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I’m not inspired by the good. Or even by the great. My inspiration is the mediocre. The crass. My inspiration is the self-satisfaction of knowing (assuming) that I could do a bit better than that. And this is the catalyst which gets me sat at a dining room table that isn’t mine at 4 o’clock on a Friday afternoon, my eyes still revolving in their sockets like a slot machine that never fucking wins, after an entire day of being clamped to my phone, typing feverishly away at my laptop with a vague feeling I’ve got something worth saying. Or at least, something worth hearing.
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Mara Córdova moves into a new apartment, only to be haunted by an alarm that chimes every night at precisely 3:32 a.m., pulling her into unsettling dreams of endless hallways, forgotten relics, and shadowed figures. Her search for answers leads her to the story of Rosa and Eva Castillo, the last victims of an ancient curse that traps souls one by one, feeding off those who stray too far into the darkness. As Mara unravels the curse’s secrets, she realizes too late that her fate is sealed—forever bound to the shadows that claimed the Castillos before her.
A man fails to escape a botched robbery. Shame that it was never meant to go well
This is one dream put into words. A story about a girl who lost so much, trying to work it out and deal with the situation. Yearning for the truth but never being close enough. Wishing things played out differently.
Little sad and heavy.
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Angela always knew what would happen when she wakes up each day. Her alarm went off at the same time each day, the amount of orange in the sky shifting with the seasons. She would get dressed and have a simple breakfast. Go to work, come home. The same thing each day, each week, just the way she like it. Until today.
What should be a normal midweek day for Albert Jones starts unraveling some of life's mysteries. Who can he ask for help and who can he trust? He must find out what happened and help save his friend from being framed.