Kasparal's Short Stories
Kasparal
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Kasparal's Short Stories
by Karparal
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Nightmare
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The bright morning sun shone high in the blue sky, bathing the wide
grasslands below in the warm light of a new day. For miles and miles in
all directions, flowing green hills rolled on into the distance,
peaceful and undisturbed. Cows grazed in
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pastures and sheep trotted along trails. Trees grew from the ground, their leaves whistling in the soft wind. In short, it was another beautiful day in Minecraftia.
It was the perfect day for an adventure, thought Steve as he walked slowly up a hill
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and admired the landscape. He wore his signature bright blue shirt and dark blue pants, crisp and fresh for the day ahead. In his left hand he carried his trusty diamond pickaxe, the pick sharpened and polished. At his right side his pet wolf
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Darius trotted alongside him, tongue hanging out of his mouth, seeming just as excited as he was to tackle the day.
Steve walked for a few more minutes, until he approached the gray stone entrance to the cave he had been spelunking in for
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the past few months. As he stood at the entrance, a smile on his face and a spark in his blue eyes, about to head inside as he did every morning, a voice from behind startled him. "Hello, Steve." Steve would have recognized the sneering snarl
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anywhere.
He whirled around, his diamond pickaxe held tightly in his hand, to see exactly the person he had been expecting. "Herobrine!" he said, his friendly expression turning to one of abrupt anger. And true to his voice, the man
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standing behind him was indeed Herobrine, traitorous brother of Notch and Dark Lord of the Nether. He wore a black hooded cloak and held in his hand a long iron scythe. His bright white eyes were narrowed. He smiled a fanged
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grin at Steve.
"What an astute observation, Steven." Steve grimaced, hating his uncle's habit of calling him by his proper name. "I see you've finally managed to craft a diamond pickaxe. I must say, it's about time. You've been a
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miner for what, a decade now? Don't you think it's about time to give it up already? You know, settle down, find a girl, get a house?" Steve stamped his foot at his uncle's audacity. How dare he come to Steve's mine and then insult his life
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choices?
"I'm twenty-three, uncle." said Steve, emphasizing the last word. "I have plenty of time to 'settle down'. Darius is all the company I need. And for Notch's sake, what have you put in your hair this time?" He pointed to the gel in Herobrine's
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slick black hair.
"Oh, this?" said Herobrine, feigning surprise at Steve's question even though he had been hoping he would ask. "Squid ink. I've found it's delightfully rejuvenating to my scalp. I apply a new batch every morning. You
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ought to try it sometime. Perhaps if you actually took the time to freshen up every once in a while you might attract some actual women instead of the mangy dogs you keep company with now." At this Darius growled, and Herobrine incinerated him
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with a flick of his hand, reducing him to a pile of ash.
"Hey, that was my dog! And I've dated plenty of women! I can't think of their names right now but I'm sure I have!" said Steve, eliciting a snicker from Herobrine. Steve became angrier. "This
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from a man who spends his days and nights sitting in some Nether Fortress planning a revenge on Notch that he can never have, who has never had a relationship with anyone besides his filthy pigs?" Herobrine looked affronted.
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"You take that back! Horatio and I are just friends! And he is a pig-man. A pig-man!" Herobine growled in frustration but quickly regained his temper. His eyes had begun to fill with tears at Steve's insult to his pig-men friend but he tried
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to stay strong. "Anyway, I'm not here to lecture you on your love life." he said. "I'm here to take you to the Nether so your soul can burn there for eternity. Now are you coming or not?"
"You can't do anything of the sort. You have no
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jurisdiction here. This is Minecraftia." said Steve. Herobrine laughed, and made the eloquent hand gesture that summoned Nether Portals. Nothing happened. He tried again, and, when that didn't work, a third time. Steve began to laugh. "It's not
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going to work you idiot. This isn't your world."
"But . . . but . . ." Herobine stood there, repeating the hand gesture over and over again to no avail. "But that isn't what's supposed to happen! You're supposed to come with me to the
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Nether! None of this is going as I planned it!" Steve shook his head in disapproval and walked closer to him.
"Do you require further proof, uncle? Case in point, if this were your world, I probably wouldn't be able to do this. This one's for my dog."
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Before Herobine could ask what he was referring to, Steve raised his fist and punched him squarely in the face, and everything went black.
* * *
"NO!" Herobrine woke up in bed, screaming. He looked around him frantically for a
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few moments before he realized he was back in his bedroom in the Nether. He turned on the Redstone Lamp on his bedside table and looked around. He was wearing his black silk night clothes and a bottle of squid ink sat on his bedside table next to his
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Redstone Lamp. He gave a sigh of relief, and sat up in bed. It had all been a bad dream. "Horatio!" he called. He turned to a silver bell that hung from a rope above his bedside table and rang it furiously, causing loud chimes to echo through the halls
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outside his bedroom.
