Blood zigzags out in all eight directions. Acoustic aromas flood the air. Night begins to turn and rain finds its way down from the threadbare sky. In the middle of the room stands a thought, "what had caused this tragedy?" The body of a man was blundered to a puddy. The body of an aristocrat. The body of a lecher. He sure would taste like leather. Out the window, children run wild in sporadic grey motion.

* [Continue]
-> paragraph_2

=== paragraph_2 ===
Out of all people, you had to be the one to discover the body. You want to scream, but you can't, and you know that if you do, there'll be repercussions. The terror feels like daylight beneath your skin in the neon of night.

* [Continue]
-> paragraph_3

=== paragraph_3 ===

"Who could have done this?" the thought repeats its presence in the white velvet-coated study as the blood crusts slowly to a mediocre brown stain across the parquet floor.

* [Continue]
-> paragraph_4

=== paragraph_4 ===

[SEPARATE FRAGMENT]

Dmitry ran into Katya's mother, Dolores, on the way to the prison. She was silk, saying, "I thought I meant birth like the apparation of Summer approaching the South, but how wrong I was to give the gift of life to such a cruel woman." There she stands with her moon-shaven eyes against the delicately placed watermelons on the table of the street vendor selling fruit.
"Are you going to buy anything? I'm about ready to pack up." the street vendor said interrupting the intense conversation we were having.
Dolores's son was originally sent to die in a some unimportant war while her daughter amounted the social ladder to become a laywer with cunning ambition. She was responsible for more executions than holidays in the Hebrew year.

* [Continue]
-> paragraph_5

=== paragraph_5 ===

[SEPARATE FRAGMENT]

You spot a black notebook left on the bench by the traintracks. This is nice, to have something to discover. People should leave their belongings in public more often.
// in this, you see notes about Katya's mother that make you change your mind

[SEPARATE FRAGMENT]

Face-down you fall onto the bed into a straight-jacket sleep. Your eyes gently-pressing to the sheets reveal all sorts of hypnagogic decompressions, decompressing into memories that you're not sure you can trust. 
// The memory of X

// It became evident to me that I was socially invisible to these people, but I didn't care. I'd rather not be involved in it, it was all the more entertaining as a voyeur.

/*
two different guy visiting the same bartender and lying about each other or having an affair
being forced to serve in X but wanting to walk away from that life
being an ethical lawyer in an unethical law firm in order to pay off student debt


His face turns cartoon. The reversion is scarier than the wars I've seen.
The food smells infantile.
He was dementionless while mother fucking to microtonal music.
crimes that I'd meet.
*/

// character that learns a language that feels more natural to them than their foreign tongue, which leads them to unearthing some family history

// The only music that made sense him during sex was Golden Age Cantorial music, not having anything to do with identity, he was not Jewish.
-> END