƒįµįµ‰Ė¢āø“ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ā±Ź³ Ė”ā±į¶ įµ‰įµ—ā±įµįµ‰ā€§ā€§ā€§ į“°Ź³Źø Ė”įµ‰įµƒįµ›įµ‰Ė¢ į¶œŹ³įµ˜āæį¶œŹ° įµƒĖ¢ į“µ Ź·įµƒĖ”įµ įµˆįµ’Ź·āæ įµƒ Ź³įµ’Ź·ā€§ į“µ į¶œįµƒāæ'įµ— Ź°įµ‰Ė”įµ– įµ‡įµ˜įµ— Ź·įµ’āæįµˆįµ‰Ź³ įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ–įµ‰įµ’įµ–Ė”įµ‰ Ź·Ź°įµ’įµ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµįµ‰įµįµ’Ź³ā±įµƒĖ”Ė¢ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ į¶ įµ’Ź³ā€§ į“øįµ’įµ’įµĖ¢ įµ‡Ź³įµƒāæįµˆ āæįµ‰Ź·; įµ’Ź°āø“ ā±įµ— Ė¢įµƒŹøĖ¢ Ā²ā°Ė£Ė£ Ė¢įµ’ ā±įµ— įµįµ˜Ė¢įµ— įµ‡įµ‰ Ź³įµ‰į¶œįµ‰āæįµ—ā€§ į“¬įµįµƒįµ‡įµ‰Ė”; Ź·Ź°įµƒįµ— įµƒ įµ‡įµ‰įµƒįµ˜įµ—ā±į¶ įµ˜Ė” āæįµƒįµįµ‰! į“¬įµįµƒįµ‡įµ‰Ė”ā€§ā€§ā€§ į“æā±įµŹ°įµ— āæįµ‰įµƒŹ³ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ā±Ź³ įµ‡ā±Ź³įµ—Ź°įµˆįµƒŹøā€½ į“¬ Ź°įµ‰įµƒŹ³įµ— Ė¢Ź°įµƒįµ–įµ‰įµˆ įµŹ³įµƒįµ›įµ‰ā€§ā€§ā€§ į“µ į¶œįµƒāæ'įµ— Ź°įµ‰Ė”įµ– įµ‡įµ˜įµ— Ź·įµƒāæįµ— įµ—įµ’ įµāæįµ’Ź· įµƒįµ‡įµ’įµ˜įµ— įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ–įµ‰įµ’įµ–Ė”įµ‰ā€§ į”†įµ’įµįµ‰ įµƒŹ³įµ‰ Źøįµ’įµ˜āæįµįµ‰Ź³ įµ—Ź°įµƒāæ įµ’įµ—Ź°įµ‰Ź³Ė¢ Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ā±Ź³ įµ—ā±įµįµ‰ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ā€§ įµ‚Ź°įµƒįµ— Ź°įµƒįµ–įµ–įµ‰āæįµ‰įµˆ? į““įµƒįµ›įµ‰ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Źø įµƒāæŹø į¶ įµƒįµā±Ė”Źø? į”†įµ’įµįµ‰ Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ įµįµƒāæŹø į¶ Ė”įµ’Ź·įµ‰Ź³Ė¢ įµ–Ė”įµƒį¶œįµ‰įµˆā€§ į“¬Ź³įµ‰ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ Ź³įµ’Ė¢įµ‰Ė¢ įµƒŹ³įµ—ā±į¶ ā±į¶œā±įµƒĖ” įµ‡įµ‰į¶œįµƒįµ˜Ė¢įµ‰ įµ—Ź°įµ‰Źø Ė”įµ’įµ’įµ Ė¢įµ’ į¶ Ź³įµ‰Ė¢Ź°ā€§ā€§ā€§ į“µ Ė”įµ’įµ›įµ‰ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ į¶œįµ’Ė”įµ’įµ˜Ź³Ė¢! į“®įµ˜įµ— į“µ įµ—Ź³Źø āæįµ’įµ— įµ—įµ’ Ź³įµ˜Ė¢Ź° įµ‡įµ‰į¶œįµƒįµ˜Ė¢įµ‰ ā±įµ—'Ė¢ įµƒ Ė¢įµƒį¶œŹ³įµ‰įµˆ įµ–Ė”įµƒį¶œįµ‰ā€§ į“±įµ›įµ‰āæįµ—įµ˜įµƒĖ”Ė”Źøāø“ Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæ į“µ Ė”įµ‰įµƒįµ›įµ‰āø“ į“µ Ė”įµ’įµ’įµ įµ‡įµƒį¶œįµ įµƒįµ— įµ—Ź°įµ‰ į¶œįµ‰įµįµ‰įµ—įµ‰Ź³Źø Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæį¶œįµ‰ į“µ į¶œįµƒįµįµ‰ā€§ į“¬Ė”Ė” įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµ–įµ‰įµ’įµ–Ė”įµ‰ Ź°įµƒįµ›įµ‰ į“¬ Ė”ā±į¶ įµ‰ Ė¢įµ—įµ’Ź³Źø Ź·įµ’Ź³įµ—Ź° įµ—įµ‰Ė”Ė”ā±āæįµ įµƒāæįµˆ įµāæįµ’Ź·ā±āæįµā€§ į“µ'įµ Ė¢įµ‰Ź³įµ‰āæįµ‰ Ź·Ź°įµ‰āæ įµ‡Źø į“µ įµįµ‰įµ— įµ—įµ’ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ į¶œįµƒŹ³ā€§
https://hopkintonhistorical.org/hopkinton-rhode-island-death-records-1788-1922-a-c/
An Egg September 1, 2012 It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a quick passing. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail ... An Egg Strange and Unexplained / 5 minutes of reading Estimated reading time ā€” 4 minutes It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Youā€™re so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me. And thatā€™s when you met me. ā€œWhatā€¦ what happened?ā€ You asked. ā€œWhere am I?ā€ ā€œYou passed,ā€ I said, matter-of-factly. No point mincing words. ā€œThere was aā€¦a truck and it was skiddingā€¦ā€ ā€œYup.ā€ I said ā€œIā€¦ Iā€™m gone?ā€ ā€œYup. But donā€™t feel bad about it. Everyone passes.ā€ I said. You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. ā€œWhat is this place?ā€ You asked. ā€œIs this the afterlife?ā€ ā€œMore or less,ā€ I said. ā€œAre you god?ā€ You asked. ā€œYup.ā€ I replied. ā€œIā€™m God.ā€ ā€œMy kidsā€¦ my wife,ā€ you said. ā€œWhat about them?ā€ ā€œWill they be alright?ā€ ā€œThat what I like to see,ā€ I said. ā€œYou just passed and your main concern is for your family. Thatā€™s good stuff right there.ā€ You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didnā€™t look like a God. Some vague authority figure. ā€œDonā€™t worry,ā€ I said. ā€œTheyā€™ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didnā€™t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If itā€™s any consolation, sheā€™ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.ā€ ā€œOh,ā€ you said. ā€œSo what happens now? Do I go to the afterlife or something?ā€ ā€œNeither,ā€ I said. ā€œYouā€™ll be reincarnated.ā€ You followed along as we strolled in the void. ā€œWhere are we going?ā€ ā€œNowhere in particular,ā€ I said. ā€œItā€™s just nice to walk while we talk.ā€ ā€œSo whatā€™s the point, then?ā€ You asked. ā€œWhen I get reborn, Iā€™ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life wonā€™t matter.