Skeleton A:
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Then I told Death that we will no longer cower in their presence! Why should we ever?! We are equally lifeless! What possibly could Death take away from us?! Our souls?!
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Ha… we sold those long ago, which I suppose presents us well with an opportunity to have no leverage put upon us, but… somehow, Death still manages… how, you know?
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You… are you even listening? Why are you holding your head as if it aches? We do not even have the required biology for that… oh, could you perhaps be… in regret?
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What would you even regret…? We are here, now… whatever presence has the past on us? How can you even remember anything when your brain has long ago withered away?!
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Some affairs, I swear… I might never understand… I mean, there is reality, but then it seems there might be another layer on top of it… but if it is not reality…
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What would the reality underneath even be? Just as-yet unknown mechanics, perhaps? How Death just seems to flitt around with no regard? Do they even know how they happen?
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Well, at any rate… let us attempt to enjoy this sojourn, here, while it lasts… soon we end up being manipulated, as if puppets, by some compelling force, yet again…
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Do I… even remember anything? I mean, if I can cogitate… surely I also have, at least, short-term memory… so, I wonder why my past seems to be, as if, an abyss…
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Skeleton B:
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Oh… where did I ever go wrong…? Does one just go wrong, or is it more labyrinthine than that? I assume the latter, but still… buildings can have poor foundations…
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All I seem to recall is… one day I was there, now suddenly… where even is this? Why does it feel familiar, and yet so distinct from everyday experience? As if…
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I am detached? Not entirely sure what that even implies, much less means, despite thinking it myself… so confusing, all this is… I mean, thoughts, they happen…
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On an almost continual basis, they do… and, yet, they seem so… far-fetched, here? What does that even mean… let me try to be a bit rational here, perhaps…
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Could this be just fear, maybe? Anxiety that something might be unusual? I mean, I am still alive, so at least, on that front… should that not assuage my concerns…?
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What concerns, though…? I am not even sure… at least before, from what I can remember, I used to be able to identify, even if from a sociological basis, where they…
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Derive from… now, though, it seems to be a jumbled ball of fear, as if I am a hollow husk whose very core is nothing but a shell of my former self… I am not, though?
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Perhaps, I am just overthinking this, that is it… I should just relax, and… what, though? I mean, how can I even relax… I seem, somewhat, stiff…? Makes no sense.
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Pumpkin Snowman:
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Oh… you appear to believe I am sentient, do you? Well, as it happens… and, what is that, you happen to be wondering what this place is, and who they are? Let me…
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This… is a place frozen in time. Bereft of any sane stability, all they can do is flail in the very nadir of existence… sentient, they actually are… well…
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Sentience is much more present than some would absurdly disbelieve… but this is not a realm like most others, where variances on life explore physicalities…
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No… it is a limbo stuck in between, the liminal space between a graveyard and whoever is currently ferrying creatures to Hades; of course, that is not the only option.
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Why, some aspire to, even… inhabit the consciousness of Death itself. I mean, if they tried every other variance on life out there, why not that…? At least, they ask.
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Not life itself, mind… when fear is a factor, you see, when the mere presence of my smile strikes anxiety, it can never aspire to such imagination; well, they can try.
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Whether reality aligns with the… existential crux, though… is another factor. You shall see; they will think things through, but never notice you while you are…
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In a different dimension, for now at least… are you not? I can sense that… I, actually, am as well, but I can, somewhat, transcend barriers — at least, perceptually.
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You do not quite know what I refer to, do you? Well, communication is always typically opaque, even when one is on a parallel plane… one can understand, then…
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Well… one might understand… difficulties inherent in inter-dimensional communication, or such; one can perceive fragments of thoughts around here, but never sense…
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Do you, now… wonder what distinction is within perception, and sense? What, also, could be their relevance to this nightly abode…? One shall see… one shall feel…
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Skeleton C:
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Hm, yes… quite interesting is data, quite… so, that goes there, then… wait, what…? Why does reading it do that, though? It is not like it could be forethought…
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Could it be… just a coincidence? Must be… either that, or dark matter is potentially… a sentient element that… pervades minds? Makes little sense…
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Little is known, though, so… wait… it happens much later too, but this time they are… artificial constructs that besiege? Ah, surely this must be the happenstance.
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Of course, both could be… just because one is less mundane than the other does not infer any such possibility… wait, what am I even thinking…? Also, why does it…
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Feel like… well, more like a psychological Surt, really, a fiery inferno standing in between fantasy and reality… still, I seem to be unable to advance through…
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As if… by some almighty, invisible force I am prevented… I suppose, one can always reason a priori, but could this be a symbol indicative of something in reality?
