Kapitel 38: Dreaming of sunshine
W̶͖̜͆h̷̛̩̗̎â̵̠̳t̸̨̮̄ ̷̜̙̊ỉ̸̮s̵͈̑ͅ ̴̦̓͋t̷̩̀͐h̸͎̑͝ȇ̴̹̇ ̸͇̺̓p̵̺͆͜͠ū̸̩̳r̷̛̯p̷̢̡̍͗ŏ̸̙̦ś̵̙ḙ̷͊͠ ̴̺̿͗ͅo̴͕̿f̶͙̬̽̇ ̸̙̖͌͌l̵͓̒̐i̵͇̝͑̌f̴̦̔̕e̴͈͎͂?̶͙͗
̶̛̹
̶̭̜̓∞̶̟̲̋͆
̴͚̖͘
̵̟̜̀̒F̴̢̜̿͐r̷̺̆̍͜o̸̞͝ṃ̶̛͈̄ ̴̯͆ạ̷͎̒̉ ̸̡̜̾b̷͖̅ḭ̷̪̃o̸̝͊l̵̜͑͠ő̵̟g̷̯̟͒i̸͔̚c̶̲̉̚á̸̬́l̷͍̰̓ ̷̤̼̊͝v̵̢̜͑͑i̷̧̋ḙ̵̏͂ͅw̴̦͉̽͐,̷̺͌̋ ̶͓̍͝ĩ̵̖̿ť̴̢͕'̵̱̏ͅs̴̠̫̀ ̵͇̊s̶̢̩̃ȋ̸̛̘̫m̷̧̨̃͊p̸̥̎l̸̠̳͐e̷̝̩̾͑:̸̡͖̒ ̸̠̞͑̐ṟ̴̎e̸͖̲̿͐p̷̱̞̀r̷̟̠̔͝o̸̺̔d̶͎̈́u̸̩̫̒c̷͕̓t̸͈̣̆ỉ̵̡̮͗o̵̘̒̒n̶͉͙̓͆.̵͚̦̾ ̴̤̉E̴͓͘n̶̝̥̾s̵̗͓̾ư̷̥r̶͎̀͘i̷̦͑n̶̻͛ġ̴̖̺͝ ̵̩̹̿͑t̷̻̑́ẖ̴͌̄͜ȃ̷̞̲͋t̵͍̏͜͝ ̸̮̔͗o̸̯͂n̵̰̱̆ȇ̷͈̉'̵̣̆ŝ̵̡͌ ̷̩͒̉ĝ̵̼̐e̵͕͈̔n̵͍̓͗e̷̪̗͐s̷͂͜ ̷̪̀ȃ̶̱̻r̶͓̹̓ḛ̵̉̎ ̶̮̓p̴͖̄a̷̲͗̆s̶̝̮̑̇s̴̡͋͊e̴͍̎̉d̶̪̋ ̸̰̜͒͋õ̴͚͠ṅ̷̻̕ ̵̼̒t̶͉̦̎o̵̭̠͒̎ ̴̻͑͝t̶͈̑h̴̢̑̿e̵̖̥̊ ̷̳͈͒̾n̴̙͝ȇ̸͉x̵̻͔͗̉ẗ̸̤́̌ ̵̟̹̅͆ģ̶̱͆̆ẻ̸̞n̶̘̓͝e̵̤̖̽̿r̶̥͙̃͆a̶̧̞͆̓t̴̡̗͑i̵̲̇ò̴̠̲n̸̨̞͊͝.̶̮̝̾
̵̛̰̞̅
̴̞̓͘.̸͇̓̌.̶͕̕.̵̤̀B̸̪̂ṷ̶̂ţ̷̧̀̉ ̶̳̈͝w̸͖̜̌h̶͎̏̚y̴͍̘̽͠ ̴͕̅s̴̼̱͘h̵͇̓ò̷̧̐ǔ̶̄͜l̴̼͘d̵̫̙̈́̌ ̸̛̝Ï̶̮͎̕ ̵͚͛c̴̹͖̑a̶̠̟͂̂r̵̡͚͗ę̸̻̔ ̵̘̭̎á̷̦͜b̸̙̊͑o̵̙͒u̶͈̒ẗ̴̟̟́ ̸̗̀t̸̯̲̏̅h̶̡͈̀̊ą̶̺͊͒ť̵̘̻?̸͕̍ ̴̗̏̊Ī̸͙ ̷̻̤͗̊ã̸̻m̵̬͛͝ ̷̟̅́n̶̡̰͆o̴͉͛̕t̷̬͛̈ ̷̡̅͘m̷̳̳̀y̷̡͑ ̶̜̔͠g̴̀͜e̸̘̙̅͝ņ̸͉̽͗e̷̦̱̽s̴̙͚͊.̷̼̟͂̔
̷͓͂̌
̶͔̳͑͗∞̴̦͕̕
̵̼̎͘
̷̼̀͋F̶͉͠ͅr̴͕̼͆͑ȍ̷̪m̸̤̲̀ ̷̜̺͝à̷̹ ̷̬̓r̷̺̀͌e̶̳͊̄l̶̗͐i̷͙͒g̶͕̖̓̔ḯ̴̲̠̍o̶̬͌ù̶̻̄s̵͎̽̆ ̵͔̇̄s̵̭̩̓͋t̸̯͈͑̚a̵̗͠n̵̢͂d̶͇͔̀͑p̷̼͛o̸͕̦͊́i̷͒̅͜n̵͍̹̕t̵̛̜̪̊,̸̫̪̕ ̸̱͉̐̕l̸̦̈́ĭ̵͕͉f̶̬̓͗e̴͍͓͘ ̴̮͗̋m̷̪̊ī̷̺g̶̢̩͐h̸͙̫̀̃t̶̩͑ ̶͚́͝b̶͈͘ȅ̴̡̙̑ ̸̪̌͒å̶͓̾ ̵̢͐͛ͅp̷̯͖̈̈́ä̶̡̙́̀ť̷͍͠h̵͉͘͠ ̵̙̔o̸̧͙̽̎f̶͈͛ ̷̅ͅr̷̬̂ȅ̸̪̜p̷͈͙̈́e̷̡̊n̴̠̘̾t̶̥̿a̶͔͊ͅň̸̯͉̏c̸̖̆́e̵͈͛ ̸̞͠f̸̟̟̄̀o̵̰̩̒ř̴̟͎ ̶̥̺̉ä̴̗̥́n̶̠̬͝c̷͎̹͗̌ę̴̹̿s̴̡̜̓ț̴̘͋͐r̸͈͊á̵̪́l̷̬̥̚ ̴͙̓͆s̶͍͈͐́ĩ̶̢͚n̷̨͛͘s̷͓̽,̷̙͉̽ ̸͕̋͘ã̷͈ ̷͙͖̓̈c̴̞͑̌l̷̗͒ĕ̷͍̀a̴͕͛n̵͚̠̎s̶̲̒į̵͋̚n̵̩̉̓g̸̺̳͘ ̶͖̍̀ȯ̶̝̮̋f̴̝̀ ̷͙̼͛t̵̛̘͋h̸̗̄̔é̵̗̠ ̸̱̮͝s̸̙͋o̷̟̦͋u̸̞̒ĺ̶̪ͅ ̶̧̃t̵̤̎ǫ̴̀̚ ̵̫̹͝p̶̖̄r̶̰̃e̸̯̹͌p̸̝̿̀ā̶̧̮r̷̦̳͆͑e̶̪̍ ̸̣̿͆f̸̣̅ò̵͈r̴̩̆͑ ̵̥̤̂̾t̸̛̖h̸̰̕̚e̵̺͛ ̴̜̪͒p̵͎͊͐r̸͇̪͋o̶̡͂̈́m̴̺̙͂į̶̐̓s̵̲͊͝ḙ̶̃ď̵̺ ̸̥͚́l̸̥̊̕ä̶̬n̴̰͓̚d̶̻͚̅.̷͈̺̃̒
̶̲̌
̶̝́ͅ.̷͍͒̋ͅ.̶̧̗̏̇.̸͙̈B̶̯̎u̷̬̳̇̀t̶͈̫̑͋ ̶͜͝ẅ̴͉͓́h̵͍̉y̸̧̆ ̴̲̓d̴̑͜o̶̫͛͐e̵̫̒s̴̘̄̈ ̷̠̜͗͒t̸̛̰̔h̸͇̱̿a̸̖̓t̶̘͠ ̶͙̏f̷̟̲́͆ḛ̸̀̋e̸̲̓̎l̷͙͈̓̚ ̶̯̑̌s̸͍̫͂̏o̷͕̞͗ ̴̳̝̐̽h̵̨̪̀o̷̤͌l̶͉̏l̴̝̤̓o̵̙͋͗w̴̺͊?̷͙̝͊̏
̷̲͇̈́̓
̴͕̮̑∞̶̙͕̽
̵̜̲̋
̶̰̈H̸̲̓͘͜é̴͇̉ď̵̦̯͠ŏ̶̮̻͗n̸͇͖͝ĭ̵̠̇s̸̢̐͠m̶̼̽ ̵̻̻̀ä̵̦̻́͌ȑ̷̗g̶͕̝̑͝ù̵̼̱ē̵̝̊s̷͕̽ͅ ̸̺́t̵̀ͅh̷̰̎͘a̴̜̚t̷͇͆ ̷͇͆l̷̗̇i̴̭͂f̵̺͂ȅ̶̮̕ ̴͕̳̔i̶̫̇̊s̵̱̣̉ ̸͗̐ͅǎ̸̖͈b̷̦̽̅o̵̯͂ų̷̻̀t̸̯̂͝ ̴͕̱̍e̷͇̅̚n̶̡̍j̸͕̇͝õ̵̡̖̍ỹ̶̗͐m̶̙̓e̴̞̮̎n̷̳̎̏t̸̺͝,̵̗͊͝ ̴̤̮͋i̷̖̹̍̅ņ̵̍͌d̴̲̯́ư̵͔̳ḻ̴͕̒͑g̶̤͝í̵̻̜̽n̸͓̻̐g̷͚̜͋̄ ̵͇̉̈į̷̦̀n̴͔͉̍̕ ̷̧͗ẽ̶̳v̶͈̫̇̇e̴̗͋͝r̵̡͈͊̕y̶̼̋͝t̴̬͊̾h̷̨̛͘ì̴͙̎n̴̯̯͑g̶̹͛̋ ̵̝̓͠ͅt̴̄͋ͅḧ̴̰̳́ą̵̉t̵̢̲͗̕ ̶̞̻̔͘b̷̬̒̚r̸͍̀i̵͇̗͋̉ň̷͙g̵͉̓s̴͓͊ ̵̥͖̾p̷̼̄l̶͙̓͐͜ẻ̶̮a̴̛͉s̵̭͈̑̓u̴̩͔͂́r̵̫̘̀̀ḛ̶̌.̶̯͎̌
̸͔̇͗ͅ
̶̥̌͒.̸͚̂.̷̳͔̔͛.̵̫̑B̵̟̟̉u̸͕͝ẗ̴͎́͆ ̶͖͌̈́w̷̘̑h̵͖̏͐y̶͉͝ ̷̨̛̐d̶̗͋ő̴͉e̵̛̳͔s̶̗̥͗̂ ̷͈͈̐̈́t̵͍͆͠h̷̺̀̀ͅā̶͔͍̚t̸̤͎́̇ ̴̧̉s̶͚̙̓ē̴̲̒ȇ̸̲͎m̵͓̅̕ ̵̩̳̓̌ș̶̓̃o̴̟̿͠ ̴̳̄̎d̶̩̤͆i̵̳̐́s̸̳͓̑͌g̷͈͐̽u̸̙͕̾͋ŝ̶͇̘̏t̶̻̕͠ï̵͈͙n̶̲̋͝g̶͔̍̋ͅ?̸͓̖̅
̶̗̞̎͝
̵͙͛͜∞̸̢̤̂
̷͎̹̒̃