ā€ ā€œNot so!ā€ I said. ā€œYou have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just donā€™t remember them right now.ā€ I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. ā€œYour soul is more magnificent, beautiful and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. Itā€™s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if itā€™s hot or cold. You put a tiny part or yourself into the vessel and when you bring it back out, youā€™ve gained all the experiences it had.ā€ ā€œYouā€™ve been a human for the last 34 years, so you havenā€™t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we stay out here for longer, youā€™d start remembering everything. But thereā€™s no point doing that between each life.ā€ ā€œHow many times have I been reincarnated, then?ā€ ā€œOh, lots. Lots and lots. And into lots of different lives.ā€ I said. ā€œThis time around youā€™ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 A.D.ā€ ā€œWait, what?ā€ You stammered. ā€œYouā€™re sending me back in time?ā€ ā€œWell, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.ā€ You pondered. ā€œBut wait. If i get reincarnated to other places in time, could I have interacted with myself at some point?ā€ ā€œSure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own timespan you donā€™t even know itā€™s happening.ā€ I looked in your eye. ā€œThe meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.ā€ ā€œYou mean mankind? You want us to mature?ā€ ā€œNo. just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature, and become a larger and greater intellectā€ ā€œJust me? What about everyone else?ā€ ā€œThere is no one else,ā€ I said. ā€œIn this universe, thereā€™s just you, and me.ā€ You stared blankly at me. ā€œBut all the people on earthā€¦ā€ ā€œAll you. Different incarnations of you.ā€ ā€œWait. Iā€™m everyone!?ā€ ā€œNow youā€™re getting it.ā€ ā€œIā€™m every human who ever lived?ā€ ā€œOr whom will ever live, yes.ā€ ā€œIā€™m Abraham Lincoln?ā€ ā€œAnd youā€™re John Wilkes Booth, too.ā€ I added. ā€œIā€™m a criminal?ā€ you said, appalled. ā€œAnd youā€™re the victims, too.ā€ ā€œIā€™m a leader?ā€ ā€œAnd youā€™re everyone who followed you.ā€ You fell silent. ā€œEvery time you victimized someone,ā€ I said, ā€œYou were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness youā€™ve done, youā€™ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.ā€ ā€œWhy?ā€ You asked me. ā€œWhy do all this?ā€ ā€œBecause someday, you will become like me. Because thatā€™s what you are. Youā€™re one of my kind. Youā€™re my child.ā€ ā€œWhoa.ā€ you said, incredulous. ā€œYou mean Iā€™m a god?ā€ ā€œNo. Not yet. Youā€™re as a fetus. Youā€™re still growing. Once youā€™ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.ā€ ā€œSo the whole universe,ā€ you said. ā€œItā€™s justā€¦ā€ ā€œAn egg of sorts.ā€ I answered. ā€œNow itā€™s time for you to move on to your next life.ā€ And with that, I sent you on your way. Credit: Andy Weir
https://www.stsepulchres.org.uk/burials/index.html
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NEWEST GUIDELINES ON CANCERS SCREENING OF THE WOMB COMPARED TO PREVIOUS RECOMMENDATIONS SUGGESTED for AFAB people aged ~25-65 yrs. old 2020 Update 2012 old 2018 former rec. Ages <25 No screening Pap test every 3 years Pap test every 3 years Age 25ā€’29 HPV test every 5 years (preferred) , HPV/Pap cotest every 5 years (acceptable) or Pap test every 3 years (acceptable) Pap test every 3 years Pap test every 3 years Age 30ā€’65 HPV test every 5 years (preferred) or HPV/Pap cotest every 5 years (acceptable) Pap test every 3 years (acceptable) or HPV/Pap cotest every 3 years (preferred) or Pap test every 3 years (acceptable) Pap test every 3 years, HPV test every 5 years, or HPV/Pap cotest every 5 years Age 65 + No screening if a series of prior tests were normal No screening if a series of prior tests were normal No screening if a series of prior tests were normal and not at high risk for cancer
https://wisconsinhistory.org/Records?&facets=CATEGORIES%3a%22Pre-1907+Vital+Records%22%2cCONTENT_TYPE%3a%22Death+Index+Record%22&nodes=*Research*,*Family*
https://www.salempioneercemetery.org/groups/record_group.php
The End From Redditor u/MrCookieCutter: For the first time in recorded history, no humans died today. Granted, that's because the last one died yesterday.
ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–„ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–ˆā”€ā–ˆ ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–„ā”€ā–ˆā”€ā–ˆā”€ā–ˆā”€ā–ˆā”€ā–ˆā”€ā–ˆā”€ā”€ā–ˆā–€ā–ˆ ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā”€ā–€
ā†’ уєѕтєяāˆ‚Ī±Ńƒ Ī¹Ń• Š½Ī¹Ń•Ń‚ĻƒŃŃƒ. тĻƒŠ¼ĻƒŃŃĻƒĻ‰ Ī¹Ń• Š¼ŃƒŃ•Ń‚Ń”ŃŃƒ. Š²Ļ…Ń‚, тĻƒāˆ‚Ī±Ńƒ Ī¹Ń• gĪ¹Ę’Ń‚ тŠ½Ī±Ń‚ā€™Ń• Ļ‰Š½Ńƒ Ī¹Ń‚ Ī¹Ń• Ā¢Ī±ā„“ā„“Ń”āˆ‚ ĻŃŃ”Ń•Ń”Ī·Ń‚ā€¦

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ā˜½šŸŽ¾ā˜½ALYSSAā˜½šŸŽ¾ā˜½ AĶ« lĶ¤ yĶ¬ sĶ« sĶ£ aĶ„ įµˆ ā’¶šŸ”„ā“›šŸ”„ā“ØšŸ”„ā“¢šŸ”„ā“¢šŸ”„ā“ šŸŽ¾AӀվŹ‚Ź‚Ä…
~ -creepypastastories- Monsters and Ghosts Monsters are real, also ghosts They live inside us And sometimes they win

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https://aminoapps.com/c/creepypasta-tm/page/item/community- rules/X4gV_3jiXIRG72JmMgjN73k8BxdD5RGLop

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RULES ! posted 9 months ago āš°ļøŽ we will not write anything related to self harm, eating disorders, abuse as this can be triggering not only to us, but to our other followers as well āš°ļøŽ minors, beware on how you interact with such content. Any Triggering Topics mentioned in the post should be warned at the beginning of the post! (Putting it in the title is okay too)

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ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–„ā–€ā–„ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–„ā–€ā–„ ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–„ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–„ ā”€ā–„ā–„ā”€ā”€ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā”€ā”€ā–„ā–„ ā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–ˆā”€ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–‘ā–‘ā”¬ā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā”€ā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–ˆ
SEP 27 A 15-year old boy in a small town sat down at his computer after getting home from school one day. He turned it on and logged into an instant messaging program, and was then surprised to receive a message from a classmate of his, who had been absent that day. It consisted of two words; ā€œplease comeā€. Confused, the boy sent a reply, asking why heā€™d been absent that day. After two more messages and fifteen minutes with no response, he decided to get on his bike and head over to his classmateā€™s house. It was a short ride, only about five minutes away. When he got to the house, he found the door was unlocked. The boy slammed the door closed, and immediately called 911 on his cell phone. When the police arrived, they found three corpses, as well as tracks leading away from the house from the back door. The forensics report concluded that the entire family, the boyā€™s classmate and his parents, had been killed sometime the previous night.
The Bank Robber The bank I work at was robbed again last night. Itā€™s been hit three times this month and weā€™re sure itā€™s the same person. Every single time, the guy has vanished without a trace. Itā€™s almost as if he completely disappears. Thereā€™s no way he should be able to get away so quickly and without leaving any evidence. Last night when the robbery happened, I looked him in the eye for the first time. ā€œWhy do you keep doing this?ā€ I asked him, searching his dark eyes for an answer. He stared at me coldly from behind his ski mask and replied ā€œA manā€™s got to eat.ā€ Iā€™ve thought about it long and hard but Iā€™ve made up my mind: Iā€™m never going back to work at that blood bank again. 8 YEARS AGO
The Wrong Room April 1, 2014 You get back to your apartment after a long day's work and you want to get inside and rest. You were about to pull out your keys and unlock the door, but you notice it's open ... The Wrong Room April 1, 2014 / Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies, Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances / parodies / 2 minutes of reading Estimated reading time ā€” < 1 minute You get back to your apartment after a long dayā€™s work and you want to get inside and rest. You were about to pull out your keys and unlock the door, but you notice itā€™s open. Turning the doorknob and stepping inside, You notice something different. You stand in the doorway trying to figure it out. then it hits you. this isnā€™t your room. As you turn and leave, something catches your eye. There is a man hunched over a dish of flesh, eating it with his bare hands, tearing into it as a wild animal would with prey. Red dripped down the side of his mouth, and the smell that emanated from it was sickening. You were paralysed by the sight. Unconsciously, you start cover your nose and mouth. This accidentally bumps your elbow against the doorway. You freeze. He stopped eating there was something wrong. Then he looked up and started searching for the source of the noise. His eyes scanned the room till they found you. Your legs start moving on their own, and you find yourself running, running away from that room, and the horrors within it. ~~~ The man silently stands up, locks the door, sits back down, grabs another slice of pizza, and mutters quietly to himself: ā€œCrazy vegansā€. Credit To ā€“ Walrus King
The Portraits (a.k.a. The Cabin in the Woods) Famous Creepypasta, Locations and Sites, Nature and the Outdoors / April 20, 2009 / 1 minute of reading There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage... April 20, 2009 / Famous Creepypasta, Locations and Sites, Nature and the Outdoors / anonymously authored, cabins, camping, creepypasta classics, forests, hunters, mysteries, sites, twist endings, woods / 1 minute of reading Estimated reading time ā€” < 1 minute There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning. As he looked around, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by many portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell in to a restless sleep. Face down in an unfamiliar bed, he turned blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had not portraits, only windows.
