Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26112985-20150720213348



The pasta is entitled "Tongueless" and is as follows, I would love to hear constructive criticism, thanks!

The Creepypasta:

It had been a week since James Stanton had discovered the lair of a serial killer.

He had been tired of running. He knew that eventually he would have to stop, the German shepherd had been right behind him and Bill, and it was gaining on them. A painful ache had been curling in his abdomen, every time he took another step it got slightly worse until it was like poison that was eating him up from inside, perhaps burning a hole in his stomach.

Bill Deplume was seventeen years old and James’s drug dealer. James knew perfectly well how he had found himself in his current situation. He owed Bill money. The last three times James had brought marijuana, it had been with the promise of cash the next time he came along.

Eventually Bill got tired of James’s broken promises, so he had him come along to help him in a little heist to even things out. “It’ll be simple,” Bill had said. “It’s a two man job. I need you to be on lookout when I break into Old Man Dillard’s house. I’ll pop in, grab what I need and get out. It’ll be simple and the debt will be paid. No harm done. Isn’t that right kid?”

At first James had tried to get out of it. There was, after all, a serial killer on the large in Raleigh, North Carolina. Nobody knew who he was or what he really looked like, but somebody had to have killed those five little girls. They were all kidnapped last December, and now there mutilated remains had been found in Jordan Lake. The tongues of each girl had been cut out. James remembered seeing an eyewitness account on television of a woman who had claimed to have seen a suspicious looking man at the site of one of the kidnappings. She had described a “tall, intimidating man wearing a black jumpsuit.” She claimed she couldn’t see his face due to the hood that the man wore in broad daylight.

James had heard of serial killers before. He had even read about quite a few of them. John Wayne Gacy, Ed Gein, Albert Fish. James loved to read. Other than smoking pot it was one of his favorite hobbies. In a way it sort of made up for how slow to learn the drugs had made him. The prospect, however, of a serial killer being within the same town as him terrified him to the core. He had heard of disappearances of teenage girls in Oriental, but this was different. It was closer to home, and that somehow made it horrifyingly real.