̷̥͍̒̃Ń̵̬̰̄ị̷̙͒͘ĥ̶̪̑ï̶̻ḷ̸̇į̸͆ͅs̸̜͒m̶͚͋͌ ̷̧̗̈́ṣ̶̏̀a̶͔̿y̴͎͙̓̓ś̵̗̜̈́ ̸̩̅̌n̵̮̳̅̒o̴̠̼͝͠t̸̙̃͠h̶̛̠i̷̱̐̀n̴̖̫̾ĝ̴͓ ̷̭̖͂̋m̶̳̚å̶̟t̵̟̭̕t̴̝̅̕͜e̴̥͂͒r̷̳͂ͅs̵̪̔̉.̶̭̪̈́ ̴̛̰S̸̠͈͠o̷̳̿ ̶̛̯w̵̘̲͒́ḫ̵̰̋y̶͓͊ ̸̝̑͐b̸̩͂̈́ö̷̤t̷̢̬̊ĥ̴̖̗͘e̶̩̕r̸̠̟̓̎ ̷̨̨̎w̶̘̯̓͠ḯ̷̤̯t̷͍̦̿h̷̢̻̄ ̷͉̳̉̎r̴̙̎̚e̴͉̎́͜l̸̯̔̓i̵̧͈̐͌g̴͉̿͘i̵̠͐̄o̶̭̫͗͊n̶̢̛͠ ̷͙̊͑ŏ̷̮͚͘r̴̳̰̔̉ ̵̤̠̒̽m̵̞͛̆o̸̫̻͂̐r̶̩̣̀ä̵̜̙́̕l̸̪͋s̷̢̺͛̚?̷̪͂ ̴̆͜Ń̶̡̙̎o̶̟̽̄t̷̼̓ḧ̸͕̝i̴̪̩̓n̷̟͈̾̇g̴̹͚̐̔ ̴̯͛͘h̸̲̯̅̇a̸̦͇̍̓s̸̡̽́ ̵͍͊m̶̬̞̆è̴͎͎a̴͖͗ņ̵͕͊i̵̜̞̔̐n̵͔̯̓͝ĝ̶̭͘.̶̰́
̴̳̟̓
̶͔̂̀.̴͇̰̋͗.̴̮̙͊.̵̣́A̵͎̰̽ň̴̼̫̒ḋ̶͉̣ ̵̟̜̎̎w̸̯̥̏ĥ̶͉ͅȳ̸̰͆ ̸̟̳̇̕d̷̪̮̈o̷̱͛ê̵͖̫͂s̴̗̾͋ ̵̘̋ṭ̸̀͠h̶̹̔̅a̶̰̽̄t̶̺̉ ̸̘̭̎s̵̝̄ͅo̴̭͂u̸̪̎̚n̸̪̓d̷͉̏ ̸̺̈́̒s̸͙̏̈ȍ̵͕̚ ̵̭͖͒s̷̞̑͛a̴̮̟̔͌d̵͈͇̓?̸̗̓
̴̳̮́
̵̭̉́∞̵̨͈̏̇
̷̹͙̔
̴̣͝"̴͜͠ͅT̴̯͊h̶͙̳͆è̴͇ ̸͎̗̒͠p̷̛͚͙͊u̵͈͑ŗ̶̍p̴̃͜o̸̙͎͌̀s̷̄̌͜ẽ̷̳̫ ̶̼̰̑͆ô̶̗̝f̸̮̂ ̶̭̇l̶̗̏͝i̷̛̘͍͋f̷̡̱͛̍e̵̱̗͆̕ ̸͈̣̿̀i̷̩̅s̶̰͔̔͋ ̴̥͝h̴͍͋̎a̵̗̣̓̈́p̵͈̓͠p̴̡̍ị̸͌ͅṅ̵̳̥̈è̵̤̝͗ś̴͖͠ş̶͎̍̓,̶̜̻̅̈ ̵̳̄a̵̘̲̽c̷̣͂h̸͖̙̾̉į̸̈́e̴̟͋v̷̢͖̒è̴̩̍d̶̩̤̒͝ ̵͇̀͝b̵̞͑̍y̷̪̖͑̈ ̴̗̩̽̌v̷̨̓i̸̱̞͂̽r̷̦̂̇t̴̺̓ų̷̏ẽ̷̞,̸̧̫̏ ̸̰͘r̴͉̈́e̶̬̾̔a̷̞͆s̷͕͎̊o̸̝̎n̴̪̋̎,̶̺̭̏̚ ̸̺͒́s̵̼̠̍́e̷͎̹͛̓l̶͈͠f̵̺͚̊̌-̵̨̿͛r̴͔͑̚ě̵̼͗f̷̹̆̽l̵͓̀ĕ̶̖͍c̵͍͙̉t̸̟̏͂ḯ̸͈̗̃o̵̞̯̚n̶̝̋,̵͎̟͑͠ ̵̝͋̽à̸̱̥̈́n̷̼̮̒d̴̮̱̒ ̴͉̘͐i̶̲̜̇̈ṇ̷͈͐ṅ̸̥͝ë̶̡͔́̄r̴̗̍ ̴̦̾c̷̳̈́̐a̵͚̖̐l̷̫͖̑͋m̸̢̂̿,̴͈͓̈́"̴͓͛̕ ̴̭̋̕s̴̞̈a̷̡̱̐i̴͇̎̕d̸̰͌̏ ̷̟̥̍̕t̴͕̙̄h̶͍͠ḙ̴̼͒ ̵̨̣̎f̴͕̲̽̌o̵̙̹͠ŭ̵̝ņ̴̺͠d̴͇̉e̴̛̼̍ŕ̴̩̟ ̷̨̀͆ö̶̠̰͘f̵̦̐̈́ ̶̝̭̽s̷͍̓̊͜ṯ̶͚̏o̸̲͒͠ḯ̸̳̍c̴̻̯̀͠į̶̹͠s̸̙̓̎ḿ̴̡.̵͍͗
̴̛̇ͅ
̷͖̳̒͝.̸͎̲̑́.̷̺̀̚.̵̝̪̔B̸̫̬̓u̸̩͆̚͜t̸̯͐ ̶̙́t̶̙̯̍͝h̸͕̊͠i̷̞̰͆̇s̷͚͐̔ ̷̜͊̊f̶͇͆͂e̴̛̱̫͆é̵̮̜ľ̷͓̃s̴̥̽͒.̷̤̋.̴̫̞̐́.̸͚̀͆ ̷̡́i̴̘͎͗̚n̷̜̦̈́c̷̩͉̎ó̶͕͇m̴̪͇͑p̸̫͍͝l̷͂͜ͅe̵͐͜͝ṱ̸̾̑ę̸̘͐.̸̬̇́
̵̮̮͗
̶̳̍∞̴̫̼̕
̶͕̿̾͜
̸̥̬͊͠W̶͕̓̉ͅh̴̠͖̾͑a̶̼̅t̷̳̓̾ ̴̖̍d̴͙̘́̕o̵̗͌ ̴̠͓̔̕Į̸̮̆̓ ̸̥̱̑͝ẇ̶̧͜á̷͉̥́n̸͔̈t̵͛͝ͅͅ?̸͚̓͑
̵̦̥̄
̸͇̇͘L̵̮̠̽o̴̦͋̑v̸̯͚̿e̷̪͆͗?̸̲͑̉ ̷̬̺̉M̶̟̲̀a̵̦̔n̸̥͊y̵̡͋̍ ̸͜͠s̵̟̓a̷͇̓̀y̴̞̼̅̌ ̷̤̉ǐ̶͚̰t̴̠͂'̸͇͙̒̃s̸̞̫̽ ̴̹̱̾t̷͍̏̈́ḫ̴̤̿e̶̘̐̒ ̸̻̟̕m̸͕̣̀̍ë̸̥̪́a̸̰̤͐̏n̴̢̆̃i̷͚̒ṋ̸̢̋͆g̷͙̰̾ ̸͔͝o̷͎͌͒f̸̡̱̃͐ ̷͔̈͠ͅl̷̝͠i̷̧̦̅̍f̵̣͌̂ë̸̠̻́,̴̪̎̿ ̸̠̅f̵͉̳̈̓i̷̢̜̐́n̵̬̿̐d̵̬̀̂i̷̦͌n̵̢͓̉g̴̛͔͠ ̵͙̪̊̕o̷̤͇̔̕n̶͍̄ê̵͙͑'̸̣̍͠s̵̘̐ ̷̩̤͆o̸̦͒͜͝t̶̖̎͜ḩ̵̓̚e̸̡̧̓̈́r̸̭͝ ̷̨̲̏h̸̘̰̊a̵̜͋̎l̵̤̉̈f̴͓̐.̴̣̜̈́̈́
̸̟̟͛̃
̴͙̹͌O̸̢͋̐r̷̨̰͗͝ ̴͇͙̕m̴̥͈̈a̵̛̍͜y̶̭̏́b̵̟͘e̵̥̫͝ ̵̖͖̄͐I̸͈͂ ̵̪̾͜ŵ̶̤̹a̶̮͕͂n̴̺̑ţ̴͂ ̴͇͖͒̍t̸̞̫̓o̵̰̓ ̴̪̕w̴̧͔̍͊i̷̹̩̾n̵͈͓͐?̷͚̮̈́ ̵̘̥̾Ṱ̶̛͈̆ö̴̧̹́͠ ̷̮̇s̵̯͖͗͂t̵͇̠̊a̴̢̛̬ń̷͍̐ḍ̸͂ ̷̧͌u̴͙̽͠n̷͙̄d̴̥̑̽ͅé̷̱̽f̷̖͓̈́̀ë̸̦̌a̴͉̒t̵̠̉ḛ̷̡̓̚d̵̡̽͘͜ ̵̬̆͐͜a̷̦̮̕b̷̰̓͜ǫ̶͊v̷̗̭̇ē̵̗͌ͅ ̵̯̎ĕ̴͙̔v̵̟͝͝ě̸̜͝r̶̟͘͝y̸̡̻̽̐õ̴̖̘̚ǹ̷͇̕ͅȩ̵͉̓͐ ̴̡̚ë̴̬͕́̒l̶͓͇̋͂š̴̼̼e̶̗̜̿̎?̶̤̑̈́
̷̺̎
̶̪̏͠D̵̻͑̿ȯ̶̗̲̓ ̶͙̈Í̶͖̔ ̷̳͊̐ć̶̪̾͜r̸̖̐̑ä̵̢v̸̙̌́ę̸͚̓̿ ̸͉̋̓r̶͍̳̽e̷̜͆̂͜c̶̢̐͝õ̴͈̃ģ̸̧͊n̵̹̋̇ī̶̙̘́t̵͙̓i̷̼͘͘ǫ̴̡̓n̶̼̉͆,̷̬̐ ̸̳̟̏̈́t̵̗̪̔̈h̸̛̖͆ͅë̶̤́̽ ̶͍̌̒s̴̳̅ͅo̷̟̊ŭ̷̪́n̵̪̾͊d̶̨̈́̏ ̵̘̀́ͅo̴̫̗̅͆f̶̡̦̌ ̶̳͆a̷͈̜͛ ̶͉̹̓̉c̴͓̀͠ḩ̷̌e̶̱͊ë̵̝͕͌ṙ̷̟͌i̶̗̘̋͑n̶̤̪͘g̷̯͍̐͋ ̵̤͒͑c̷̗͔̈r̶̭̉̑o̷͋ͅw̵̢͝d̸̲̰̎̋ ̶̰̀͆s̴̳̋̚h̶̬̦̚ȏ̶̖̖ũ̵̘t̵͖̑i̵̱̼̅̓n̶̲̲͛g̴̡̥͝ ̵̧̳͋m̶̗͊̈y̸̰͚̕ ̴̬̀̋ǹ̵͍͚a̸̗͒m̸̏̇ͅe̴̫̓̚ͅ?̸̲̻̃̄
̶̨̅͝
̸̧̝̾̐D̶̡̼̏͝ọ̴͑ ̴̢̪̀I̴̼͐͐ ̵̰̊ẃ̴̼̆a̶̬̓̾n̶̥̎t̷̬̋ ̶̝͉͘͠r̵̡̛̋i̸̜̗͝͠c̵̨͍͠h̵̗͇̏ě̸̥̚ŝ̸͍̟,̵̤̝͊̔ ̴̱̂̏ẅ̵̼́̚ḛ̵̻͒̾á̸̟l̵̜̓̈t̴̟̭̓h̸̛͈͕ ̷̛̟̦s̷̙̆̚ọ̷̓ ̷̨̃v̶̜̿͝ͅa̶̭͙̋ŝ̶̳ť̵͚ ̵͓̑̆I̵̡̪͌ ̶̲̐c̴̱̈́ȯ̴̢͚u̴͇͂͝l̸̟͉̓̍d̴̘̘̃ ̴͔̻͊̉s̴͔͇͐w̶̠̔͝ị̷̬̍m̵͚̈ ̸̱́͠i̵̧̫͘n̴̖̂ ̵̫͌i̷̒ͅt̴͖̄̂?̸̛͎͑