A few minutes later a tired-looking zombie pigman in a tuxedo resembling a butler's uniform entered the room. He looked at the indignant Herobrine and grunted something that translated roughly to: What does the illustrious Dark
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Lord Herobrine desire?
"I . . . I had a bad dream. It was about Steve. I tried to bring him to the Nether but my powers didn't work and he punched me in the face. I want you to read me a bedtime story." said Herobrine, his arms crossed and his
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slick hair shining. Horatio sighed.
But this is the third time this week-
"Did I ask for your lip, Horatio? Or did I ask you to read me a bedtime story? Now when you're ready to be nice and do your job, The Two Brothers of Minecraftia is
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right on top of the fireplace." Knowing it was useless to argue with him, the pig-man sighed again and picked up the book. He sat down at the edge of the bed, opened the book, and began to read it in grunts.
Once upon the time, in the land of
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Minecraftia, there were two brothers. One was named Notch, and the other Herobrine . . .
The End
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Bavarian Wine
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"Checkmate." The man in the silver suit lifted the minute white marble
figurine depicting a queen in a flowing robe and placed it softly on an
unassuming black tile three rows away. He smiled slightly, and leaned
back in his armchair. Across from him,
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the man in the black suit's eyes flitted across the remaining pieces on the chessboard. A white knight, six white pawns, a white bishop and the white king against four black pawns, a black rook, a black bishop, the black king and the elegant black
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queen. He set his fingertip on the intricate white marble crown that distinguished his king from his lowly pawns, and tried to think of a scenario where he wasn't cornered. The black queen stopped his horizontal advance, and a black rook stopped him
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vertically. He could shift his white king sideways but depending on his chosen square a bishop and a pawn would be ready to meet his advance. After a long silence, he, too, leaned back in his armchair and threw up his hands.
"Well done." he
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said cordially in his usual soft, purring German accent, his voice calm even as his eyes continued to flick rapidly from piece to piece, trying to determine what he might have done differently to win. The man in the silver suit chuckled softly. They
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were both sitting in large, comfortable-looking red velvet armchairs on opposite sides of a large dark brown oak wood table. On the table sat a large, ornate chessboard made of black and white marble and a series of elaborately sculpted marble
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chess pieces. They sat in a large room with walls made of the same dark brown wood and a floor carpeted with a rich crimson satin rug. A large fireplace made of dark gray stone sat next to the table and armchairs and a blazing orange fire within it
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cast long tendrils of shadow across the room.
The man in the armchair to the right of the table wore a suit made of silver silk and a black bowtie. His cuffs were white and studded with simple gold cufflinks, and his pants were made
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of a rich black wool. He appeared to be in his late fifties, and had combed black hair streaked with silver and a silver beard. His smile revealed a row of polished white teeth. His eyes were a bright brown and shone with the spark of vast wisdom. He
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sat upright again and began to gather the chess pieces, placing them neatly back in their initial positions with a calculated meticulousness. "Are you really that surprised, Karl?" he asked without looking up at the other man. He gave another small
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laugh. "I've played the game for some thirty years now. And even if I hadn't I can always read you like the back of my hand. How could I not win?"
"I suppose you're right. Chess is an old man's game." said the man in the armchair to the left of the
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table, eliciting another laugh from his companion. Karl wore a suit made of black silk, and a bright crimson bowtie. His cuffs, too, were white, though his cufflinks were silver instead of gold and had the sheen that came only with recent purchase. His
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pants were black and striped with silver. He appeared to be in his late twenties, and had combed black hair that he had gelled in place and a short black beard. His eyes, too, were a bright brown, but unlike his companion his contained not wisdom but a
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blazing, fiery ambition. He sat up and spoke again. "Well, it has been a pleasure playing with you. However the night is becoming quite late, and I would suggest we proceed to opening a bottle of wine and discussing anything you'd like to discuss, if
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that's alright with you?"
"Of course." said the man in the silver suit. Karl nodded.
"Leon!" he called into the hall beyond the doorway. "Would you bring the Bavarian Wine?" In a few minutes a sharply dressed man in a white doublet and
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black pants hurried through the door, holding a silver tray. He had brown hair and looked to be in his early twenties. He smiled eagerly at Karl and the man in the silver suit before setting the tray down on the table. Sitting placidly on it's
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shimmering metallic surface were two thin crystal wine glasses and a bottle of wine with a large brown cork. Karl picked up a wineglass and set it on his side of the chessboard, and motioned for the man in the silver suit to do the same. With one swift
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flick of his hand, Leon drew a small silver corkscrew from his pocket and unscrewed the cork, allowing it to fall into his open hand. Then, he picked up the wine bottle and poured a sparkling, foamy red wine into each of their glasses.