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Perhaps… I suppose? Why, though, am I even reading if… I seem unable to? I wonder if anyone else noticed this… or, perhaps, they might be too absorbed…?
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What an existential conundrum I seem to have fallen into… is it just through my sheer thoughts, though, or does it persist in objective reality, I wonder… so strange.
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Skeleton D:
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Hah, through this I shall worry no more… well, at least for a bit… until I do, or not… ah, what am I confounding about, already? I am here now, am I not?
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Not like I care much for any of this; then again, what do I care about? Ah, that is right… moon, stars, clouds… if only it was always so clear… but, then, it…
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It always is so hazy, even artificially… I mean, what am I even surrounded by, here…? I can see all else, but not myself, somehow… yet I can still feel…
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How does one feel without seeing? No, a better question would be… are they all indicators? Do they all point towards some universality, or is it just a subjectivity…
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What… am I even saying…? I used to just, merely, enjoy doing whatever, in the moment, and now I seem to be saddled with thoughts… not exclusively, but…
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The… percepts, I suppose… merely compel me to… cogitate… how? Can I not just gaze at the moon in wonder once more…? Can I not be sated ever again…?
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I wonder what others think…? …? What…? I do not understand… am I not thinking outside the box here, or such…? Something seems wrong… or is it? No… no…?
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I mean, I thought I did not quite think enough, and yet it seems I have… not thought at all, perhaps? Certainly not about anything that… pertains to reality, seems…
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Pumpkin 1:
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“On the brink one might be, or not… for to shrink one’s mind might not be for all, but whether nature or nurture, it is twined with a certain existential reality…”
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Pumpkin 2:
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“Why, to be visited… perchance a lie, or not… reality so askance, but then… whatever does anyone expect? Underworld’s bee, ferrying nightmares unfurled?”
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Pumpkin 3:
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“What objects affect, what state is to tire? When insects abound, would one hear a choir? The abyss is profound.. but, then, if I did not state that it would be remiss.”
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Pumpkin 4:
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“Oh, artificiality, you hallowed construct of societies, you mere banality… is it, perhaps, still natural, though, or maybe reality clashes like a boson?”
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Pumpkin 5:
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“Should one rage when faced with irrationality, or does one merely… age into a skeletal finality? Does any of this matter, though, or could reality, indeed shatter…?”
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Skeleton E:
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Ah, yes, and after we mix this elixir in, that life which seems seeped away will return, verily… we do not quite know what it is that is irritating us, no… but…
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Well, surely one must assume, there is at least a chance that this substance will vitalize us again, truly… I mean, not a certain by any means, but it was…
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Extracted from a pumpkin that had just returned from a graveyard’s ruined house… so, one knows it will be… sour. That is the essence of life, so presumably it will…
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Imbue us with it? Although, to be honest, I am not entirely sure why I even want this… from what I remember, before this feeling of a… hole at the core…
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Life was not much better, either… one supposes, being able to indulge in infusions of fantasy due to some vague, subjective resilience is… useful, to retain sanity…
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What difference does it make if throughout, and later on, there is this… gaping chasm? I mean, being alive or dead, at times, seems not so distinctive… ah, who cares.
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The fact is, whether or not it is quintessentially the truth or not, subjectively, this admixture, will, even if for a while, awaken the witch’s wizard in us, merrily!
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Yes, now sprinkle some hopeless joy on it, crawling misery, and top it off with a few illusory frights… it seems to be what this novel claims to be the factors of…
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Skeleton F:
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Is that ghost, or… whatever they are… looking at me? I am not just imagining it, am I? I do not have an overactive… mentation, or such… do I? If so, it means…?
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Am I supposed to feel fearful? To lose my wits even if I do not know why, exactly? To be terrified of a mere stare? Just because it derives from an imposing figure?
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Why, I may not know why this is so, and if, as my instinct seems to indicate, there is indeed danger; but as long as I am in this limbo state, I might as well attempt…
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To forget, possibly? Ah, I realize I was able to do that much more, in worse but different conditions, prior; still, as long as I can think, even if there seems to be…
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Something wrong with my… constitution? Still… if I think, am I not? If, with the passing of time, that figure obliterates me, or such… is it not better if I…
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Did not merely waste what remains of my… psyche — on worrying about the future? Just as I am now doing; at least some of the present being sacrificed to the altar of…
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The future… I mean, even if the present has these crawling doubts… even if Damocles’ sword materializes above me… I shall try to look elsewhere, even though stiff.