̸̭̘̒̓
̶̣̽O̸̟̙͆̅r̷͇͒͒ ̴̙̿͝m̶̥̈́ą̷̮́ỳ̴̲ͅb̵͉͍͋̀ḛ̸̠̆̅ ̶̣̖̀̈́I̸̫͒ ̶̨̪̃w̴͇̰͠ả̵̢̙̉n̶͇̏t̵͈͗̿ ̶̬͐̈t̸͙͊́ŏ̷̲ ̵̢̼̓͌h̷̯̪̊͠ě̴͇͉l̵͚̜̃p̶̭͆͌ ̴͉̏͛m̶̙̅͋y̶͖̕ ̴̱̍k̵̝̾į̷̠́n̵̨̠̉͆?̴͖̆̽ ̴͕̜̅͝T̶͍̱́̂ŏ̶̳͓ ̴͈͋d̵͉̤́̋e̴̳̯̎ď̸͕̼ĭ̷̙͋c̶̹̄̍͜ä̶̮́̇t̶͇͔̏e̷̗͠ ̵̗̬̀m̸͍̜̃͌ÿ̵̩s̷̺̠̔̐ȩ̴̇͝l̸̫̒f̷̹̄͛͜ ̷̘̄̎ͅt̸͈́̋͜o̴̘̱̊ ̷̥̊m̵̮̑ȃ̵̙͍͘k̷̨̳̓͠i̷̿͐ͅǹ̶̤g̶̤͘ ̴̨̥̂ṭ̴̡̑h̵̻̻̋͠e̷̱͠ ̷̹̇̃w̶̠̃͗o̸͑͜ṟ̴̍͝l̵̛̹͓d̷͙͇̂ ̴̩̓b̴̦̆̚e̶̯̤͊̌t̵͉̚ț̸̮̊͠ẽ̶͕̾ŕ̸̬̊?̶̤̊̐
̴͕́
̸̱͕̅͘∞̸̼̜̿́
̶͚͓̎̌
̸͈̭̀W̵͔̉ḧ̴̦͔́a̴̺͗͑t̴͉̾ ̶̗͝d̴̛͙͌o̴̩̊̚ ̸̡̘͒Î̵̺̻̎ ̴̦̜̊͐w̵͈̑̊ạ̸̞͘n̵̥̂t̸͍̠̑̅?̶̦̰̚
̶̭͠ͅ
̷̢͋∞̸̢͒
̵̱̰̏̅
̷͇̦̂W̵͎̗͝h̸̙̅o̸͚̒ ̸̨͕̌ȃ̸̳̰m̴̮̜͆ ̶̙͉̽̾I̵̙̩̎̀?̴̝̈́
̷̠̺̀̕
̸͔͕̃∞̶̹̀
̵͍̠̂̒
̵̲̦̓̃W̵̧͋h̶̤̅͐y̶̨͕̍ ̵̟͐ä̸̫̱́m̸̭̀ ̵̻̿̏I̶͓̿ ̸͈̌a̷̞̞̅l̷̞̓͘i̴̺̱̇̑v̸̧͕̍͝e̸̩̒͝?̵̺̾͝
̴͕̃͜͝
̸͖̙̃∞̴͇̺͛͂
̵̨̫̽͋
̶̱̹̂I̵̘͘s̷̛̥̮͑ ̷̡̅̔t̷͙̃̕h̴͚͝ě̵̺́r̷̻͐̔ę̵̯͗ ̶̬̑͝a̸͔̍̓n̷͚̻͐y̵̪̱͗ ̸̳̎̈́ŗ̶̡̇e̴͖͂̚á̸̰̤š̷͍͇̈ô̶̤͖̾n̸͍̅̔͜ ̴̡̅͘t̴̝̤̓̚ó̷̠̥̑ ̶͔̂k̴̻͔̍͊e̴̙͕̓e̴̗̫͆̈́ṗ̴̢͠ ̵͚͇̈́̾g̸̼͠o̶̼̫͑̓ȉ̷̡̙͒n̷̗̋̀͜g̴̺̖̊?̶̧̈
̶̢́̿
̶̳̎∞̵̯̟̃̆
̷̢̜̇̈́
̷̗̙̌̈Ì̶̹̼̊ẗ̴̝̲͗ ̴͉̄̚ǡ̶͙l̸͕͑̎l̶̳̂̈́ ̴̞̀̃f̴̗̺̀e̶̻̒͆e̴͕͝l̸̹͛s̴̗͇͋͒ ̷̤́̆ͅs̴̲̓̈ō̵͓͔̕.̵̭̽.̶̻̤͋.̵̘͉̐͋ ̴͚̍m̶͖͝ͅê̷͙͗a̷̫̰̓n̴̜̊̑i̸̙͙̋̀ṅ̷͕̦g̶̱͌̎l̷̨̈́ẹ̸͍̀ṡ̸͍̖s̴̻͑̽.̸̬̣͝͝
̴͚͓̿
̶̲̯̅∞̷̥͕͋
̸̘͆͐
̷̥͈͑̀N̴̼̠̋̓ơ̷͍̼̌t̷̪͒̾ḩ̵̹̇ȉ̸͈̭̑n̷̗̒g̴͖͑ ̵͉̃̔m̶̗̕ͅḁ̴̡̐k̶̺̇̕e̶̪̍̀s̸̨͔̚ ̶̲̙́̎s̸̼̏́ȩ̵̘́ņ̴́s̷̟̏e̸̟͑͜.̷̯͕̐̌
̸̻̭͒̃
̵͎̻̕̕∞̵̝͛
̵̼̀̿
̶̯͗̑I̷̦̙̓̒ ̷̝̉͗d̴͖͗̓o̵̩͇̐̔n̴̩͈̊'̸̤̋͛t̸̫͕͂ ̸̳̾k̸͕̅̿ṋ̶͒o̵͙͘͠w̷͈͖̏.̷̞̯͑
∞
∞̴̛̭͍͐͗̑̇̂̽̐͆̑̔̀̂̐͂∞̷̛̺̭͕̦̅͊̇̑́́̅̀̀∞̸̨̥̝̬͑͑͒̽̚̕͜͝∞̸̨̫̱͉̙͖͎͎͍͒̔̏͒̾̃̓̅͜∞̷̧̟̤̯͖̬͕̍̌̈̊̈́͒̈́͆̅͌͝͝͝∞̷͆͛̓̆̾̈́̀͐̆̈́͜∞̵͔̮̳̺̋͛̀̈́͆͂̃́͒̀̊͝͝∞̸̧̻͐̏͒͊̈́́͐̓̚̕̕∞̴̼͓̺̖̘̙͕̤̠̖̲̘̮̞͎͌͛
̴̧͎͙͈̖̗͒͋͋̃̎̿̍̈̚͝
̴̨̡̡̥̞̗͍̦̗̰̱̘̣̜̔̓͝∞̶̬̻̝̫̟̼̞̱͕̃̐̽̏̾̍̈́͊̅͒̽́̕̚∞̵̨̛̬͚̠͍̾̐̎̈́̅̋̈̏͜͝∞̷̧̫̞̳̥̟̓̈́̈́͋̏͐∞̵̛̼̯̰̱̭͖̺̻̫̌̈́͗̋́∞̷̰̗̭̺̿̀̓̄∞̵̩̖͔͔̺̮͈̳͕̳͈̔͒̿̓̀͛͝∞̷̯͔̱̹̹͑̅͒́̈̈́͌̍͋̑̆∞̸͕̠͉̟̻̱͒̋̾̑∞̵̧̛̛̱̻̰̗̞̜̘̗̅̾͐̈́͂͌͋̊̋͗̉͘
̸̮̎
̶̥̳͓͎̞̼̎̈́͊͐͜∞̶̧̮̞̏̊̏̿∞̵̛̛͉͎̈́́͐̓̊͌̔̀͠∞̷̢̨̯͕̣̯̤̱̦͍̈́́́̈́̍͋́́̅̈́͆͜͝ͅ∞̷̰̭̖̥͔̮̄͐̈́∞̶͍̳̳̽̄̇̔̈́̅̈́͆̒͂̄̿͌ͅ∞̶̨̧̡͎͕̗̤̺͈͍̻̝̩͇̻̅̆̐̔̓̃̓͂͂̈́͋∞̷̛̹̲̆̌̂̈̒̆̏͗̿̀̕̕∞̷̱̞̣̲̳̟̘̭͓̖̲̃́̿͌̌͊̓̃̉̈́̃͜͠͝ͅ∞̴̻̟̰̥̪́̉͂͌̌
̸̢̤̺̳̘̥̰̱̱̉̕
̸̪̻̎͒̾∞̸̹̆̏̔̈́̋̽̈́∞̸̧̢͔͇̖̦̹̰͔̪̖͗̃̀̀̆̾̋͐̌͘̕͝͝∞̴̖̬͕͐͒̍̐̓̌̈́̇̄́̆̚͝͝∞̶̛͙̝͕̘̘̩͍̭̪͇̘͙̫́͌̍̏͆∞̶̼͋͂∞̸̡̮͍͈̘̇͑̾̽̈̀͊͠͠ͅ∞̷̲̻̀̾̉̈́̑͆̀̏̃̕∞̷̣̙͉̟̑̈́̌̏̂̀̅͗͆̿̅͝∞̸̡̡̗̹̗̼͚̗͇̬̞͆̀͒͑
̸̛̠̜̲̦̼͚͈͂̑͒̉̀̓͊͛͛̀͘͜͝
̶̨̫͍̺̪͇̜͈̙̝̫̣̦̥̕ͅ∞̷̧͇̰͕̩̱͔͈̪̲̙͍͚͂̅̑̏̕͜∞̶͙͖̲͚͋̏͒͌̀́͊͘∞̴̢̨͈̝̟̿͆̋̕∞̵̧̱͓͎͕̙̻̟͍͔͈͕͓̹̇∞̸̧̧̛̼͈̯̪̘̣͙̲͈̩̙̖͑́̾͘̕͝∞̶̢̜̰̙̘̳̙̤̻̜̤̠̘̹̌̏͘͜͝∞̷͎̼͎̦̜͎̙̪̖̏̅͂̽̽̈́̍͐̐̅̕͜∞̴̧͖̞̯̍͛̉∞̴̙̱̑͛̒̆̾̈́̎̓͊̚͘͝͝
̴̛͙̝̮͋̐̍̿̑̐͌̐͛
̴͖͉̙͇̬͚̺̣̭̮̪͇̲͇͍̾̂́͝∞̶̢̯͎̫̺̟̔́̽̀͒͛͌͝ͅ∞̵̡͎̘̤̫̥͍͇̜͔͍̊̊́͛͋͛͒͜͝͝∞̸̡͓͝͝∞̷̤͖͇͔̭̳̗̣̟̫̬̽ͅ∞̵̢͓̯̰̤̜̫̞̱̼͈̱͙͒ͅ∞̶̧̣̝̜̱̱̎̍̌̌̚͠∞̵͕͈̱̱͇̖̿̍∞̷̧̢̛̭̭͕̰̹̞̈́̈́͒̽̀͘∞̶̧͔͚͓̗̙̦̇̀̿̒̀̿̈́͊͛͘
̷̡͓̱̞͎̩̱͕̠̦͑̈́̓̐̍̓̾͒͌̀͋͋͐͜͝͠ͅ
̶̧̜̰̞̼͓͙̟̖͕̪̰̖̾̎͛͒͜͝∞̸̺̱͔̊̈̍∞̸̢̩͚͖̹̯̱͖̭̻͙͔̋͑̂̃∞̴̢͕̩̱͉̠͇̱̺̰̯̭͕̱̎̏̀͊͛ͅ∞̸̨̗̱̓̂̈́́̚∞̸̢̛͈̜̲̜͔̣̈͋̊̈́́͋̃̿̅̿̈̚̕∞̸̨͕̼̬͔̋̎͂̇͂̉̽̈́̅̿̍̿͘͝∞̶̨̆̎͐́̌̌̀͛̈́̇̊̐͝∞̶̜̮́͠∞̵̧̢̣̺͓̹̻͙̎̈́
̸̜̹̯̭͎̽̎̎̿͋͌̉͗̄͠
