We are in the middle of what looks increasingly like the zombie apocalypse. Moaning people don't need help. Moaning people are intending to eat us.
Performing is great, but you are exposed to all this extra stuff that you don't have to deal with when you stop. I'm getting used to it now, but it's kind of just the fallout. It's really weird. It's not a natural situation to be in. It sounds like moaning, because I know that's what I'm supposed to do, and I'm not moaning.
The bright, frosty day declined as they walked and spoke together. The sun dipped in the river far behind them, and the old city lay red before them, as their walk drew to a close. The moaning water cast its seaweed duskily at their feet, when they turned to leave its margin; and the rooks hovered above them with hoarse cries, darker splashes in the darkening air.
People forget they have options. And they forget that those things really don't matter. They should concentrate on what they have and not what they don't have.
If you'll quit moaning and crying, I'll use the things to make you into someone I can use in the lives of others to show them that no matter where they've been, no matter how deep the hole, no matter how painful the trial, there's hope. There is victory.
I just started to write because I was fed up of not seeing the stories that I wanted, so I was like “Stop moaning and write something.”
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