Pierwszy dzień szkoły Każdy kocha pierwszy dzień w szkole, prawda? Nowy rok, nowa klasa, nowi przyjaciele. Ekscytujący dzień, wyposażony w funkcję i dreszczyk nieznanego, zanim wszystko zostanie pogrzebane przez szarą rzeczywistość i zabezpieczenie z niej smutki. Jednak ja lubię pierwszy dzień w szkole z innej przyczyny. Trzeba coś wyznać - posiadam posiadanie moc. Kiedy zobaczę na innych ludzi, zobaczę... aure. Kolorowa otoczka wokĆ³Å‚ każdego człowieka, ktĆ³rej barwa jest wskazana, jak długo dana osoba będzie żyć. Wyniki moich rĆ³wieśnikĆ³w ma, szkodliwe poświatę - oznacza to, że są jeszcze straty czasu. Niestety, duża duża grupa z nich posiada Å¼Ć³Å‚to - odmiana aury. To oznaka, że ā€‹ā€‹umrą w wypadku samochodowym, albo za wystąpienie awarii. powiedzą ludzie, że odeszli przed wystąpieniem. Prawdziwa zabawa zaczyna się, kiedy aura jest czerwona. zagrożenie każdego dnia, gdy widzę kogoś z taką otoczką, to ludzie, ktĆ³rzy stąpają po linii. Zostają zamordowani, albo zabiją siebie. To takie ekscytujące widzenie ich i wiedzą, że ich czas jest policzony. Zawsze przed następną nową szkołą, ktĆ³ra pojawi się na miejscu bardzo wcześnie, będzie możliwa do poznania losĆ³w moich koleżanek i wyposażenia z klasy. Pierwszy chłopak, ktĆ³ry wyszedł do klasy po mnie, emanował pulsującą czerwienią. Stłumiłem uśmieszek. Szkoda stary, szkoda! Ale następna osoba wchodząca do klasy posiada ten sam, bijący po wejściu, krwisty kolor. Po chwili wyszedł nasz nauczyciel. Zamknął drzwi na klucz, od środka. Jego aura była intensywnie zielona...
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Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

MAR 01 In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed. She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She was, naturally, suspicious, so she went to the police. When the police paid a visit to the address on the envelope, they made a gruesome discovery, three butchers had been where the envelope was addressed to. And what was in the envelope the man gave to the woman? A note, saying simply ā€œThis is the last one I am sending you today.ā€.
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Leon Czolgosz March 24, 2008 / Artifacts and Objects / anonymously authored / 1 minute of reading Estimated reading time ā€” < 1 minute Leon Czolgosz, the assassin of William McKinley (the 25th President of the United States) was electrocuted for his crime on October 29, 1901, at Auburn Prison in Auburn, New York. Among the personal effects found in his cell was a U.S. quarter stamped with the date 2218. The face in profile on said quarter was not George Washington, but rather a face which has yet to be identified.
March 24, 2008 / Artifacts and Objects / anonymously authored / 1 minute of reading Estimated reading time ā€” < 1 minute The assassin of William McKinley, 25th President of the United States, was electrocuted for his crime on October 29, 1901, at Auburn Prison in Auburn, New York. Among the personal effects found in his cell was a U.S. quarter stamped with the date 2218. The face in profile on said quarter was not George Washington, but rather a face which has yet to be identified.
A soldier called his parents from San Francisco. "Mom and Dad, I'm coming home, but I've a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to bring home." "Sure," they replied, "we'd love to meet him." "There's something you should know" the son continued, "he was hurt pretty badly in the fighting. He stepped on a land mine and lost an arm and a leg. He has nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us." "I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere to live." "No, Mom and Dad, I want him to live with us." "Son," said the father, "you don't know what you're asking. Someone with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can't let something like this interfere with our lives. I think you should just come home and forget about this guy. He'll find a way to live on his own." At that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard nothing more from him. A few days later, they received a call from the San Francisco police. Their son had died after falling from a building they were told. The police believed it was suicide. The grief-stricken parents flew to San Francisco and were taken to the city morgue to identily the body of their son. They recognized him, but to their horror they also discovered something they didn't know, their son had only one arm and one leg.
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Mother Warned Me Mother always warned me not to cross the street. Mother warned me about those types of things. She said bad men would kidnap me, take me away. I guess she was right, in a way. I crossed one day, because I was never a good child, and several men came out and picked me up and asked me many questions. I donā€™t know why she never wanted me to cross the street. All the men wore blue and had badges. I donā€™t know why they put silver bracelets on Mother. I donā€™t know why Mother attempted to bite one of them. I donā€™t know a lot of things, I suppose. And years later, Iā€™ll never know why she made me call her Mother.
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Ėš 怀怀怀 . āœ§ć€€ć€€ Ėš 怀怀怀 .怀怀 怀怀Ėš 怀怀怀 .怀怀 Ėš įœŠ i choose to stop apologising for being me įœŠ i radiate confidence, balance and inner harmony įœŠ i am so pretty and i love myself įœŠ i love my body and all it does for me įœŠ i am worthy of love and good things įœŠ i attract wonderful people into my life įœŠ i do not compare myself to other people įœŠ i feel beautiful and confident with my body įœŠ i will stop worrying about everything įœŠ i am becoming more at-ease with myself įœŠ i will take things on with a gentle approach Ėš 怀怀怀 . āœ§ć€€ć€€ Ėš 怀怀怀 .怀怀 怀怀Ėš 怀怀怀 .怀怀 Ėš
怀怀 Ėš 怀怀怀 . āœ§ć€€ć€€ 怀怀Ėš 怀怀怀 . āœ§ć€€ć€€ 怀怀Ėš 怀怀怀 . you are bigger than what is making you anxious 怀怀 Ėš 怀怀怀 . āœ§ć€€ć€€ 怀怀Ėš 怀怀怀 . āœ§ć€€ć€€ 怀怀Ėš 怀怀怀 .