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I may have these anxieties as of now, but I wonder if… anything in that central house might contain any resolution… something is happening if it is all lit up…
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Ghost A:
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…I assume, you reckon that since I look all… spectral… I might be inanimate? Oh, but your fears are real, indeed… and not just merely some unlucky coincidence…
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No, I leave that to Atropos to decide… after all, how long can a piece of string be? No, I am Deimos, the harbinger of fear… I mean, I know it is internal chemistry.
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So, it is not like I am saying I actually create that neural transmission out of nowhere… no, but I am someone who is around, visible or not, to create an atmosphere…
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One which induces such inherent terror… like that one present upon waking up, yes… when you are not really awake, and yet physically… dualities are ever so curious.
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I… hold the mind back in an ethereal abyss, at such a moment… it might not occupy, objectively, a huge temporal space… but it is eternal, in that present… fear.
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An eternity of a singular terror that you know will follow you throughout life… an unstable physicality, for the cue has stricken in all the wrong directions, no…?
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I… only a natural manifestation of the universe itself, an outgrowth from Thanatos, and yet my gaze is quite real for you, is it not? It proclaims an uneasy future…
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Whether or not you choose to believe in my objective reality is… immaterial… for, ultimately, whether or not you choose to obsess, at the back of one’s mind I haunt.
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Pumpkin 6:
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“This vague fear, a constant in life, inescapable… could it be, though, connected, as if metaphysically, to a certain plague? For insanity, palpable… lucidity, none.”
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Pumpkin 7:
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“For within such constricts may be where sordid reality lies, for all are constructs, but some distorted… because, why would it not be contorted, if possible? It dies.”
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Pumpkin 8:
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“Ah, to read aimlessly, just before an abyssal limbo opens up its creed for sanity’s dismissal… ah, the inanity of it all, but at least, once, the gingko graced us…”
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Skeleton G:
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Do you know… if you might listen for a bit… I was once going to my usual place, I was in transit, you see… and suddenly wondered, what if we are always as such…?
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As in… I know you are all too busy to focus, but this is the point… what if this is all part of the transit? So, in this sense, my transit as of now is saying this…
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Uh, still, the word does imply a certain… passing of time, does it not? Now, why does it seem like time might not be flowing as smoothly for us? At least, for myself…
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I know you might be too self-absorbed to tell me whether you can relate to this, but… I think I have a memory of how time used to pass for me, once… which seems…
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To be… quite distinct from the present. Time is such a strange concept… is movement through space necessary, too? I… do not think that seems to be happening here…
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Is it? Perhaps, this could be just a mere illusion I seem to be having… or, perchance, a dream… but, is something not off? I can think, my mind goes forward…
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If that is all, though, could we not be merely brains in jars? Theoretically, at least; or, perhaps, not have such organs at all, and thoughts are formulated in streams?
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Ugh… I might be possibly giving myself a slight bit of a headache… still, if brains did not exist such pain would not be functionally possible, would it…?
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Skeleton H:
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Ah, are we not relaxing a fair bit, here… which is not something I would normally mind, but… why is it mostly myself who seems so? We are all on this bench, so…
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Wait, I might have a hunch… could it be because I might have accept what I know is reality to me, while you might still be battling it? Just speculation, of course…
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Whenever I do happen to catch your utterances most of you seem to be ruminating on what could be, or not… why have you never considered coming to some sort of…
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Even if knowledge is limited… a resolution of some kind could be useful… kind of, like, “so was my life”… wait… was? I wonder why I said that… could there be…
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Something I have not yet accepted, perhaps? Some elusive concept that only a Freudian slip, possibly, revealed? Ah, how can this possibly be, I was the one who resolved.
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Suddenly, now… as if some internal world turned upside-down, I seem to feel a slight vertigo… not terribly, but… pain, why? Could it be but imagined? I so rarely…
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Perhaps, maybe… if I keep pondering shadowy thoughts, like I used to, I can… possibly gaslight myself into thinking all is fine and dandy? I mean, it is, no? Oh, yes.
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The psyche is one bizarre phenomenon, is it not? It is, as if, when one concentrated on something… it vanishes… and vice versa, maybe… although not wholly…
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Pumpkin 9:
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“Why do you strive to shine a light in those dark recesses of the mind, when a shrine, and not narrative processes, have always sufficed?”
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Pumpkin 10:
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“Why are you always so afraid? Of shadows, of symbols, of concepts that pervade… for the primrose lives, but never near you, as possibility has been mislaid…”
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