When he was
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finished, he picked up the silver tray again and looked expectantly at Karl. "Can I fetch you and your guest anything else, Master Wulff?"
"No, I think that'll be all. Thank you Leon." said Karl. Leon continued to smile at both of them and bowed
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shortly before returning to the hallway outside of the room. Once he was gone, the man in the silver suit flashed Karl an amused smile. Karl shrugged. "The estate needs servants if it's going to be properly maintained. Leon's not a bad fellow,
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just a bit tight in the collar for my tastes." Karl paused to take a sip of the wine. He set the wine glass down and seemed to silently contemplate the quality of the wine before speaking again. "Marvelous, no? I hand picked it from perhaps a dozen
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samples at the vineyard. I'm told it's from the person wine cellar of a Bavarian nobleman, a duke or a count I think. Costly, but what is wealth if not a means toward luxury?" At this the man in the silver suit burst into laughter. Karl looked at him
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cynically, confused and slightly indignant. "What's so funny?" he asked.
"Which memoir did you read that one in?" asked the man in the silver suit between short chuckles. "Honestly Karl, if nothing else, you make an incredibly amusing
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millionaire." Karl grinned sheepishly.
"Can you blame me?" he asked. "Ever since last month it's all been a whirlwind of nice clothes and seaside estates and . I'm drunk on wine half the time and drunk on power the other half." He tipped back his head
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and smiled, as though savoring the wealth. After a few moments of silence he turned to the man in the silver suit and smiled at him slyly. "I'm sure you can relate."
"Yes, I can. But you've seen nothing yet. I can tell you Karl, there is very little
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that a man cannot enjoy in this world with a hundred million Euros at his beck and call." At this Karl's eyes widened suddenly and he nearly spit out his wine.
"A hundred million?" he managed to gasp after sputtering for a few seconds.
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"You turned five million Euros into a hundred million?"
"You didn't really think this was it, did you? This little estate, a few servants? This is only the beginning." The man in the silver suit spread his arms wide in a grand gesture and
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smiled at Karl. "But I didn't expect you to think that far ahead, at least not yet. You have ambition, Karl, but not drive." He picked up a small white marble pawn from the chessboard in his left hand and focused on it, his eyes widened in
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contemplation. He stroked it's chiseled helm with his finger. "What is the difference between this pawn, one of twenty on the board, completely expendable, and the white king?"
Karl looked at him, puzzled. "Well, if a pawn dies the
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game goes on. If the king dies the game is over."
"Yes." said the man in the silver suit. "But both can die, eventually. Both are men. Neither is immortal, neither fully in control of their own destiny. One wears a crown and the other a
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helmet, but at the end of the day there is only one real difference between the two. A pawn is nearly useless, a simple foot soldier, a life of little weight on the battlefield, endlessly able to sacrifice its own life with little cost if it will hurt
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the enemy. A king needs to live, a king must live. A king has the weight of the game on his shoulders. Therefore, when a player acts as a pawn, their desire to survive extends only as far as the limited usefulness of the pawn's life. When a player acts
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as a king, their desire to survive extends as far as they value winning the game. A player acting as a pawn has almost no drive, while a player acting as a king has infinite drive. Infinite will to succeed. Something I, and, in another life, you,
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created for ourselves."
"But you don't have the drive I had once. You have a different drive, bred of different emotions. You don't know what it's like to work in a dead end job for thirty years in a gray cubicle on the fourth floor of some
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godforsaken office building in Bavaria. You haven't been embittered by being passed up for a promotion for the fourth time because your boss simply can't be bothered, come home to a dusty apartment full of half-finished notes and old furniture
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that you can't afford to replace, have your heart broken by that Viola you're always talking about because 'you're a really nice guy, but the relationship isn't going anywhere'." As he spoke the man's voice became steadily louder, and his hand began to
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tremble slightly. Realizing he was losing his composure, he took a deep breath and turned to Karl with a final frosted gaze. "But thanks to you and me, you won't need to. We've saved you from that Karl. Thirty years of tinkering madly in
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that apartment by the light of a single dim bulb has saved you from that. And now, finally, we can turn to pursuing what ultimately drives us: the hope of creating a brighter, greater future for you and me."