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Americaā€™s Top 5 Spooky Spots for Horror Enthusiasts February 17, 2024 / Strange and Unexplained / 4 minutes of reading Estimated reading time ā€” 3 minutes How many times have you tried to find a place in the US that will raise your hair up and fill you with adrenaline? If youā€™re the kind of person who loves to take part in horror adventures, then you should know that America is full of spooky places, like dark cemeteries, abandoned mansions, and dark towns. The only thing youā€™ve left to do to satisfy your horror cravings is to choose the most suitable one for your needs and plan your next trip. The 5 spooky places in America that weā€™re about to list and discuss will indeed fascinate every horror enthusiast. Table of Contents 1. Bonaventure Cemetery 2. Lemp Mansion 3. Ballyā€™s Resort and Casino 4. Gettysburg National Military Park 5. Clinton Road Final Thoughts 1. Bonaventure Cemetery At first glance, you might think that Bonaventure is just another cemetery that might attract horror lovers at times. But trust us, you actually need to prepare yourself before you see the centuries-old tombstones that surround this historic site in Savannah, Georgia. Bonaventure Cemetery is an ancient, historic district that was once a privately owned cemetery. Even though this site attracts tourists with its beautiful nature and architecture, to this day, multiple people have reported unusual occurrences, such as the sounds of children and barking dogs, even when no one is around. As visitors claim, you should definitely consider going around the graves of Gracie Watson or Kehoe House ā€“ children who died in the 19th century but whose ghosts never left the Bonaventure Cemetery. 2. Lemp Mansion Besides cemeteries and battlefields, you can find numerous mansions and old houses in America that are considered haunted. Lemp Mansion in St. Louis, MO, is one of those mansions that still fascinates visitors with its eerie atmosphere. The main reason why this house is considered haunted is the history behind it ā€“ the tragic death of the Lemp family over 60 years ago. Almost a century ago, Lemps were important figures in the brewing industry. In the 1920s, the business began to decline. Not surprisingly for that period, this downturn made a few family members commit suicide. The first one among them was William Lemp who was followed by his son Billy. His brother, Charles, did the same later, along with a 13-year-old physically and mentally disabled brother. Today, Lemp Mansion is an inn and a restaurant and its visitors sometimes encounter the spirits of these 4 dead members of the Lemp family. 3. Ballyā€™s Resort and Casino If someone asks you to name some of the most popular attractions in Las Vegas, chances are that youā€™ll name Ballyā€™s Resort and Casino if youā€™ve ever gambled in this building. Everyone knows that Las Vegas is full of casinos and entertainment venues. But it turns out that horror enthusiasts either take pleasure in playing thrilling real casino games online or gamble at physical casinos that have a reputation for being haunted. Ballyā€™s Resort and Casino is one of those haunted places in America. This casino was initially known as MGM Grand in the 1970s and attracted wealthy people from all over the US. But this was before a terrible incident happened ā€“ in 1980, faulty wiring started a fire in the building, which resulted in the deaths of 80 individuals. Today, visitors to this casino claim that from time to time they hear spooky noises and notice the spirits of the people who died on that day. Thatā€™s why Ballyā€™s Resort and Casino is considered haunted. 4. Gettysburg National Military Park Considering the number of people who died at the Battle of Gettysburg during the American Civil War, itā€™s not really surprising that the National Military Park of Gettysburg is said to be haunted by the ghosts of soldiers. As a matter of fact, the Gettysburg National Military Park consists of numerous spots where paranormal activities occasionally take place. For example, there, you might encounter three disembodied heads. These hands belong to Confederate soldiers who died tragically on the battlefield. But other than these figures, sometimes you can even hear gunfire, shouts, and even the cries of wounded men. 5. Clinton Road One more scary place in America that usually fascinates horror lovers of various preferences is Clinton Road in West Milford, New Jersey. Itā€™s a 10-mile-long road that isnā€™t anything special at first glance. However, the legend says that if you decide to race on this road, chances are that you wonā€™t escape evil spirits and phantom headlights. Even more exciting about this haunted place is the rumor that after throwing a coin into the bridge at midnight, someone will throw this coin back at you. Itā€™s hard to decide whether itā€™s true or not, but if you dare to explore this place, throwing a coin is worth it. Just remember to do it exactly at midnight. Final Thoughts It wasnā€™t easy for us to choose only 5 haunted spots for horror enthusiasts who plan their ghost-haunting trip in America. But at least, now you have a starting point for your adventure. Just keep in mind that although you might consider yourself brave enough to explore these eerie locations, we donā€™t recommend going to those spooky places alone. Who knows, maybe those ghosts are actually waiting for a brave person who can become a part of their company.

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The Growths May 12, 2008 / Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness / anonymously authored / 2 minutes of reading Estimated reading time ā€” 2 minutes Iā€™d had them ever since I was a kid. I can remember being incredibly self-conscious about them, hiding them in my pockets under books and bags. The kids at school never said anything to my face, but I knew they were laughing behind my back. I remember asking my parents to take me to the doctor, to get them checked out. The growths on my hands seemed to be the elephant in the room back then, since theyā€™d just say I was fine and change the subject. But I knew better. I had tried to remove them as a child, but without avail; trying to get them off was always a lost cause because I couldnā€™t continue once the pain kicked in. But today was different. Itā€™s amazing how numb you can get with a couple of tourniquettes and a bottle of drink. I was originally planning to use sharps, but figured that trying to slice through the tough growths would be too arduous in my state. I opted for the slightly more technological plan B. I had to hurry though. I was already pretty light-headed and was starting to feel dizzy. My hands and forearms, nearly blue, couldnā€™t wait much longer either. The whirring of the blender helped to put me in a sort of tranceā€“ready to do what I had wanted to do since I first looked down at my strange formations. I shoved my left hand in first. The immediate sensation of sharp blades slicing through was jarring, but I was surprised at how well the alcohol was workingā€“I expected it to hurt more. I could hear the sharp metal churning and cutting, working perfectly as planned. I pressed my hand down harder. All those bad memories, all of the embarrassmentā€“all of those horrible things were now nothing more... Breaking from the feelings of ecstasy, I pulled out before the blades hit knuckle. I smiled, taking a good look at my new hand. As for the growthsā€“well, five down, and five to go!