<span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">He couldn’t shake the feeling that, whenever he walked home, there was somebody prowling in the shadows. Perhaps waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and go for the kill. All the girls had been taken in that way. Hit over the head with a blunt object while they were making their way home. They were knocked out cold before being dragged out of sight. The boys from school called him the Black Butcher because of the dark clothing the eyewitness had described. He became a sort of joke. A common goodbye at East Raleigh Middle School was “See you later! Don’t let the Black Butcher get you!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">In the end, there was nothing James could do to refuse Bill. He had to help with the robbery or he would get hurt. Although Bill had never said this directly, the threat was always there in those ice blue eyes whenever James tried to turn him down.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">He had watched in fascination as Bill pulled a stiletto switchblade from his right pocket and flicked it open. His tattooed arm had reached around and he inserted the blade within the opening that the window to the basement provided. He then pushed, widening the gap. Nobody knew how Bill had gotten his tattoos. He was probably too young for them, but even so, an inked in Dragon curled its way up his forearm. James had regarded it with a grudging respect. Being only fourteen and born into an esteemed family, he had nothing of the sort. Not even a piercing.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James wasn’t really a bad kid. His grades were above average and he almost never got in trouble. He just loved his drugs. A single puff of a blunt when he was eleven was all it took. Before longed he was hooked on the green gold. The only problem was getting to it. He had a summer job mowing lawns but that really wasn’t sufficient enough to cover his funds. There were many times when he was forced to slip a portion of money from his father’s wallet. Eventually he had been caught, and that was the end of that.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">It all went downhill from there, he couldn’t pay for the marijuana he was getting, and eventually, one thing led to another…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The old man had caught them red handed, and adrenaline had taken over. Then the dog had come, Old man Dillard’s trusty German shepherd.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif""> “Follow me!” Bill had yelled. “I know a place!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">When Bill made a right turn onto Copperhead Road, James assumed that they were headed for the country club that his father owned, but to his surprise, Bill had sprinted towards the wilderness on the left side of the road, probably in the hopes that dodging the trees would prove too big an effort for the dog. He was sorely mistaken. Then James saw, there was a shack up ahead, and Bill was yanking open the door.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Get inside quick!” He had screamed. James wasted no time, diving into the interior before Bill slammed the door shut and pressed his back against it hard, panting with weariness.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">They had stayed there for a while, catching their breath in the darkness. Then James had sagged against the wall.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">That’s when his hand touched something on the wall that was thick, and moist.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">He had recoiled in disgust, holding his hand as if it had been injected with poison, “Whoa! What’s the matter kid?” Bill had questioned, hearing the commotion.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif""> “Bill I swear to god there’s something alive on the wall!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James’s heart had been pounding fast and hard in his chest, sending blood coursing through his body in rapid succession. He began to feel lightheaded, as if he had just taken a deep first puff on a newly lit joint. His knees had turned to jelly and they were shaking violently.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Chill out kid, I have a light right here, I’ll check it out.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James remembered how Bill had gone completely motionless. “Bill…?” James had inquired. An edge of dread had crept into his voice. The only answer Bill gave was a choked sound from the back of his throat.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Bill never got scared.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James took a shaky step forward, then another, and kept going in that manner until he was standing right beside Bill, looking down on the disgusting, fleshy, shriveled, thing that was nailed to the wall…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">It was a human tongue.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Nausea had ebbed away at James’s stomach. His breath grew heavy and his blood cold. His hands clapped over his mouth. It was the only thing he could do to keep down the vomit. His knees gave out and he hit the ground hard, still looking up in total astonishment at the atrocity above. Bill had slowly moved the lighter, examining the wall. There were four more tongues attached to the wood.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James and Bill had inadvertently discovered the lair of the Black Butcher.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James had tried to speak, but his voice came out in a whine. He tried again, and was able to squeeze out the words “What are we going to do?” Bill had turned around sharply. Even in the light of a weak blaze James could see that Bill’s face had gone completely white.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to keep our mouths shut and nobody is ever going to know about this.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James’s jaw had dropped, appalled. His heart, which had pounded so hysterically in his chest before, was now weak and beating sluggishly, as if it was looking for the strength to go on. He had searched desperately for the right words, before spitting out his thoughts.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Just what the fuck are you thinking Bill? We’ve just found the den of a serial killer, and you’re saying that we keep our mouths shut?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Kid, if we tell the cops about this place, do you know what’s going to happen?” his voice shook with controlled anger.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“They’re going to run a background check on us, they’ll find out that I’m involved in drugs and that you’re using, and then I’m going to go to prison!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Bill, it’s just weed, these are the lives of children!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Bill let out a mirthless laugh, “Do you really think dope is the only thing I sell kid? The only thing my parents sell?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“I don’t care Bill; I’m going to the police. We could leave an anonymous tip.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Everybody just saw us just a second ago on the street being chased by that fucking dog. They’ll know it was us, and they’ll bring us in. Kid… please.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James had stopped, incredulous. For the first time in his life Bill was begging with him.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“My parents… they’ve done bad things. Really bad things, I don’t want to lose them.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Bad things like what?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif""> “My mom and my dad, they run a meth lab…”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif""> “Bill, we have to. We don’t have a choice.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Then, James had made a break for the door.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">It was no good. Bill had tackled him full on. He struggled to breathe as Bill’s knee was forced against his chest. There was a sharp click that indicated Bill had his switchblade out. James had cried out as the cold steel pressed against his neck.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Don’t you tell a fucking soul or I swear to god I’ll kill you myself,” Bill snarled. “And if I’m in prison and I can’t kill you, I’ll have someone do it for me. I get a phone call kid.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Okay Bill, I promise, I won’t tell anyone I swear to god. Just please let me go.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Bill had let out a pitiless chuckle. Once again, his lighter came to life, illuminating the room once again.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Cut your hand”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“What?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Blood oath kid, it’s the most powerful kind of promise.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Oh Jesus, Bill please don’t make me do it.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">But before James could protest any more, his hand was being pulled towards Bill and he could do nothing but scream as the razor sharp blade sliced across his open palm. Hot blood was running down his arm and his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. Then the cool metal was back under his chin.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Damn it kid, promise.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Okay, I promise I won’t tell anyone about this place or anything about Bill Deplume or his parents.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Seemingly satisfied, Bill had let him go, and he’d rushed out of the shack, charging out of the forest and onto the road.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">When he got home, his father wasn’t there quite yet, which was a relief. Lately he had been working extra hours at his country club. This gave James time to ready himself by bandaging his hand. By the time James’s father, Martin Stanton, was opening the front door to let himself in, nobody could have guessed what James had been through.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Hello son,” he had said tiredly, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James was sitting on the couch, watching television; he’d amiably greeted his father before redirecting his attention back to the TV. Martin grabbed his book and collapsed into his special chair. James knew it wouldn’t be long before his father fell asleep, and sure enough, he peacefully slipped into a deep sleep within minutes.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Only then did the worry show on James’s face, this was something he was good at hiding, he never let it show if anything was bothering him. He’d glanced over at Martin, one of his favorite people in the world, a great father by all accounts, but horribly naïve, unaware of the fact that his son was a drug addict and now hiding the lair of a murderous monster.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James changes the channel to the local news station. There was nothing about the case of the Black Butcher. Everything around him faded out and became a blur as he anxiously combed through every news channel he could, trying to find even a mention of the latest murder in Raleigh. There was nothing. He wasn’t responsible for anyone’s death. Not yet.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">His thoughts plagued him when he laid his head against his pillow. A hurricane of contemplation was raging inside his mind. ''What if there has been another murder, but they just haven’t found the body yet? Even if they haven’t, what does it matter? The killer is sure to strike again, and when he does, the death of a little girl will be on my conscience, perhaps until the day I die. I’ll know that I could have been the hero that stopped a cold blooded murderer, but I never did. ''

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">He closed his eyes tight shut, but could do nothing to stop the tears that squeezed out.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Things changed for James. It was now impossible for him to be happy. Whenever his friends made a joke at school, he would no longer laugh, but instead stare into the distance, unblinking, lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts.