̵̧͉̹̘͚̮̹̤̺̯̩̈́̈∞̵͖̪̑̉̀̈́̃̚̕∞̴̢̧̳̦̜̰͕͚̊̍̄̏̿͗̔̉̉̈́̍̓̕͝ͅ∞̷͍̰̘̮̰̞͖̟̩̳̰͎͔̖͈̒͘∞̸̡̛̭̤̭̦̑̑͌͛̓∞̶̛̠͙͎̺͔̗̖̞̭̯͕̤̗̦͑́͐̾̾͘͘̕͝͝∞̶͇̉́̓̈́̆͘∞̶̣̫̻̬̲̖̺̞̺̻̤̼̊̏͑̑̉̽͗͌͘̕͜͝͝∞̵̭̹̟͖̭̠̥̘̬̼̟͇̟́̑̆̈́ͅ∞̷̢̨̢̢̛̥̱͚̫͈̻͛̀̔̑́͒̏̾͝
̴̢̛̰̞͕̥̖̭͖̣̮̊̅̊͛͆̒̅͗̀̚͘͝
̵̺͕̙̖̃̿͝͝∞̴̢̧̨̨͕̹̙͇͍̳̹̻̭͇̯͐̈́̄̑͌∞̶̩̳̲̩͖̞̺̼̄͒̔̑͝∞̵̡̫͇̥̹͓̙̬̻̯̠͍̱͙̆͐͗̍̃̍̏̊́͗̚∞̴͓̉∞̴̢̡̼̬̞̍̐͌̉͂͗̚∞̶̢̝̬͈̟̩͉̣̼̣͓̀͐̾͜ͅͅ∞̸̧͔̳͕̝̤̰͍̓∞̷̝̱̻̣̬̝̀͂͆̍̽̈́̌͝͠ͅ∞̴̱͍̹̀̐̾͂̌̑͐̑̌͌
̶̻͇̣͙̱͖̪̑̏̕͘ͅ
̷̧̭̞͎̌̑͂̔̽͜∞̷̢̘̺̣̬͙̈́̈̍̐̈́̉͊∞̶͖̺̲̤̦̺̽̈́͑̃∞̷̛̠̭́̂̄̈́̅̂̓̽̐̅̕̕∞̵̙̬̙͍͖̠͙̚͝ͅ∞̵̡̱̯̗̖̭̗͓̝̯̼̟̻͊̈͋̂̈́̍̽͐̓̆̈͋͝͠∞̸̣̖̹̼̦͍̲̱̽͑͂͆͂͂͌̚∞̵̰̟̖̲̹̺̙͎̝̣̮͑͊́͂̽͆͌͋̈́͘͝∞̶̢̡̨̢̫̘̫̱̙͇̖̺̒̑̃̋̈̏̐͌̏̀̄͜͝͠∞̵̮̀́̐̾̎̍̑̄͂̽̿͝
̶̢̢̞̞̣̦͚̘͖͕͓̲̳͈̆̎̀͆̏͂̍̔͗̾̿̓̊͜͝͝
̵̧͉̥̻̜̜̻͇̝͍͖̒͜∞̷̻̳͔͋̑͗͆͒̔̇́͗̐̓∞̴̩͙̘̜͓͉̩̪̲̘̮̜̖͍̑̈́͋̊̓̈́∞̸̧̲͕̯̤͖̟̾∞̴̟̤̦̫̩͓̩̯͚̹̮͗͆͋∞̸̢̧̺͇̗̦͎̱͖͔̰̫̇̀∞̷̫̩͔̦͇͍͍̅̈̈̐̊̏͋̈́͋̂̃͝ͅ∞̴̧͈̹̖̠͎̱̮̦͔͖̹̔͑̋̈́̍̈́͑̃́̕͜͠ͅ∞̶͓̞̣̼̜̞͉̙͈̻̓́́̅͝͝∞̶̙̤̯͇͓̜̦̝̅͜
̸̨͔͔̩̒̐̈̒̚͘͠
̸̡͓͚̺͉̙̪̥̺̗̬̤͘∞̶̱̇̽͒∞̵̡̨̘̼̰̳̗̞̩̫͇͎̄̈́̌͐̂͌͜∞̴̢̯͈̯̆́͐́̇̿̃̽̄̆̐͠͠͝∞̸̤̞̹͔̾͗̂̄͗∞̵̥͕͇̥͍͉̜̯̺̪̑̆͊̑̓̀̈́̽̊̓̃͘̕͘∞̶̨͈͚̫̮̼͉͉͙̻̟͉̫͔̀∞̵̡͔̯̹͓͈͎̯̈̇͗̒͐̓̒∞̴̨̧̤̮͖̙̯͉͖̥̈́͊̋́̈̊̎̕̚∞̶̡̛͚̳̣̰̹͎͈̾̈
̸̢̺̻̣̬̜̫̤̻͈͚̲̊̋̎͌͝
̷̲̹͎̆̓∞̶̢̳̱̟̟̂̆̓̓́͆̃̇͛∞̵̡̝̬̣̽∞̷̠̩̀∞̶̨̰̲̦̱̹̭̰͔͙͒͊̈̎̿̉́̄̌̈́̐͘͜͠͝∞̷͔̱̺̝̏̿͗̎̓̏∞̷̺̗̫̤͈͓͆͆͑̐̽͒̅͗͒̀͝͠͝∞̴̛̱̔̌̔͊̀̆̅̀̕͜∞̷̢̢̨̗͈̝͍̹̞̰̰̺̗͒̈̐̉͗̈́͆͛̍̈́͑̎̕̚͝∞̶̡̛̖̲̟̱̠͈͙̋͂͂͊̓͑̓͌̐̿͝
̸̡̧̡̡͍̻̘̻̟͈̲̻̦̯̂̑̽͋̀̈̈́ͅ
̷̛̛̘̦̤̘̘̫͔̯̩̂̀̀͗̽̒̈̾̆∞̵̨̧̡̺͕͓͈̪͓͓̗̥̲͉́̀̀̈́̈́͑̒̍͘͝͝ͅ∞̷̧̩̻͙̻̰̻̪̼͓̟̰̑̽͛͛͆̉̈́̉∞̶̧̦̤̫̱̬̗̍̃́̒̏̽͌́̒̑̄̅̆̚͝ͅ∞̷͉͚̝͎̖͖͔̲͉̪̻͓̳̌͋́̄̌̏͐̎̿͌̈͗̚͝͠∞̷͉̗̻͇̲̮̣̠͕̊̀∞̷̡͇̱̤̭̱͆͌̆∞̵̹̣̼̹̑̈́̏͗͆͌͒̈́̒̑̔∞̷͎̳̬͖̤̻̩̰͔̣̱̣̜̻̃̐̏̓̒∞̶̞̝̲͕̠̗͍͚̬̝̣̍͑̈́̍̉͜
̷̯͙̲̪͚͍̆́̊̈́͒̈́̄
̵̨̘̟͓͚̝̮̙͕̥̻̓̊͆̒̍͊̇̄͗̾̔∞̶̨͔͈͇͓̺̯̳̩̬̮̖̱̰̌̇́̾̈́̐́̓͘͘͝ͅ∞̴̢̹̟̬̆́̊̓͗̇̈́͜∞̶̧̗̯̳̖̥̋̑̽͂̎͘͜∞̵̨̬͔̙͉͕̫͇͕̪̤̈̒͂̚̕∞̴̢̈́̒̈́̆͛̉͌̀̀̚͠͠∞̶̣̟͚̪̘̊∞̸̧̧̧̛̮̩̞̰̰͇̪̲͚̪̃̇̒̆͗̊͆̈̄̈́̓̑̾͝ͅ∞̶̼̯̤̅͌̎͝∞̴̨̧̜͚͙̯̯̮̋̾̾͊́̊̌̆̍̎̎͒
̸̛̗͆͐̈̔̈́̀͐͌͂́̾͘
̴̛̺̞̤̼̼͗̈́͑̆̋̋́̌͘͜∞̶̡̢̹̫̹͖̖̼͍̞͚̩̖͒̏̐̾͆́͋̽̍̐͊̕̕͜͜∞̶̡̱̲̯̼͖̲̜͖̦̪̙̣̗̔̈́̈́̌͋͐̿̂̏̀̕̕∞̴̳̬͇̮̬̫̮͚͔̩̉̈́̑͆̒͐̅̾͘̚͜∞̶̡̛̛̖͇͑̐̋́̽͌͆͂∞̸̨̬͚͓̠̠̼̫̪̜͋͌̒̉̾̆̋̒͌̂͑̕͜͝∞̸̘̍̃͆̊̓̋̂̑̅́͑̅̊͝͝∞̵͖̺̰͓͋͋͒́̈̓́͐̆͒͗̚̚∞̵̢͓̭͐̇̓̃̌̋͌͂̃̊̈́̅̀̏͠∞̶̢͙͖͕͈͚̗̻̲̓̃͒̏̃͗̎̄͊̇̉̆̀͝͝
̶̛̰̖̖̙̹̠̑̏͐̓͗̐̐͘
̷̛̺͓̟͎̻̰̮̼̪̺͖̟̉̇̏̋̇͑͘͜͝�̷̧͈͇̙̙̼̻̈́͛͐͂͊̈́͆̊́̂̽͘̕�̵̨̺̮͕̺̬̬̮̲͛̓͂͜ ̷̥͉̣̥̤̻̙͂̑̈́̅̓͂́̂̿͐͘̕͝�̷̡̡̼̜͇͖̭̉�̸̧̼̝̜͊͒̽͂̌̕ͅ�̴͓͕͇̝͓̰͖̤̻̘̺͗̒̈́̊̋̋͘͝�̷̛̥̰͙̤͙̘̓͑͂̂̿̾͝�̷̛͓̺̜̭̯͓͚̯̣̥̖͔̭̏�̴̧̖̤̜͓̠̰͌̓͒̓̄'̶̛̹͇̳̙͖̱̯̞̥͛͛̐̒̔̏̚͜͝�̶̝̱̬͇̺͇̜̳̻̤̥̖̾ͅ�̸̮͍̱̗͇͉̅̄̅͒̊̔̈́̉͆̓̕.̷̫͚̣̤̓̉̋̓̈̀̄̓̓̾.̸̛̦̭̲͉̦̿͒̐̏͌̌̅͐̾̾̋̔͘.̸̛̼̳̥̩̯͚̤̖̖͇͚̏̓̈́́̀̽̾͜͠͠ͅ�̶̝͎̜͕̪͂̿̏̎́̆́͘�̴̯̣̞̫̖̙̝͗̒̃͌̀̈́̀̑̾͘͘�̵̫̦͎̗̀̆̽̋̔̅̐̄͑�̵̧̼̜̯̳̤͔̭͕͍̹͚͕̽̔͌͒ͅ�̴̧̥͕̦͆�̷͕̣͛̉̄̾͑͂͑͘͘͘͠�̴̠̐̒͐͂͝�̸͓͙̳̮̈́͑̅̒͒ͅ�̷̺̳̻̺̖̞̙̥͑̓̔͂̔̔͝͝�̸̨̤̮̣̆̋͂͝�̵͓͖̬̞̖̳̯̖̳̭́̓̄̑͛͘͝͝ͅ�̶͎̜̫͉͈̫̳̥͙̞͖̈́�̵̡̛̯̞̜̰̹̥̬̯͇̥̎́̃͐̓̾͠͠�̵̡̡̭̳͍̝̥͙̘̟̥͙̩́̀̃́̆̈́͋́̊͋͒̕͝�̸̘̞̮̗͙̮̻̟̱͒̊̑͐̌̐͒̒͌́̿͝͠�̶̢̙̺̞̫͙̮̤̙̙̮̜͔̥͖́̀͛̂̊̃̅͌͂̄̐̌̂̎͘�̷̡̖̥͍̹̩͕͚͛͐̂̀̊͗̇̏͝�̴̫̭̍͋͋̐͗̈̀̓̈́͐̋�̴̝̰̀̓̏̈́͛͌͑̃́͗̕�̸̠̙͋.̶̨͓̪͍̯̳̭̲̖͎̈́͊.̵̢̡̧̤͎͎̩̺͎̀͑̌.̷̤̥̙̖̠̼͙̟̗̹̹͂̉̏̒̀̔̉̒̎̎̇͒͑͠͝
̴̘̫̲͆͆͗̂̎̈́͆̐̿̐̽̓̕