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

Practice Makes Perfect by reddit user whiteddit "You're not even trying. Again!" My calloused hands dance across the music. A finger slips and the tune groans. "Your father would be ashamed. Again!" My blurred vision falls from the yellowed sheet music to the keys. I miss another note. "Faster. Again!" I stumble once more as the tempo increases. She rises from the bench. "Absolutely worthless. You're done for today." I hang my head in shame. I know what's coming. The floorboards creak as Mother returns from the kitchen. I wince. It's hard enough to play with three fingers. It'll be even harder with two.
The Answers As I lived my life, I had always pondered on the mysteries of the universe. I wondered what it all meant, why we were all here, and what lie beyond. That was the reason I became a scientist. I slaved over my work trying to unlock the unknown whole of creation. Always fighting a never ending battle to seek answers for life's greatest questions. Then, when my life came to an end from an untimely accident, I found myself standing on the precipice to eternity. In the seemingly infinite chasm of darkness, a voice called out a question to me... "Shall all of the answers be revealed to you, or will you swim the sea of creation in unknowing bliss?" "Please... Show me the answers I have tirelessly searched for and still seek!" "Very well..." A sudden emergence of a blinding light bathed me, and I was brought into the entirety of knowledge kicking and screaming. That was almost two years ago... Today I lay in my playpen attempting my last ditch efforts at telling my new Mom and Dad what I know, but all they see, and all they've seen for months, is a child at play, talking gibberish. My urgency grows and the fear begins to consume my mind as I realize... the better I get at communicating with them, the more of what I know fades from my memory.
I hate when websites ask "are you human?" ... no, I'm a vacuum. August 7th, 2012, 6:14 AM
A White Lie I'm the last one here. Those things have killed everyone else. Those things with the huge wings, with the beady eyes, with the sharp claws....every time I close my eyes see my coworkers being ripped apart. A few of us made it to the building here, but even here we aren't safe. I watched them get picked off one by one, screaming as they fought against death. I tried to stop it I swear I did I tried... Now I'm running through the building to the main power center. With no one else to ask, I'm tasked with pressing one of these buttons. Either will press the red button, or the green button. Supposedly, one button will turn the power doors back on, protecting us from whatever that shrieking, hungry, and angry...thing is outside. That's the red button. The other button is green and opens the opposite side power door, and I can only imagine what might be out there. Why had I agreed to come and research in this lab? I think as I run, hearing the screeches behind me. Oh .... Why did I lie on my application? Why didn't I admit I was color blind?
My Sister's Sculpture My Mother told me about it when I was around 6 years old. She told me I wasn't an only child, I was one of two little girls. You see, she told me that when I was first born along with my twin sister, she died the evening she was born. She never told me why or how she died.or when they had the funeral for her. She told me about my Father going into a deep sense of mourning, and so to let us never forget my little sister my Father made a sculpture ofher. She was painted to every last detail. Her cute blue eyes to the little dimples in her cheeks. My Father would copy me as a reference since we were twins, and as I grew up I thought the sculpture was of me, but now that my Mother cleared this all up I felt more close to the sculpture than I did before. It wasn't long until I noticed that every year; on my birthday my Father would replace the sculpture and now the sculpture looked the same age as me, as if the sculpture would follow me as l aged. My Father continued to do this well into my teenage years, capturing her older and more mature features and the change in her face. On my 18th birthday I realised I could not sleep. I was wondering how my Father made the sculpture so detailed to me so late into the night. Perhaps he took a photo of me and paints it in every detail? I was curious. So I desided to creep my way downstairs to see if could catch my Father making the sculpture, and as l peeked my head around the kitchen door I felt all the colour of my face drain. There, on the Kitchen table my Father was injecting the ā€œsculptureā€ with a liquid as he whispered "You will always be my little sculpture." as I watched the ā€œsculpture'sā€ hands twitch.
ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€(ā™„)(ā™„)(ā™„)ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€(ā™„)(ā™„)(ā™„) ÉŖʒ Ę“ĻƒĻ…'Ź€Ń” Ī±ŹŸĻƒĪ·Ń”, ā”€ā”€(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„)(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„) ÉŖ'ŹŸŹŸ ɓє Ę“ĻƒĻ…Ź€ ѕɧĪ±āˆ‚ĻƒŃ”. ā”€(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„) ÉŖʒ Ę“ĻƒĻ… Ń”Ī±Ī·Ń‚ тĻƒ cŹ€Ę“, ā”€(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„) ÉŖ'ŹŸŹŸ ɓє Ę“ĻƒĻ…Ź€ ѕɧĻƒĻ…ŹŸāˆ‚Ń”Ź€. ā”€ā”€(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„) ÉŖʒ Ę“ĻƒĻ… Ń”Ī±Ī·Ń‚ Ī± ɧĻ…É¢, ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„) ÉŖ'ŹŸŹŸ ɓє Ę“ĻƒĻ…Ź€ ĻÉŖŹŸŹŸĻƒŃ”. ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„) ÉŖʒ Ę“ĻƒĻ… Ī·Ń”Ń”āˆ‚ тĻƒ ɓє ɧĪ±ĻĻĘ“, ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„) ÉŖ'ŹŸŹŸ ɓє Ę“ĻƒĻ…Ź€ ѕɱÉŖŹŸŃ”. ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€(ā™„)ā–ˆā–ˆ(ā™„) ɓĻ…Ń‚ Ī±Ī·Ę“тÉŖɱє Ę“ĻƒĻ… Ī·Ń”Ń”āˆ‚ Ī± ʒŹ€ÉŖєĪ·āˆ‚, ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€(ā™„) ÉŖ'ŹŸŹŸ ŹĻ…Ń•Ń‚ ɓє ɱє.
