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Old 01-11-2004, 01:00 PM   #1
MalReynolds
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Default Anyone up for another story?

This is one long assed story, and I doubt most of you will read it, but oh well.


It's simply called "Story 1" now, and I'll figure out the rest when I'm finished with the compilation.

Story 1:

Those of you reading this are all asking the same question: “Who are you and what makes your story so different?” And I have to tell you, for the most part, my life was normal. Small town, everyone knows your name, in a year that everyone forgot. I was born without much incident. In fact, my life never really became all that interesting until I reached the mid of my sixteenth year. Bear in mind, I was already through all of my high school classes, because I was the smartest teen that the town had ever seen.
About the Fifth of June on my sixteenth year, a worldwide arm wrestling contest came to town, showcasing all of the strongest men on this side of the mountains. Now, normally I wouldn’t pay these contests no never mind: They were a way for the bigger guys that ran the contest to scam the little guys like me out of a hefty entrance fee. It was a hundred bucks to enter, and mind you, where I come from, that was a hell of a lot of money.
The WorldWide Arm Wrestling Championship, as they called themselves, was run by a man named Mr. Rock. No one had much seen him around our parts, but they say he was a real mean man. None of the wrestlers wanted to stay; they were all indentured to him for some reason or another as I found out. And no one had been able to beat Mr. Rock, either. Word had it that if you won, though, he would double your prize and give you whatever you want.
It was around this time that a friend of mine, Bixby, well, he told me that him and a bunch of his friends would put up the money if I would go enter. We all had a good laugh about that, because who was I to arm wrestle anyone? You’ve probably seen stronger men at the geriatric ward or the infant nursery.
So I entered on a whim, as a joke, my friends and I laughing the entire time. Now it turns out, that when you sign up, the WWAWC gets to keep you and make sure you don’t do nothing to give yourself an advantage. They had tents, and guards. Two weeks before it started I signed up. A week and a half I sat in that tent stewing, reading magazines that my friends had sent with what little money that had left.
A week and five days into it, though, there was a little inaugural shindig, a little get together for all the new comers to the scene. There was a big bonfire, food, drinks, the lot, and people. Lots of people. I reckon when I first saw it, you would have had to push my jaw back up, because it was a magnificent sight to behold.
Maybe two hundred people, this place had gathered. Two hundred! I could only recognize two or three from my actual town, the rest… Well, where had they come from?
I wanted to see Mr. Rock about this, something wasn’t setting right with me. I looked, and I asked around for him, but no one had seen him. I kept asking, I asked every man in there twice, and still nothing’! A party for his own contest, and he didn’t even have the gall to show up… That just shows you what type of guy he is.
I did find his protégé, though. A really skinny, wormy greasy guy that stood a few inches taller than me, and was no doubt forty years my senior. Errington was his name, and not a fun one to talk to, neither. Anyways, I walked up to him, quizzical I was.
“They say you know Mr. Rock! That has to be quite an honor,” I offered my best smile.
“Yes, I do. And yes, it is.”
There was an awkward pause, noiseless to us, even though there was hootin’ and hollerin’ in the back.
“Well… Where are all these people from? They all signed up for the contest? I only see a few from here…”
“You see, there are many from other towns that follow us around, looking for a good challenge. A lot of them are gamblers, see? A few of them even decide to take it out on the contestants when bets go sour,” he smiled at this thought, the only time I had ever seen him smile. “We also get to keep a select few.”
I must have looked all kinds of horrified at this, cause he answered my next question without me having to so much as ask.
“The winners get the chance to double their winnings and go for the jackpot if the wrestle Mr. Rock. Most of them do, and most of them fail. But there is a catch. If you fail, you have to work for us, follow us around. Wrestle who we tell you to, eat when we tell you to eat, sleep when we tell you to sleep…”
He would have kept going on like that, too, if I hadn’t chimed in.
“Ain’t that like… Slavery?”
Errington frowned.
“More like, indentured servantry. It’s all written in the rules. You had to sign the release to enter the contest. Plus, no one’s forcing you to wrestle Mr. Rock. I doubt if you’ll even make it to the third round.”
