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october fourth 
01:54pm 04/10/2007
  the dirt clung to the cuts his hands and crawled beneath his nails; tiny fragments of rock and bone scraping the tender skin there. it slipped between his fingers and fell back to its original resting place, seemingly unaltered and undisturbed; he covered it back with moss and brown leaves -- covering the limestone and clay that lay beneath.

he stood, disregarding the soil on his shoes and knees. before him lay fields and fences, floodplains and gates. fields of corn, tobacco, sawgrass, and wheat.

the river trickled, anticipating the winter freeze. though in summer it always ran furious deep.
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october third 
01:54pm 21/10/2007
  the rain threatened him every way it knew how; soaked his clothing with bitter cold, plastered his dark hair to his face. he kept walking, one unsteady step at a time. waves clawed at him from all directions, stinging his skin -- ripped his glasses from him, clouded his eyes. he walked blindly forward into the ocean, slipping on the wet rocks.

the pier suddenly ended. he stood still, gazing into the vast nothingness that was the sea. a black wave loomed over him, moving in slow motion -- seeming to stretch infinitely into the sky.

it pulled him under.
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october second 
01:52pm 02/10/2007
  rain lashed at the tin roof, hammered the thin metal. it dripped through rust holes, formed pools on the floor. his broken glasses glittered in the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. they swayed with the violent gusts of wind outside.

the concrete floor was slick with water. he walked between rows of metal shelving -- came to a heavy steel door, pushed it open. it swung open, the wind nearly ripping it from its hinges. black and white waves crashed against the dark shoreline, broke on the wharf and threatened to eat him alive.

he stepped outside into the storm.
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october first 
01:51pm 01/10/2007
  there is an infinite ocean beyond this shore. it has no horizon, no beginning, no end.

the waves wash up gently upon the sand -- miniscule variations of their more violent cousins. they appear to be distant though they are very near. sometimes they fail to return, leaving behind little patches of gray nothingness. soon enough the nothingness will eat up everything, but it is moving very slowly -- creeping along so that nobody will notice its malicious proceedings.

I feel nothing beneath my feet and nothing around me. the sand has fallen away; off of this swiftly tilting plane.
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01:10pm 21/10/2007
  this is the introduction:

it is only suitable that, if one is to act in a systematically numbered way, to institute another, similar method of regulation. I found it fitting to make a correlation between stories that contain one-hundred words and the widely known challenge of one-hundred prompts to write or draw about.

I am going to work on them in numerical order, and limit myself to one or two per day. this is, of course, in addition to and separate from the '100 Words' project that I am already participating in and separate from writing for my own leisure.
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