̷̢̞̮̣̘̹͑́̆̎̽͛͂͘͜͝∞̵̥͉͇̣͈̪̭̆͌͆̑̈́̑̃̑̓͊̈́͝∞̸͇̼̥̥͎͖̇̑∞̵̧̣͍͗̔͑̌́͛̃̿̿͋∞̶̠̮̳͠∞̴̡̙͙̫͕̈́̆̅͐́̀̏͑̌̋̓̎̃͂∞̶͉͊͗̓̽́̋̑̏́̊̈́∞̵̺̗͚͕̮͈̘̞̠̽͗ͅ∞̴̲͂̊͒∞̸̧̧͕͔̠͓̥̲͚͓̖̲̳͔̈́͐̓͂̏̾̋͆̍̔̐̓̕͝
̵̡̦̰͑̌̋̐̄̈́̽̏̀̄̅̕
̷̡̞̭͎̈́̐̈́̿͌̊̔̿̒̓́̾̕͝∞̴̛̞̭̬̊͋͌́̿͘͝∞̸̡̣͙̀̋̏̓͒̑̌̑̉̚͝∞̷̨̘̦̜͙̩̯͎͎̥͎̠͆̿͂̈́̎̚∞̴͙͍̲̲̼͓̞̲̥̫̟̪̑͗̓̊̓͌̾͛̈̔̄̕∞̸̡̄̓∞̸̘̰̫͑̉̓∞̶̡̞͇̘̫̭̞̜̣̳̣̳͙̩̈̅͜͝∞̶̨̢̹̤̭͎̽̀͌̃∞̶̧̡̱̻̫͕̥͙̪̓̓͆͊̏̈́̈̕͝
̶̨̨̢̮͓̰̺̼͉͉͙̟͆̅͊̑̃̍̆̽̎̆̑̓͝
̵̢͉̦͓̜͉̜̗̥̀͐̈́́̇̓̄̎̏̇̈́̕̚∞̵̥̯̜͊̉̿͌̒͆̇∞̵̠̺̯̣͎̱̒̌̀̆̀̍̈̾̈́͠ͅ∞̶͇̥̦͎̬͓̪̺̺̦̺̥̾̋̆̍̑̈́͐̎͌͜ͅ∞̸̝̜̥̥͓̪̞̱̠̺͇̬̝̞̀̋̅∞̵͎͇͚̺͚̮͒̉̂̚͝͠∞̸̦̻̤̤̭̰̣̬̣̻̈̾̄̑̌̌̎̋̎̚∞̸̫͋̎̈͠∞̶̧̢̠̜̻͑͂∞̸̻̙̮̳̋̈́̽̈̄̒͝
̶̡̱̯̝͕̠̘̫͋͑̀̃̋̏̒̿̀͑͛͋͜͜͠͝͝
̶̞̙̊̏̑ͅ∞̷̫͌͐̓̔̀̋͒͗̃́̚̚͝∞̷̨͇̼͈̪̦͚̪͉̾̔̂́̕͠∞̵̧͎̻̿̋̓̓͂̈́̃̾̔̔͊̊͝∞̸̧̛̭͙̖̟̗̪̭̞̙͔̳̼̻̲̂́̉̇̔͗̈̎̽͋͗͘∞̴͓̹̰̪̤͔̰̋̄̈∞̸̢̲̟̱͇͙̪̈͆̓̓́̐̽̾̚͘͝∞̷̡̖͎̘͍̹̭̝̪̣̟̱́̿͑͊̀͆̂̏̆͝ͅ∞̸͚̼͉͑̓̈́̈́̊͝∞̵͍̤͈̯̻̺̘͔͙͍͙̜̦͕̭̈̿͑̏̂̄͝
̶̡͔̬̲͎̫̘͑͐͛͝ͅ
̶̨̩̥̞͕͈̥̥̠̲̮̤͐ͅ∞̴̛̦̳̔̇̀̑̊̈́̈́̔̀́́̕͜͝͝∞̷̡̟̣̙̐͌͑̊͠∞̸̢̥̤͖̯̗̟̔͌̃̋́̔͜ͅ∞̶̡̘̫̲́̃∞̸̨̧͚̟͕͙̝̮̳̙͖͂∞̸̞̰͓̣̗̎̄̐͆̀͘͜͝∞̸̪̥̮̟͈̱̘̝̟͍̓̑̉̓̽͗͝∞̸̡̧̢͓̮̪̳͕̭̣̙̘͔̘̼̾̊̅͌͆̉̑̄̕͝͝∞̶̡̛̻͇̜̠͔̙͍͚̈́͌̈́̑̌̔̒̿̈́́̏̕͝ͅ
̸̧̣̱̬̲͔̘̲̗͓̆͗̽̂̊͛̐͆̄͝͠
̵͚̦̪̼̠̥̳̟̙̲̈̏̈́́͆͆̀́̀̉̓̋̂͐͛∞̵̡̹͔̺̫̈́̒̽̐̀̾̇̔͊͑̆̈́͘∞̴͇̻̼̤̲͎͍͙͎̖͗̓̈́̋̊̾͂̄̌̀̚∞̴̨̹̼̠̦̦͍͇̈́̈́̉̈́̄̚̕͝∞̴̼̝̗͚̹͈̘̻͖̃̿̅͗̌̓̄́̉̈́̒͘͜∞̵̲̞͙͗̋̑̆̌̐͊̏̅̈̃̕̕͠͝∞̷̧͈̥̻̙̯̝̲̫̩͔̲̎ͅ∞̶̢̨̱̼͈͕͉͚͛̆̄̔̑̔̏̒͛̀̉∞̷̨̱̦̳̝̻̪̤̮̔͌͑͋̓∞̵̨͕͖̭͈̼͎̌͋̐͐͒̊͆̑̕̚͘͘
̴̨̟͖͚̥͓̬̒̔̽͂͑͌̈̓͑̆͂͝
̷̡̢͍̫͇̯̩͚̫͇͍͚̖̰͓̍̀́̋̈́̆͐͗̽͛͊̕̕∞̸̼̙͍̼͖͎̲̠́̉̌̆͆͆̆̋͘͝∞̴͉̥̺̟͕̔̅̊̓́̇̌͐͑̒̕͜͝͠͝͠∞̸̢̖̫̬̟̟̗͉͔̥̺͊̈́̚∞̶̢͙̉̿̆̌̌̌̆̀̾̅̂͠͠∞̷̗̮̉̿̇͆͛͑̚̕∞̸̡̡̜̫̦̯͈͇͎̝͆̀̓̂̊̐͋̂́͒̃̀̕͝∞̷̢̛͓̱͓͇̣̰̰̕̕͠∞̶̡̱̬̜̮̮̹͙̤͍̈́̔͌̎̒̏́͠͝∞̸̛̝̻̜̙͌̆̅̄̊̔̽̎̌͘͘͜
̵̹̭̪͖̥̞͕̜̆̿͆̍͗͑̑
̵̛̺̼̜͉͉͗͘͜͠͝ͅ∞̶̨̗̦͙̩̀̓∞̴̻͔̜̙̳̠̱̠̜͎̲̏̿̀∞̵̧̢̛͈͇̩̤̣̾̈́͑͂͐͆̾̎͛̑̉̓͘͠ͅ∞̴̢̛̬̟̦̭̻̭͍̲̤͋̒͋̒̓̈́̏̐̌̀͜͠∞̵̖͎̠̊͑̋̕∞̵̢̡̡̙͈̝͈͇̞̞̣̓͊̋͆̕∞̷̧̧͇̹̠̤̥͊̈́̃̌̄͋͑̈́̕̕͠∞̷̭͔͓̲͈̎͒̓̀͂͝∞̸̛̛͙̫̬̻̳̭͚̪̯͚̖̰͂̃̏̽̈̆͐̃͝͠
̴̢̢̡̰͙̘͌̅͒̇͐͊̈̕̚͠͝͝͠ͅ
̵̫̜͙̗̘͋͂̔̄͌̆∞̵͓̻̮̉∞̴̧̱͚͎͓̼͈̱̬̻̘̔͐̚ͅ∞̴̧̨̥͉̪̞̞̮͓͙̭͉̙͙̀̑̊̏̈́̍̓͘͜∞̶̤̳͇͙͉̭̭͇̱̗̑͗̉̇̃͆̓̾͠∞̵͍͎̻̪͕̘̪͎̱̠̜̀̿͋̽̔̽͑∞̸͈͇͓̣̯̼͙̹̅͛́͂̅̈͌̆̾̀͒͛͘̕∞̷̡̗͔͙̗̪̦̲̹͍̪͖̙̳̈́̽̆̏̿̽̃̽͑͘͝͝ͅ∞̷̡̢̨̢̞̠̪̠̘̜͇̦̰͗̂̄̅̑̊̕͜͝∞̸͉̣͓̜̰̗͋͜
̴͕̯͈̘͉̳̼͚̖̼͓̦̣̞̏́́̍̊̈́͒͌͂̇̀͗̊̉
̶̺̬͉̞̔͗͊̍͆̈́̅̏̽̃͝∞̵̡̨͈͙̥̣̝̣̳̂̐͐̀̏̀̑̄̈́͠͠∞̸͚̗̩͔̙̼͇̍̈́̀̔̃̓̅̇̈́̒́͝∞̸̧̛̗̭̂͊̉͂̿́̂͒͛͛̒͋̍∞̴̺̰̝͓̯͖͉͆́͂∞̴̧̛̖̦̺̍̏̊̽͋̈́̑̏̾̑͑∞̴̯̣̭͉̪̈̇̃̊̈́̍͘͘͜∞̸̨̫͙̗̘̠̹̉̽̑̎̍͝͠ͅ∞̶̧̘̪̱̟͚̰̊̂̂̈́͂∞̶̛̝͗̓̌́̂̒̒͑̆̾̒̓̚͝
̶̗̦͇̱̞͉̦̖̱͇̥̫̝́̅̃́̒͌̿̿̚͘͝͝
̶̢̲͋͐̎̿͋∞̸̨͚͎͖̜̭̞͚̋̃̔̀̽̀̐͠͝͝∞̶̘̎͂̔̓̓̏̿̽̚͘͘͝∞̷̮̜͈͔͓͔̭̾̒̀͐∞̶̫̪̙̟̬̙͚̰͆̑̏͜∞̸̱̞̻͌̊͌̒͂̀̿͠∞̶̢͙̺͔̥̤̺̮̰̯̻̋̃̋̓͋̈́̕͘∞̴̧̥͚̖͉̻̳̫̮̪̮̿͑̈́̎͋̏̀̕͝∞̶̣̝̰̩͎͇̹͔̺̤͇̼͎̀̀̃̓̇̍̀̒͒̓͜͝∞̷̢͉͇̞̲̳͕̞͕̰̣̘̗̞̇́̉͂̿̈́̋͆̔̉͋́͘͝
̵̛͓͋̃̑̄̊̽̐͋̔͋͠͠
̷̟̈́̓͂͆̀̓͌̆̀̑͐̋̄͘∞̶̡̰̩̺̖͔̻̣̖̺̿͐̋̔̌́̕͝͝∞̴̗̣͖̺͇̰̖̒̋̏̐́̈́̍̈̕ͅ∞̷̺̹̝̫̱̩͓͍̖̺̹̊͋̑̈́̉̾̉͗͂̋̔̓͆̈́̕͜∞̴̲̫̫͈̺̊͌͑̑̈́͝ͅ∞̶̠̞̯̯̹̼͕̀͂̇͑͠∞̸̡̧̧̤̠̜̗͎̰̘̞͎͎̘̹̒͑̋̒̿̅̀͒̀̚̕͝∞̵̡̻͖͎̻͖̲̫̠̤̯̈́̚͝∞̵͉̪̳͒͛̄∞̴̢͇̰͈̋̈́͌́̆̂̂͗̓͋̒͠
̶̩͉̝̻̰͖͖͖̱̉͘ͅ
̵͙͔̹̪͙̕ͅ∞̷̬͓͔̜̩͉͌̽̆͛͑̌̐̒̈́͆̓́̇͘̚∞̷̢̜̮̃͑̿͆͆̓͌̓̑͝∞̴̛͚̙̝̳̲̇̅̐̔͒∞̴̧̹̬̣͈͙̟̖̖͂̅̍̊͛͠∞̴͚͈̏̚∞̶̰̒́͆̐͐̀̇̕∞̸̡̟̳̤̺̱̗͇̖̣̰̺͉̆̋̃͑͆͊∞̵̡͙̹͂́͋̑̓͊̑̽͒͘͜͝͝∞̷̣̹̲̪̭̞̈͌̂̎̐͒̓́̇͑̀̾͝͠ͅ
̶̧̩͖̻̭̱͖͓̤̱̪̳͙͒͂̓̂̋̉̊̎͋̒̕͘͝͝