It was my turn to frown. I didn’t say anything after that, just looked at Errington, something fierce burning in my eyes. I went back to the party, and started to chat it up with the gamblers and man-slaves. Night passed quick, real quick, considering the contest was the next day. The sunlight crept up on me by surprise, like a real stealthy fella.
I figure another reason they have the party is so’s that the wrestlers would be plenty tired the next day. A great disadvantage is a tired man who has to put his arm up against another. Especially considering that I myself had never arm-wrestled a man using any standard set of rules before.
Of course, I had arm-wrestled in the past, jokingly with friends. I mean, seriously, who hasn’t? I had never really been much of a challenge for them, either, which I guess is why this was a mite funny.
So, the contest began the next day. Old theatre that my town never used anymore seemed like the perfect place. There were sixteen tables, all lined up next to each other with chairs at two ends, and a great big banner that was blue and yellow hanging over them. “WORLD WIDE ARM WRESTLING CHAMPIONSHIP!” The banners screamed in bright red letters. No charge to watch, I guess. We had set ourselves up in the theatre, tables and all on stage. About four hundred people could watch, given the size of the place.
Only about two hundred showed up the first day. There were seventeen opponents.. That would make for three days, if we only did sixteen match-ups, which is what ended up happening. On the last day, they were to have the last of the rounds…
It played out like this: There were thirty two total, sixteen on each end of the table, sixteen of them had to lose. That was day one. Day two, it was the winning eight versus the other winning eight, and on the final day, it was the winning four against the winning four. The seventeenth wrestler was the champion from last year, whom I had the chance of meeting the night before, Mr. Errington.
The first man I arm wrestled… He was much like me, I guess. We both didn’t think we could do it, lacking in confidence, mainly. I laid my arm out on the table and propped my elbow up, and took his hand. We were both nervous. The Emcee stared at the clock, waiting until the second hand reached the twelve before booming, “GO!”
Both of our arms stayed in the same position, neither of us exerting any force at all. Shocked, I guess, but the only reason I won was because I regained my composure fast enough to quickly push his arm down on the table. He didn’t even realize that he had lost until it was all over and he was taken off stage.
The Emcee made us stand, and take a bow, before leading us back to our tents, which lay in a field a short distance out of the town. I slept uneasily that night, dreaming of all the pain and humiliation of what was to come tomorrow. I knew that there wasn’t a Popsicles chance in hell that I would win given the arms that I had, but the message came to me in a dream.
It was an odd dream, a disembodied voice floating around darkness, telling me what to do, how to win. “If you can’t win with your arms, win with whatever you have…” Then, a bright light shone, and the disembodied voice disappeared, and I was once again alone in my tent.
I didn’t realize the full meaning of this until the next day, when I had to face down someone from my town. Everyone around called him Junior, but his name was Franklin P. Higgelsworth. Son of the gym teacher, and a monster to look at. Huge, hulking, absolutely monstrous compared to me.
Afraid that I was going to lost it and zone out again like yesterday, I started some small talk with him. The usual, just shooting the breeze before one us lost. By the time that him and I actually got to the wrestling, we were talking just like old friends. I knew the name of his mother, and how she used to hit him with spoons when he misbehaved. I knew all about his sister, and how the vagrant that passed through our town last summer had taken indecent liberties with her. I found out that he hated his father, and he hated his image, this tough guy. Turns out, his father put him up to this, put in the hundred dollars, and was expecting a big winner.
By high time that I found this out, all the others were finished, and we were just sitting there, talking like old pals.
I looked at him and said, “Well, if you don’t like it, then don’t do it. I’ve seen your father. If he gives you any shit, you could take him, right?”
Junior looked back at me. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because he’s trying to live vicariously through you. What do you really want to do? I mean, with your life.”
“I’ve always had a thing for magic,” he said, looking at the audience.
“Then go be a magician! Don’t squirrel your life away here for him.”
He smiled. “I’m ready.”
I pushed his arm over.
The Emcee made us take a bow, and head back to our tents.
Final day, nerves getting to me. I had to wrestle this big pile of muscle, huge. Junior looked like a small fry in comparison, and that’s really saying something. All the seats in the theatre were filled, some people were standing in the back, mothers holding children in their laps.