"One has a lot of time to think in thirty
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years of near-complete isolation from the outside world." continued the man in the silver suit. "I kept myself updated on finances, stocks, rising companies. There are ways to turn nothing into five million Euros, as you have, and then
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turn five million into ten or twenty, or a hundred or a thousand. I have a path for you, Karl, a path of investments and business deals that will, in the end, work very prosperously for both of us. But I am, quite literally, getting ahead of myself.
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These are discussions to be had another time. The night really is getting late, and I should be on my way soon. For now, I want you to enjoy yourself. You, and I, have earned it."
"I am." said Karl, shortly. "I had no idea what you
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sacrificed to make this happen. You have my thanks, of course."
"And I accept them. But don't feel sorry for me." said the man in the silver suit. "Those sacrifices will soon be entirely made up for. I have only your best interests at
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heart, Karl. Think nothing of it. You would have done the same for me." Suddenly, he drew an object from his pocket and brought it to his eyes. In the light of the fire, Karl saw it was a thin silver pocket watch with a long silver chain that wound
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down and disappeared into the man's pocket. The man in the silver suit stared at the glass surface of the timepiece for a few moments before looking back at Karl and speaking again. "It is late, Karl. I should be going soon. It has been
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a pleasure meeting you. Before I go, however, there is one thing I would like to see, if you would be fine with it."
"Anything." said Karl.
"Could I see the ticket. One more time?"
"Of course." said Karl, fumbling in the pocket of his
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black pants until he found a small, slightly torn piece of paper, about the size of cinema ticket. He held it up to the light of the fire, now reduced to a few sparks and embers, and held it out to the man in the silver suit. It was red, and bore the
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black, gaudy designs of a casino at it's edges. Printed on it's surface were five numbers in a simple black font: 8, 19, 26, 38 and 57. The other man took it slowly, as though he were afraid it was not entirely real and would shatter at his touch. When
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he gazed upon it his eyes began to fill with the spark of nostalgia, and a thin smile crossed his lips, as though he were seeing a long-lost friend again after years apart. Karl watched his silent reverie curiously. "I kept it with me, of
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course. Somehow, I don't think I could ever get rid of it. It's like a good luck charm, I suppose."
"Neither do I." said the other man. He reached into the same pocket he had pulled the pocket watch out of, and withdrew a small object. He set it
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on the table, and set the other ticket next to it. It was the same ticket, a bright red with black designs and writing, though much more worn and tarnished. On it were printed the same five numbers: 8, 19, 26, 38 and 57. The man in the silver suit
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smiled again, and laughed. "I've kept it with me all these years. To bring good luck, yes. But also to remind me that I am the master of my own destiny. Five numbers. Just five simple numbers made it all happen. Five numbers on a red lottery ticket." He
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laughed again, and turned his gaze to the fire.
He handed the red ticket back to Karl. "It really is time for me to be going." he said, checking his pocket watch. He looked at the silver pocket watch closely, and began to turn the small
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silver dials on it's side with precise, methodical motions of his fingers. He left only a large circular piston on the side unchanged. "I should return to my own time now. We will meet again, and there will be specifics to discuss. But for now, Karl, I
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want you to have some fun. Go out, enjoy life. Tell Viola a mutual friend said hello. Go out, take her somewhere nice. Berlin maybe, or Paris or Geneva or anywhere you like. And know that I'm proud of you."
"Thank you." said Karl, with a short
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smile. "I eagerly await our next meeting." He raised his wine glass. "Cheers, Mr. Wulff."
The man in the silver suit pressed the large piston, and, almost immediately, small silver sparks began to fly out of the silver pocket watch. The flew around
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him, becoming quickly larger and greater in quantity. A sphere of silver light began to envelope him.
"Call me by my first name." said the man in the silver suit with a final laugh, raising his wine glass to meet Karl's. "Cheers, Karl."
"Cheers,
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Karl." said Karl, clinking his wine glass against that of the man in the silver suit. The sound of glass shaking resonated through the room, and Karl watched as Karl was consumed by the silver light and his body disappeared entirely from view. He saw
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the other wine glass being lowered slowly, and heard it drop onto the table. The light became bright enough to make him shield his eyes for a moment, and had evaporated into the air as soon as he opened them. There was no trace of Karl or the silver
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pocket watch left. Karl sat up, his wine glass still raised. He looked at the red ticket in his right hand for a few moments before putting it slowly back in his pocket. He looked at the empty armchair where only a few moments before had sat another
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Karl, a Karl from a different time. He smiled at it, and raised his wine glass again, clinking it against the air. "Cheer's Karl." he said to the empty room, before laughing shortly to himself and draining the last drops of red wine in the wine glass.