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  <title>williamthebloody's Stories</title>
  <subtitle>Exiled Scot, living in the North East of England.  Hope to be an adult when I grow up.  But being a writer would be good as well.</subtitle>
  <updated>2008-06-07T19:56:13Z</updated>
  <id>http://ficlets.com/feeds/author/williamthebloody</id>
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  <link rel="license" title="Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 License" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5/"/>
  <entry>
    <title type="text">The Room</title>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://ficlets.com/stories/29915"/>
    <content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Just coming up on the horizon is a house. And in this house is a particular room.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;Well, there&#8217;s actually a lot of rooms in the house (being, as it is, a house) but it&#8217;s this one room that is important.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;It&#8217;s said that when you enter, you get a strange feeling. One that you can&#8217;t quite explain or describe. But there it is.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;Linked to this is the rumour that when you enter the room, you leave to somewhere completely different. And it is true that people who go to the house to disprove this theory have never been seen again.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;There are those who say that&#8217;s superstitious clap trap and that the reason that those people haven&#8217;t returned is that they were killed.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;And there are those who say that the people wanted to vanish and not be found and used the talk about the room as a convenient excuse.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;Personally, I&#8217;m not sure. I&#8217;m going to find out. Would you care to join me?&lt;/p&gt;</content>
    <id>http://ficlets.com/stories/29915</id>
    <published>2008-05-09T14:38:51Z</published>
    <updated>2008-06-07T19:56:13Z</updated>
    <author>
      <name>williamthebloody</name>
      <uri>http://ficlets.com/authors/williamthebloody</uri>
    </author>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <title type="text">Success and Failure</title>
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    <content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Huh. Well, that couldn&#8217;t be quantified as a success. Even by the most liberal of definitions.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;He looked at the dead body. Then he looked that the hand in his hand, neatly severed above the wrist, gun held in place by rigor mortis. He had no idea he was that strong.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;At least he no longer had to worry about his fingerprints appearing on the murder weapon. He held his hand flat, weighing the hand and gun. Wondering if the weight came from the gun or from what was wrapped around it.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;But what to do with it? He couldn&#8217;t take it with him. He looked around and saw it. Perfect. Especially with his morbid sense of humour.&lt;/p&gt;


	&lt;p&gt;He approached the mailbox.&lt;/p&gt;</content>
    <id>http://ficlets.com/stories/29793</id>
    <published>2008-05-08T15:09:42Z</published>
    <updated>2008-06-06T16:27:03Z</updated>
    <author>
      <name>williamthebloody</name>
      <uri>http://ficlets.com/authors/williamthebloody</uri>
    </author>
  </entry>
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