And I took my seat slowly, craning my neck to see my opponents face, noticing that he had no neck.
“Hi. I’m Malcolm. Nice to meet you.” I offered my hand.
He grunted, and didn’t take it.
“I’m going to call you Grunty. Is that okay?”
Another grunt.
I paused. “Can you speak?”
The theatre filled with this deep, and soothing voice, one that could put babies to sleep, end wars and shake the foundations of this very earth.
“Yes, I can speak.” When he stopped, there was a void, a dark hole where his voice should have been. Everyone was silent, even the babies that had been crying. All eyes were on this hulking mass.
“Well,” I mused, “Why don’t you do it more often?”
He grunted.
“Oh, come on, who am I going to tell?”
“Because I hate my voice.”
Another void.
“Oh lord, why do you hate your voice? It has to be one of the most mesmerizing things I have ever heard!”
“Cause people don’t listen to me, they listen to my voice.”
I paused, not knowing how to respond.
“See?” He seemed bemused.
“Do you know how to read and write?”
He nodded. I got up, and walked over to the side of the stage where they had the chalkboard that outlined the winners and losers, and who would face up next. I wiped it clean, and took the chalk, carrying the board back to our table. I set it down.
“Now you don’t need to talk. Just write whatever you need to say.”
He smiled at this, a great big toothy grin, showing his to be uneven and uncleaned. I shrugged this off as an oversight on his part, simply because he didn’t like opening his mouth.
“Are you ready, Grunty?”
Grasping the piece of chalk, he scribbled out, “Yes.”
I set myself up, taking his hand, and pushed it onto the table.
The Emcee made us take a bow, and but instead of heading back to our tents, we had the next two matches. My next one was with a fairly sized guy, until he threw his arm on the table which was huge. I had never seen the likes of it before, simply amazing.
And I, I was running out of things to say, for this man, this arm, had his mouth sealed shut with some fancy needlework.
I called the Emcee over, and he ran, running a brisk pace across the stage. I asked him a question, he gave it to Errington, who I assume gave it to Mr. Rock, because he came back with a definite answer.
The Emcee lowered himself to us, so close I could smell the garlic and brandy on his breath, and simply said to me, “Yes, you can switch arms.”
I smiled and nodded. Now, The Arm as I called him, his other arm was quite the different story. It wasn’t a galaxy of it’s own. It wasn’t to small, either, but I had taken worse.
I find it ironic that the first arm wrestling match that I actually won was so late in the game. His other arm didn’t put up much of a fight, and then I finally pinned it, he stood up and swung his other arm at me.
I just slid a little lower in my seat, and it slid harmlessly over me. Unluckily for the people at the next table… They were down for the count. Both of them. A pity, really, for I was already coming up with a new way to beat the next challenger.
But I had no way to beat Errington.
The Emcee walked over, and took out a stun gun, putting The Arm into a light sleep. He hit the stage hard, though, and left a dent. Any harder, and the stage might have broken.
Errington slinked over, his face set in stone, and had a seat next to me. He put one of his arms on the table, pulling his coat up to reveal a tattoo of a snake eating itself. It circled all the way around his arm. He had no advantage that I could readily see, and I didn’t see it until the match had begun.
I took his arm, same as usual, and we both started. I struggled, pushing, but he didn’t even break a sweat. He was just looking at me, staring at me, into my eyes. I could feel myself getting weaker every minute that his gaze held. My arm was getting slowly lower and lower to the table, I could feel in my soul agony of defeat.
And then I shut my eyes.
Had it really been that simple? Is that all it took? Yes and no. While it did break his weakening gaze, I still had a lot of ground to regain, but I did so in the course of twenty minutes. I finally pinned him. That was it. I was the winner.
He stood quickly, almost kicking the table up, with a fury burning in his face so powerful, it would scare even Satan himself. He slammed the table down hard, and I sat there trying to remain calm.
His eyes… He screamed, “DOUBLE OR NOTHING!”
There was a long pause, as I sat there. I looked to wings, and Grunty had written “NO” in big bold letters. I looked over at all of his friends. How they had lost, failed to achieve just short of anything they had ever wanted.
I looked at Errington, and uttered words that I never thought I would.
“I accept.”
The audience roared, the gamblers cheered, and the shylocks did nothing but smile. I may have been the new house favorite when I went up against Grunty or The Arm, but when it came to Mr. Rock, they knew who to bet on. Money changed hands, time passed. The door to the stage opened, and Mr. Rock was silhouetted against a bright white light.