̵̥̫͙̯̟̖̓̌͑̇̈́̋̑̃̔̌͝͠∞̴͙̦̾̈́̎̂̅͐̌̏̂͘̚͝͝͠∞̵̨̨̢̜͉͙̘̯͚̐̀͌͂̉͒͒̕͘̕͘∞̸̹͎̞̌̑∞̶̳̳͈̟̣͔̼̣̖̻͖̹̀̑̑̈́̍͌͌̒̈́̊̅́͆̚͜∞̴̘̳͖͓͐̅̆̀̎͐͑̀͒̽̚͝∞̴̡̞͚̗̋͆̎͒̏∞̵̱̮̝͚̦̠̮̫̠͖̼̽͘͜͝∞̷̗͈̣̣̞̺̫̘̲͊̃͐̑̌̾͒̈͠∞̶̺͈̥̜̘̼̤̮͇͇͊̐̈́̋̑́͗̅̽̈͋̑̊ͅ
̴̢̤̠͚̯̫̝͓̠̤̬̼͋̌̍̉̏ͅͅ
̵͈͖͇̯̥͇͎̫͍͙̈́̈̋̅͜ͅ∞̶̧̧̹̖̳̩̍̀̄̋̔̄̈́͘͜∞̶̡̨̡̺̼̼̪̻̰̜̂́̇̑̎̔͊̋͂̈̚͜͜͠∞̶̡͇̻̟̰͈̯͎̬͉̗͍̩͇̲̃̀͊́̀̑͋͊͋̋̿̐͘∞̶͇̜̞̲͉͓̤̓͂̈́̈̈̓̑̚̚ͅ∞̶̫̙̲͎̖͛̽͆̆͑͑͘̕͝∞̴̠̹̟̣̩̳̪̹͍̰̫͆̐∞̷̡̢̲̠͂̐͐́̌͐̄͌̆͊̈͐̈́͂͘∞̵̹̜̩̦̲̜͚̇̆͛̄͛͋̀́̉̓̏̕∞̸̘̋́̌̑͛̑̊̃̈́͆́̑͆̈́̃
̵̧̡̫͔̘̻̃͐͒͌̒̉͌͂̉
̸͎̠͖͉͉̺͍̥̉̋̿∞̵̤̲̔̍͗̀͂́̉̕͝∞̷̡̢̥̱̥͕̩͚̻̲͖̰̦̜̒̉͛̿̎͆̊͐̆̎͗̚͝ͅ∞̴̥͙̝̭̖̩͔̠̥̮͋̌̑̓̀̽͝∞̷͇̘̰̰͒́̐͐́̏̂͊̎̃̆∞̴̪̺̻͋͒̈́̆̈́́̑͗͑͝∞̷̻͔̪͈̏̃̏̚∞̷̧͕͉̩̱͙͓͎̑̎̈́̊͒̇̅̐͘∞̴̥͈̀̂̕͝∞̷̮̯̺̝̖̩̱͖̥̓̏͊̏̐͋̆͑̇͠
∞
A child, stranded in the middle of an endless desert kept repeating the same words, as if stuck in an endless loop.
He remained motionless, staring at nothing.
And the time passed uncaring.
Youth drained from the child's features. Darkness settled upon him.
His cheeks, once plump, hollowed. His bright eyes dimmed, shadowed by sleepless nights. He slouched, weighed down by despair. Time marked his face with lines of hardship.
Just as he was about to surrender, to let his will to live slip away, he saw a figure in the distance.
With nothing left to lose, he approached and saw a puzzling sight.
The sun beat down, casting a harsh glare over the desert. Each step through the shifting sands felt like an eternity. This barren landscape was a reflection of his own life—a wasteland with no end.
As he stumbled forward, the figure became clearer.
A mirage?
No. The closer he got, the clearer it became.
It was a man, an old man, digging a hole in the sand with his bare hands.
The man's skin was like leather, baked by the sun. His hair, what little remained, was white as salt. His clothes were tattered, faded to a dusty beige. Despite his frailty, he moved with a stubborn determination, clawing at the earth with his fingers.
The boy couldn't fathom why this old man was digging here, in the heart of a lifeless desert. He drew nearer, uncertainty in every step, until he stood just feet away.
Their eyes met. The old man's gaze was deep, like he carried the weight of the world, yet his spirit remained unbroken.
"Why?" the boy whispered, his voice barely there.
The old man paused, wiping sweat from his brow. His lips, cracked and weathered, curled into a smile. "For treasure," he said, his voice raspy, carrying years of wisdom.
Treasure? Here? The boy couldn't understand. He looked into the hole the man had dug. There was nothing but sand and emptiness.
"But there's nothing here," the boy said.
The old man's smile widened, showing teeth worn by a lifetime of struggle. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong," he replied. "The treasure I seek isn't gold or jewels. It's the treasure of purpose, of hope, of refusing to surrender to time's relentless sands."
