A friend, after reading several of my short stories, mentioned that my writing style is similar to Meg Cabot.
I haven't decided if I should be flattered or not.
This fever is killing me. It rises and breaks twice an evening and I sweat constantly. A body temperature of 102 has been my constant companion at night.
I've decided to buy my hunting license. I'm not a huge fan of deer because of their shifty, deceitful eyes, so I figure if I shoot one then the ecosystem of the forest will not be at stake.
The End.
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