He was this hulking mass, absolutely huge. When he walked, the stage shook. When he entered center stage, I could finally see why.
Mr. Rock may have been the size of Grunty, but he was made out of stone. Literally, granite. He had a face like none that I had ever seen before, the chin was pointed, and his hair waved when he walked, despite the fact that it was made out of granite.
Every audience member from my side uttered a prayer, and the gamblers and shylocks and followers cheered. The house favorite again. Six men had to bring in a special chair for him that looked like it was made from marble. They set it down with a thud on the table across from me.
I forced a smile and whispered a prayer under my breath. Mr. Rock took a seat, setting his arm down on the table which buckled under the weight. I set my arm down on the table tentatively. I hoped to God and Jesus that I wouldn’t freeze.
The Emcee looked at the clock, and waited for the small hand to reach twelve.
“GO!”
It was over before it even started. He threw my arm down onto the table, which shattered. It was almost as like he had picked me up and thrown me as hard as he could. I lay in the splinters of the table, the gamblers cheering, the shylocks giving out money… Something warm ran through my eyes and down my face.
I forced myself to stand. I spit on the stage, pointed a finger and yelled at him, “DOUBLE OR NOTHING!”
The audience, both sides, fell silent.
He laughed. Mr. Rock laughed. I don’t know if it was because the thought of me fighting him again was funny, or if it was a nervous laugh of shock. I only knew that no one, no one in their right mind had ever challenged him to a rematch. No one, period. Not the mention the fact that I was covered in blood with wood chips stuck into me.
Mr. Rock walked back to me, and looked me in the eyes. He picked up his marble chair and held it over his head, acting like he was going to swing it at me. My breath caught in my chest, waiting for the finishing blow. It never came. Instead, he set it down at the next table.
I limped over, and took a seat.
My other arm was quite useless at this point, not broken, but I simply could no longer move it. I put my left arm onto the table, and he did the same, the table once again buckling under the weight.
He took my hand, and we both waited for the Emcee.
“GOOOOO!”
There was a deathly silence that filled the theatre. He slammed my arm, but I managed to stop it before it hit the table. I let out a grunt, in pain from having to hold my arm like that… But I pushed, I pushed as hard as I could, but it was only enough to bring my arm back to the middle…
It felt like hours. I felt like giving up. He slammed my arm again, this time I barely stopped it. I wouldn’t be so lucky next time. I let out an agonizing scream as I pushed as hard as I could. My scream filled the theatre, and once again, there was silence.
I looked to the wing, but Grunty had turned around, his head in his hands. He slowly turned back, and wrote something on the chalk board… I squinted to see… “Malcolm, you can do it.”
Bixby, who was sitting in the front row yelled, “COME ON! YOU CAN TAKE THAT SONOFABITCH! COME ON MALCOLM!”
A woman in the back row began to chant, slowly… “Malcolm… Malcolm… Malcolm…”
Bixby started to chant. The shylocks and gamblers, forgetting about how much money they would lose, began to chant. It turned into a deafening roar, ringing throughout the theatre.
“MALCOLM! MALCOLM! MALCOLM!”
My heart swelled, and I found strength that I never knew I had before. Sweat running down my face, I threw his arm down through the table, just as he had done mine. The audience cheered, screaming, crying, and flooded the stage. They surrounded me and Mr. Rock, looking down at him. He had the biggest look of shock on his face.
Mr. Rock slowly clambered to his feet, dusting off his suit. He bowed to one knee, and looked up at me.
“Malcolm, you have indeed bested me in a sport which I had reigned supreme. Now, what is it that you want. Anything at all.”
A car, a boat, a surfboard, a tuxedo, a new school, a pinball machine… All these thoughts raced through my head.
“I want you to let your indentured slaves go.”
Mr. Rock looked shocked and hurt when I said this, but then he smiled, his voice booming to the wings. “You’re free to go.”
There was another long pause, tension in the air. Grunty scribbled down one last note, before he left.
“Thank you.”
The people cheered, and raised me on their shoulders. Mr. Rock took my hand and shook it, lamenting, “There’s no contest now. And before I forget, young Malcolm… My father gave this to me when I became champion, now I want you to have it.”
He slid into my hand a fold out knife, the base made out of ivory, with a pearl in the handle, the blade six inches long, an inch wide.
“Self sharpening,” Mr. Rock smiled. He turned, and exited, giving me one last look before the crowd took me out… That Mr. Rock was really something. I wouldn’t see him again for quite a while, but when I did, he needed me more than I needed him. I still carry that knife around to this day, and it has helped me out more times than I can count.