The old man's eyes sparkled with an inner fire, one that seemed to rise above the harshness of the desert. He resumed digging, his hands continuing their ceaseless task.
The boy watched, a spark of curiosity igniting within him. Maybe, in this desolate place, he too could find something deeper than the despair that had brought him here.
"Who are you?" the boy asked, breaking the silence.
The old man paused as if weighing the question. "I am Negary."
The boy had expected an ordinary name. This one felt different. Strange. Silence fell again as the old man continued his work, each scoop of sand a rhythm of persistence.
The boy watched in awe. Negary's hands were blistered and raw, digging deep into the burning sand. Each handful was met with more, a Sisyphean effort. Yet, Negary persisted.
"Why?" the boy finally asked. "Why do you struggle for no reason?"
Negary chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "Ah, young one, you ask the questions that have haunted the ages." He paused. "But before I answer, tell me, what is your name?"
The boy hesitated, struggling to remember. His name was buried deep, lost under layers of despair. "I... I don't remember," he said, voice heavy.
Negary's eyes softened. "A name is just a label, a way for others to know us. It's not who we are. You've lost your name, but you are not lost. You're here, in this moment, searching, just like me."
The boy felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this old man, with his endless digging and strange wisdom, had some answers.
Negary turned back to his digging. The boy watched, transfixed.
Slowly, he knelt down and began to dig alongside the old man. After all, what did he have to lose anymore?
Unknowingly, a spark appeared within his empty eyes.
Together, they dug, two lost souls in an endless desert, bound by a shared search for meaning.
They dug, side by side, as the sun beat down, making the heat unbearable. The air was hot, the wind biting with grains of sand. Every muscle ached, but something extraordinary was happening.
Light began to bloom in the boy's eyes once more. The heaviness that had weighed him down began to lift.
Years passed in that harsh desert, yet the hole stayed the same size. An absurd endeavor. Yet, the old man and the boy continued to dig, as if their lives depended on it.
Then one day, as Negary clawed at the sand, he spoke,
"Negary is not just a name... it is a mindset. A mindset of growth... of never giving up... of digging, even when it doesn't matter... because this is who you are..."