Theyā€™re in the house. No more than a moment or two passes before the door to the bedroom starts shuddering. The things I piled against it are holding, for now, but I know, realistically, that theyā€™re going to manage to come through. I keep rocking my little girl, humming a lullaby in her ear to calm her as she cries. The pounding grows in force and volume, the frame starting to crack. I put my little girl on my lap, her back to my chest, and I stroke her head with both hands, from the top of her scalp, down across her ears, just as Iā€™ve done. Just the way she loves it. The effect is instantaneous. Her desperate crying calms to a series of sobs and hiccoughs, her small body shuddering against mine in fear. I keep humming to her, soothing her hair, acting for all the world as if nothing is out of place, not a single thing amiss. Agonisingly slowly, in a reverse cadence of the sound of splintering wood, she calms down. I can feel it when she stops tensing, as I keep stroking her down the sides of her head. A final hiccough of a sob, and she falls quiet, her body relaxed. She doesnā€™t even have time to realise whatā€™s happening as I twist her neck with a violent jerk, accompanied by a dry snap of a sound. Sheā€™s dead before she can even slump down into my lap. The door is giving way, the furniture pushed back. I may be torn limb from limb while I scream, but at least my baby angelā€™s safe from harm. 8 YEARS AGO
ā”€ā”€ā–„ā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā–„ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–„ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–„ā–€ā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ ā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–¼ā–¼ā–¼ā–¼ā–¼ā”€ā–„ā–€ā”€ā”€ā–ˆā–„ā–„ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–„ā–²ā–²ā–²ā”€ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–€ā–„ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā”€ā–€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–€ā–€
Mary had a little lamb It's fleece was white as snow, And everywhere that Mary went That lamb was sure to go. He followed her to school one day That was against the rules, It made the children laugh and play But soon they felt like fools. Maryā€™s corpse was in a room And oh, what a scene! The kids saw her coated in blood And regretted being mean. Soon the police arrived Stepped over Maryā€™s heart, And tried to ask everyone How she was ripped apart. But when nobody knew The origins of all the gore, The police decided That it was time to go hardcore. And so everyone was dragged To detectors so they canā€™t tell a lie But everybody refused to tell Why Mary had to die. Suspects were jailed everywhere Tom, Barb, and Sam Because not a single person knew The murderer was the lamb. June 21, 2017 hellofinah
ā”€ā”€ā–„ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–„ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ ā”€ā”€ā–ˆā”€ā”€ā”€ā–ˆā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ ā”€ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–„ā–€ā–€ā–„ā”€ ā–‘ā–ˆā–ˆā”€ā–€ā”€ā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–‘ ā–‘ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–‘ā–€ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–€ā–‘ā–‘
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į“¬Ė”ŹøĖ¢Ė¢įµƒ į¶ įµƒŹøįµ‰ į“¬įµ›ā±Ė”įµƒ į“®į“µį“æįµ€į““ Ā²ā· į“°įµ‰į¶œ Ā²ā°ā°ā° į“¹įµ’įµˆįµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµ’āø“ į”†įµ—įµƒāæā±Ė¢Ė”įµƒįµ˜Ė¢ į¶œįµ’įµ˜āæįµ—Źøāø“ į¶œįµƒĖ”ā±į¶ įµ’Ź³āæā±įµƒāø“ įµį”†į“¬ į“°į“±į“¬įµ€į““ Ā¹ā¹ į“¬įµ˜įµ Ā²ā°Ā¹ā° ā½įµƒįµįµ‰įµˆ ā¹ā¾ į“¹ā±įµƒįµā±āø“ į“¼įµ—įµ—įµƒŹ·įµƒ į¶œįµ’įµ˜āæįµ—Źøāø“ į“¼įµĖ”įµƒŹ°įµ’įµįµƒāø“ įµį”†į“¬ į“®įµį“æį“µį“¬į“ø į“¹įµƒį¶œįµ‰įµˆįµ’āæā±įµƒ į¶œįµ‰įµįµ‰įµ—įµ‰Ź³Źø į”†įµ—įµ‰Ė”Ė”įµƒāø“ į“ŗįµ‰Ź·įµ—įµ’āæ į¶œįµ’įµ˜āæįµ—Źøāø“ į“¹ā±Ė¢Ė¢įµ’įµ˜Ź³ā±āø“ įµį”†į“¬ įµ‚Źøįµƒāæįµˆįµ’įµ—įµ—įµ‰āø“ į“¼į“·ā»į“¬Ė”ŹøĖ¢Ė¢įµƒ į“¬įµ›ā±Ė”įµƒ į¶œŹ°įµƒŹ³įµįµ‰įµˆ įµ‰įµ›įµ‰Ź³Źøįµ’āæįµ‰ Ė¢Ź°įµ‰ įµāæįµ‰Ź· įµˆįµ˜Ź³ā±āæįµ Ź°įµ‰Ź³ Ė¢Ź°įµ’Ź³įµ— Ė”ā±į¶ įµ‰ įµƒ į¶ įµƒįµā±Ė”Źø įµįµ‰įµįµ‡įµ‰Ź³ Ė¢įµƒā±įµˆ į“¬Ė”ŹøĖ¢Ė¢įµƒ į¶ įµƒŹøįµ‰ į“¬įµ›ā±Ė”įµƒāø“ ā¹āø“ įµ‚Źøįµƒāæįµˆįµ’įµ—įµ—įµ‰āø“ į“¼į“· įµ–įµƒĖ¢Ė¢įµ‰įµˆ įµƒŹ·įµƒŹø įµƒįµ— Ā³ā ˜āµāµ į“¾į“¹ į“¬įµ˜įµįµ˜Ė¢įµ— Ā¹ā¹āø“ Ā²ā°Ā¹ā° įµƒįµ— į“¹ā±įµƒįµā± į“µāæįµ—įµ‰įµŹ³ā±Ė¢ į“®įµƒįµ–įµ—ā±Ė¢įµ— į““įµ’Ė¢įµ–ā±įµ—įµƒĖ” ā±āæ į“¹ā±įµƒįµā±āø“ į“¼į“· į¶ Ź³įµ’įµ ā±āæŹ²įµ˜Ź³ā±įµ‰Ė¢ Ė¢įµ˜Ė¢įµ—įµƒā±āæįµ‰įµˆ ā±āæ įµƒ įµ–Ė”įµƒŹøįµŹ³įµ’įµ˜āæįµˆ įµ‰į‘«įµ˜ā±įµ–įµįµ‰āæįµ— įµƒį¶œį¶œā±įµˆįµ‰āæįµ—ā€§ į“¬Ė”ŹøĖ¢Ė¢įµƒ į¶ įµƒŹøįµ‰ į“¬įµ›ā±Ė”įµƒ Ź·įµƒĖ¢ įµ‡įµ’Ź³āæ į“°įµ‰į¶œįµ‰įµįµ‡įµ‰Ź³ Ā²ā·āø“ Ā²ā°ā°ā° ā±āæ į“¹įµ’įµˆįµ‰Ė¢įµ—įµ’āø“ į¶œį“¬ įµ—Ź°įµ‰ įµˆįµƒįµ˜įµŹ°įµ—įµ‰Ź³ įµ’į¶  į“æįµ’āæ į“¬įµ›ā±Ė”įµƒ įµƒāæįµˆ į¶œįµƒįµ—Ź°Źø ā½į¶œįµƒįµįµ–įµ‡įµ‰Ė”Ė”ā¾ į¶œįµ’Ė”Ė”ā±āæĖ¢ā€§ į”†Ź°įµ‰ Ź·įµƒĖ¢ įµƒ Ė¢įµ—įµ˜įµˆįµ‰āæįµ— įµ’į¶  įµ‚Źøįµƒāæįµˆįµ’įµ—įµ—įµ‰ į“±Ė”įµ‰įµįµ‰āæįµ—įµƒŹ³Źø į”†į¶œŹ°įµ’įµ’Ė” įµƒāæįµˆ Ź·įµƒĖ¢ Ė”įµ’įµ›įµ‰įµˆ įµ‡Źø įµƒĖ”Ė” Ź·Ź°įµ’ įµįµ‰įµ— Ź°įµ‰Ź³ā€§