_________________________________________

It won't let me indent, sorry guys.

Mal
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"Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, I’ll give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor


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Old 01-12-2004, 07:29 PM   #2
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ME 2: Well, Mal, I think you wrote a damn fine story. I took the time to read it, and I really liked it. Please tell me when more is coming out. I have some issues with your word choice, but it ended rather well. I want to hear more stories! How does he use his knife?

ME: Well, me, you'll just have to wait until I finish story 2! Soon to hit the forums!

ME 2: I can't wait! I am on the edge of my seat! Literally!
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"Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, I’ll give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor


My new novel:

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Old 01-12-2004, 07:43 PM   #3
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That just goes to show you that your story sucks (though I didn't read it)
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Old 01-12-2004, 07:45 PM   #4
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Quote:
That just goes to show you that your story sucks (though I didn't read it)
Mhm... thanks for your input... gonna wait for someone who has the patience to wade through the story to review it.

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"Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, I’ll give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor


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Old 01-12-2004, 07:47 PM   #5
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I dont think a forum filled with potential idiots is a good place to post this mal
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Old 01-12-2004, 08:00 PM   #6
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NO, we're not ready yet
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Old 01-12-2004, 08:17 PM   #7
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I read it. And for a short story, it was really good. There was nothing amazing or ground-breaking about it, but for a casual "Main character wins against all odds" story, it was VERY good at being that.
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Old 01-12-2004, 08:59 PM   #8
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I read the whole thing. Very good, really. The main character really had a lot of voice, you could really relate to his personality. While I do agree with Omeganitros that the ending was a bit cliche, you pulled it off very well. Keep writing, man.
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Old 01-12-2004, 09:01 PM   #9
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Sux, worst non read ever.
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Old 01-12-2004, 09:08 PM   #10
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that sucks a pony
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Old 01-12-2004, 09:10 PM   #11
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Moogy
that sucks a pony
What, fuck a goat got old?
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Old 01-12-2004, 10:46 PM   #12
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It's going to be the first in a series of short stories. The second one should be coming out soon enough. And it stops being so cliched after that. It gets pretty strange.

Mal
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"Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, I’ll give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor


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Old 01-12-2004, 10:53 PM   #13
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Nice job mal! I took the time to read the whole thing. Keep it up!
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Old 01-12-2004, 11:27 PM   #14
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Awesome story...

Whatever happened to the "Old K-Mart" story, or whatever.
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Old 01-12-2004, 11:49 PM   #15
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No one was really following that one well enough for me to continue, but good news! Story 2 is done!

Mal
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"Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, I’ll give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor


My new novel:

Maledictions: The Offering.

Now in Paperback!
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Old 01-13-2004, 04:44 PM   #16
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Anticrombie0909
Quote:
Originally Posted by Moogy
that sucks a pony
What, $*%# a goat got old?
No, I was too lazy to type bold tags.
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Old 01-19-2004, 06:43 PM   #17
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i suppose ive read worse...
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Old 01-19-2004, 11:51 PM   #18
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That means a lot, guest. If you could kindly point out what I could change so as to improve any further stories, it would be greatly appreciated.

mal
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"A new take on the epic fantasy genre... Darkly comic, relatable characters... twisted storyline."

"Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, I’ll give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor


My new novel:

Maledictions: The Offering.

Now in Paperback!
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