<p class="MsoNormal">''<span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"">It’s your fault if anyone else gets killed. ''<span style="font-size:14.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif""> He reminded himself hour after hour, obsessively.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Guilt haunted him like a ghost. He could not escape it. Whether he was in a classroom answering questions on a lined sheet of notebook paper or hanging out at a friend’s house playing chess, the guilt hung over him. The jokes about the Black Butcher that he had laughed over and smiled at only a week ago now seemed sinister, as if his classmates were taunting him, daring him to say something.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">One Friday afternoon James had a sudden thought. I ''could say it right here and now, I could yell it out as loud as I can “I know where the Black Butcher kills people!” ''

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">He did nothing of the sort, of course.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">It was that day, when the worst blow of all finally came, the thing that shattered him more than anything else. Two more bodies were found, with the tongues removed, two more innocent victims of the serial killer, Mary Harlem and Jessica Baker. Both adorable blondes who smiled with pearly white teeth in the pictures the news team showed of them. It’s my fault that they’re dead, he kept thinking. It afflicted him like nothing else. He spent the whole day locked in his room, crying. Not even letting his father in when he pounded on the door. Instead he remained on his bed, curled into the fetal position, rocking back and forth.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif""> He had to escape, had to find something to take everything in his world away. His hand darted under the mattress, scrabbling for the last ounces of marijuana he had that were stored safely in a Ziploc bag. His fingers closed around weathered plastic and drew it out excitedly.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">He rolled the green weed into a crumpled piece of paper before lighting one end and inhaling deeply. He absently opened his window and let the smoke cascade out, watching the beautiful shapes it made as it curled and drifted off into the wind.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">He smiled as the sweet sensation took over his mind. Everything became amazingly clear to him. He didn’t have to worry over the serial killer, he would be found out eventually and everything would be okay. As James’s thought process became hazy, he lay down on the bed, the deep feeling of relaxation only increasing with each new puff of gorgeous white smoke.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">In an hour, the last ounce of marijuana that James had was gone. Burnt and inhaled into unhealthy lungs.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">That night James had a horrible nightmare.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">In his vision, he was back in the shed. There was a pentagram drawn on the floor with red chalk, and candles donned each point, illuminating the small musty room. On the wall, there were now six tongues instead of just five. James thought to himself in the stupor of his dream,'' didn’t they find two more bodies instead of just one? ''

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">That’s when the cold hand of a little girl touched his shoulder from behind. His heart leapt and he swiveled around to face nine year old Jessica Baker. She had a solemn expression on her face. She was not smiling as she had in her picture on TV. Her blonde hair shone in the candlelight and her lips quivered before she parted them and whispered to James…

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“This is your fault. This is all your fault.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif""> James tried to respond, tried to open his mouth to tell her that it wasn’t his fault, that Bill was the one who was forcing him to keep his silence. That he could do nothing as long as Bill’s death threat hung in the air.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">That’s when she was grabbed from behind by a gloved hand and dragged backwards. Her eyes shone with fear as The Black Butcher, with his pitch dark jumpsuit and silver blade, stabbed her through the chest. She let out a realistic and guttural cry as the knife was pulled out of her body and stabbed down again, and again, until her blonde hair was muddled in red. The murderer looked up and observed James cynically from underneath his hood. James realized what was going to happen. Oh god he’s going to murder me and my tongue will be on that wall before long oh god please help me. At this point he had comprehended the fact that he was in a dream and he became conscious of the fact that he would have to awake himself by one means or another.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">His mind was racing faster than the nightmare itself''. Scream yourself awake! You’ll have to scream yourself awake, come on scream James, scream as loud as you fucking can! Scream you fucking bastard! ''

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">He opened his mouth, but his throat had grown harsh, and the only thing that escaped his lips was a rough croak. Then, the Black Butcher lunged and he felt a jerk below his naval. In his spasm of fear, he awoke in the dark, sitting up in bed and breathing deeply.

<p class="MsoNormal">''<span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"">I have to tell someone. ''<span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif""> He thought to himself. I don’t care what Bill does to me, I just can’t keep living this way.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">He stayed up for a long while before going to sleep, planning what he was going to say to his father.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">The next day James walked into his father’s room prepared. He knew what he was going to say, he had rehearsed everything in his head. He took a shaky breath before forcing out the words, “Dad, I need to tell you something.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">Martin Stanton raised his eyebrows. He had just gotten out of bed and was looking quite tired.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“What’s that James? You can tell me anything you know.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">James told him everything, the whole story from beginning to end. When he was done, he was practically in tears and Martin was there patting him on the back.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">“Don’t worry son, it’s all going to be okay, just wait here while I call the police.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">With that said Martin calmly walked over to his dresser and opened the third drawer down where he kept his cell phone. Instead of reaching for his Android, however, he instead felt past the clothes on the bottom layer where he kept his Black jumpsuit, and closed his fingers around the Buck knife that he had used to cut out the tongues of the seven little girls.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"">  

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">  <ac_metadata title="Just finished a new story, any feedback would be greatly appreciated, thanks!"> </ac_metadata>