šŸ¦‡ā‹†āŗā‚Šā‹†š–¤š–¤ā‹†āŗā‚Šā‹†šŸ¦‡
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ā”€ā–„ā–€ā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā•ā—Æ ā–ā–Œā–„ā–€ā–€ā–ˆā–€ā–€ā–„ ā–ˆā–ā–Œā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–ā–Œ ā–ˆā–ā–ˆā–„ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–„ā–ˆā–Œ ā–€ā”€ā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–€
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ā–‘ā–‘ā•šā•ā•ā•—ā–‘ā•”ā•ā•”ā•ā•ā•ā•ā• ā•šā•ā•¦ā•ā•—ā• ā•ā•©ā•ā•©ā•—ā•”ā•ā•¦ā•ā•— ā–‘ā–‘ā•‘ā–’ā• ā•£ā–’ā–’ā–’ā–’ā• ā•£ā–’ā•‘ā–’ā•‘ ā•”ā•ā•©ā•ā•ā• ā•ā•¦ā•ā•¦ā•ā•šā•ā•©ā•ā• ā–‘ā–‘ā•”ā•ā•ā•ā–‘ā•šā•ā•šā•ā•ā•ā•ā•—
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ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–ˆā–ˆ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–€ ā–‘ā–„ā–€ā–‘ā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–€ā–„ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–„ā–‘ā–€ā–ˆā–„ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–ˆā–„ā–€ā–€
ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā•±ā–ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Š ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā–•ā•±ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Š ā”Šā”Šā”Šā•±ā–”ā–”ā•²ā”Šā•±ā–”ā–”ā•²ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Š ā”Šā”Šā–•ā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā–”ā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā•±ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Š ā”Šā”Šā–•ā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā•²ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Š ā”Šā”Šā”Šā•²ā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā”ˆā•±ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Š ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā•²ā–‚ā–‚ā–‚ā–‚ā–‚ā•±ā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Šā”Š
ā•¦ā•¦ā•¦ā•¦ā•¦ā•¦ā–„ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–€ā–„ā•¦ā•¦ā•¦ā•¦ā•¦ā•¦ ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–ˆā•—ā–‘ā–‘ā–ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā•”ā–ˆā–’ā–“ā–’ā–“ā–’ ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–ˆā•‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ā–„ā–„ā–‘ā•‘ā–ˆā–’ā–“ā–’ā–“ā–’ ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–“ā–’ā–ˆā•ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā•šā–ˆā–’ā–“ā–’ā–“ā–’ ā•©ā•©ā•©ā•©ā•©ā•©ā–€ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–„ā–€ā•©ā•©ā•©ā•©ā•©ā•©
ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–‘ā–‘ā•”ā•—ā•”ā•—ā•”ā•—ā”€ā•¦ā•”ā•— ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā–„ā–‘ā• ā•ā• ā•£ā• ā•©ā•—ā•‘ā•šā•— ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–„ā–ˆā–„ā•šā•ā•©ā•©ā•©ā”€ā•©ā•©ā•šā• ā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–„
ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–„ā–ˆā–„ ā–„ā–€ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–Œā”€ā–„ā”€ā–„ā”€ā–ā–„ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–„ ā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–ˆā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–Œā”€ā–€ā”€ā–€ā”€ā–ā–€ā–‘ā–‘ā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–ˆ ā–‘ā–ā–Œā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–€ā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–€ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–ā–Œ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–‘ā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–„ā–‘ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ
ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–„ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–ā–ˆā”¼ā–ˆā–ˆā–Œā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā”¼ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–Œā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā”¼ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–Œā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆ
ā–„ā–€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā”€ā–€ā–„ ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆā”€ā”€ā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā”€ā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā”€ā–„ā–ˆā–„ā–ˆ ā”€ā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–„ā–€ā–„ā–€ā”€ā–€ā–„ā–€ā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–€ ā–‘ā–‘ā–‘ā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–ˆā–„ ā–‘ā–ā–€ā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā–ˆā–„ā–„ā–„ā–ˆā–ˆā–€ā–ˆā–€ā–Œ
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