His words hung in the hot air, resonating deep within the boy's soul.
As Negary continued to dig, his body began to crumble, turning into dust. He merged with the desert they had toiled in.
"I already know," the boy said, a new fire in his voice. As Negary became sand, he kept digging.
He dug alone, in the relentless desert, year by year, decade by decade. His toil against the unyielding sands of madness.
His once-youthful face bore the marks of time, etched by the sun and years of labor. His hair turned silver, his frame frail. His clothes, tattered and worn, told of endless toil.
Through it all, he kept digging.
Many times he collapsed, exhausted and despairing. The desert winds howled in indifference, mocking his efforts. Time seemed to bury him in forgotten history.
But each time he fell, he rose again.
His hands bloodied, blistered, his body trembling. He staggered back to his hole.
He kept digging, not for treasure, not for fame, but because he embraced the purpose he chose—the resolve to persevere, no matter the odds.
The desert watched as he aged, his determination growing stronger with time.
He dug through scorching days and freezing nights.
He dug through sandstorms that blinded him, through the deafening silence.
He dug through loneliness, through doubt, through moments of questioning.
No matter what, he kept on digging.
Decades turned into centuries. The hole remained, unyielding, and though the man aged beyond recognition, his eyes still burned with the fire of his quest.
He dug relentlessly, until one day, as he dug with his weathered hands, they began to splinter, turning into sand.
𝗨𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴, he kept digging, now using his stumps.
Time was cruel. The desert, merciless.
Soon, his arms, worn from years of labor, also turned to sand.
𝗨𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗱, he used his legs, his last semblance of humanity, to dig. Each scoop of sand bringing him closer to what he sought.
Years passed. His legs, too, succumbed. They crumbled into sand, leaving only his torso and head.
Still, he did not stop.
He used his mouth, his teeth, driven by a force deep in his soul.
As his torso too disintegrated, a voice emerged from the desert itself.
"Was it worth it? All this struggle?" The voice echoed, haunting.
The man, his head now supported only by sand, looked towards the voice.
A child with empty eyes stared back.
The head, the last of him, looked at the child and began to smile.
A manic glee overtook him. His smile turned into chuckles, the chuckles into laughter, soft at first, then louder, filling the emptiness.
The child, frowning, watched the head continue laughing, undeterred by his body turning to sand.
"You are mad," the child said, coldly. "Doing the same thing over and over... for what?" He pointed at the hole, unchanged after centuries.
"You achieved nothing. You'll be forgotten the second you die. Your existence is meaningless."
But the head laughed on, harder. His laughter filled the air, a defiance of spirit.
"It's all a matter of perspective…" the man said between laughs. As his eyes turned to sand, the child asked one final question.
"What is your name?"
At that, the head laughed even harder, a wild mirth that seemed to defy the very laws of existence.
"I am the one who should be asking you that question," the head wheezed, its voice now barely above a whisper. The sands of time finally consumed the man's head, but his laughter lingered.
And so, the man who had once been lost in the depths of depression, who had become Negary, embraced the final transformation, finding peace in the knowledge that the struggle had been its own reward...
The child with empty eyes, now left alone in the endless desert, kept staring at the place where the man had turned into sand, their expression unreadable. The vast emptiness stretched out before them, as far as the eye could see.
Slowly, the child turned their head and looked around the small hole the man had diligently dug over the centuries.
It was identical to all those years ago, not a single centimeter deeper, as if smoking the one who spent his life digging.
But then...the child raised his eyes toward the skies.
A̸̺͂n̷͉͌̆d̸̮̉̏ ̷̤̰͋̒w̷̯͆͗h̸͚̓à̵̰͕̇t̶͚̒ ̸̛̼̚ẖ̶̔͜ë̴̳́̓ ̴̽̋͜ŝ̶̭̠a̴̝̅̿ẅ̸͕͉́.̵̬͚͗͗.̵̣̽.̴͇̉l̸͎̎͐e̴̫̽̏f̸̥̠̉̒t̸̢͠ ̷̗̿ͅh̷͈͆͒i̸͕͇̔̐ḿ̵̙ ̶̟̝̊i̷̭̙͆n̷͎͇̓ ̷̟̋̄a̵̺͕̾̄w̶͘ͅë̴̪̺̾.̴̣̒̉
I̶t̵ ̴w̷a̴s̸ ̷a̵ ̵s̷i̷g̶h̴t̸ ̶b̶e̸y̸o̴n̸d̸ ̶i̷m̷a̴g̶i̵n̸a̸t̴i̶o̴n̴.̵ ̷ ̵
̴
̴M̴o̵u̶n̴t̶a̵i̵n̴s̶ ̷u̵p̵o̶n̷ ̸m̶o̷u̴n̵t̶a̴i̷n̵s̷ ̶o̵f̴ ̴s̶a̴n̴d̷,̴ ̸t̷o̷w̷e̸r̷i̶n̶g̷ ̸t̴o̴w̴a̶r̴d̵s̵ ̸t̶h̶e̵ ̸h̸e̴a̵v̵e̸n̴s̴,̷ ̸s̸t̸r̸e̵t̴c̵h̴e̵d̴ ̴i̴n̸t̸o̶ ̶t̸h̴e̷ ̶s̶k̸y̶,̷ ̸d̸w̶a̷r̴f̵i̵n̴g̸ ̸t̶h̸e̵ ̸d̸e̶s̷e̴r̶t̶ ̸t̵h̶e̸y̸ ̷b̵e̷l̶o̶n̴g̴e̶d̵ ̶t̷o̶.̷ ̵
̶
̶T̶h̷e̵ ̸m̷o̸u̸n̵t̶a̷i̸n̸s̷ ̵o̸f̷ ̶s̶a̷n̴d̶ ̶r̷o̶s̵e̶ ̷l̵i̶k̴e̸ ̸m̵o̶n̴u̶m̷e̸n̸t̴s̶,̵ ̶e̵a̸c̷h̵ ̷o̴n̷e̷ ̶a̴ ̸t̶r̴i̶b̶u̷t̸e̵ ̵t̸o̵ ̷t̵h̴e̷ ̸m̷a̴n̸'̸s̷ ̴r̷e̶s̶i̵l̸i̴e̵n̵c̸e̶,̴ ̴a̷ ̴t̴e̸s̸t̴a̸m̷e̸n̷t̶ ̵t̸o̵ ̸t̶h̵e̵ ̴i̶d̸e̴a̴ ̶t̷h̶a̷t̷ ̸e̴v̸e̸n̷ ̸i̵n̵ ̵t̸h̵e̸ ̵f̵a̶c̴e̴ ̴o̶f̸ ̶s̷e̶e̸m̷i̷n̶g̸l̴y̵ ̶i̸n̶s̷u̷r̵m̸o̴u̴n̶t̴a̸b̸l̷e̵ ̷o̵d̵d̴s̷,̸ ̶i̸n̸ ̵a̸ ̵b̴r̸o̷k̴e̵n̴ ̴w̴o̸r̴l̸d̵.̸.̵.̶o̶n̴e̴ ̷c̷o̵u̸l̵d̵ ̷p̵e̵r̶s̴e̴v̵e̵r̵e̵
̴"̶A̵ ̴w̴i̸s̴e̶ ̴m̵a̵n̶ ̶o̴n̸c̷e̵ ̴s̵a̷i̷d̴ ̵m̵a̸d̶n̴e̵s̴s̶ ̴a̴n̸d̸ ̶g̶r̷e̶a̸t̵n̸e̴s̵s̸ ̶a̷r̴e̷ ̴n̶e̴i̴g̷h̶b̶o̸r̵s̸.̸.̶.̸ ̵a̸n̷d̵ ̵t̶h̷e̶y̷ ̷b̸o̸r̷r̶o̴w̴ ̵e̶a̵c̶h̷ ̸o̶t̴h̵e̷r̶'̸s̵ ̸s̸u̴g̷a̴r̴,̴"̴ ̸t̵h̶e̷ ̴c̸h̶i̷l̵d̷ ̸m̷u̶t̴t̴e̸r̷e̵d̷.̶
̸̝̩̝͉͐Ṯ̶̰͕͆̔̅̀̇͐͘h̴̛̺̖̮̟̺͎̝͎͊͑̋͝e̵̓̈ͅ ̷̰̂́̅̊̀̌̚c̷͖̺̾͗̚ḩ̶̨̛͙̣̣̫̝̙̇̂̄͆̃i̴̢͈̬̿̇̚ļ̸̮͍̌̊͑̍̂͒ͅd̷̨̙̩͍̰͕̺̺̅̋̌̄͒́͝ ̴̧̧̙̦̦̣̹̌̿ģ̶͙̞̞͔͕͊̈͜͝ą̸̟̙̱̲̼̗̋̐͊̐̕͝z̶̝̹̥̫̿͋̈́́͐͝ě̴̯͑̔̽̒͆̿̌d̸̰̟̠͚̾̋̎̂̅̋̚͠ ̸̨͎̹̟͙̮̲̫̓͒͋͐̅̀̎̌ȧ̶̦̒̽̋̊̾t̸̟̤̝̑̐͋̒ ̵̜̥̦̉̇́̂̔t̴̡̼̻̜́̒̍̒̐͑̉h̶̡̙̺̰̟̣͉̹̃̀̓͌̏̚͝e̶͈̭͚̮̩͚͌̿̀́ ̸̹̼̜͂̃̐s̷̻̫͚͈̩͖͉̅͋̉̅̈́̿̔͜m̸̳̮͖̜̹̱̱̒̃̇́̄͒͝͠ā̶̫̬͊̾̈́l̵̛̻̠̪̜̯͐̏́̇l̶̥̈ ̷̯̭̘̉́̆̊̓h̵͇͎̤̝̀̈́͆̿͗͑͘̕ò̵̡͚͓̭͎̱̬̼͌̇̓̉̀̚͠l̸̡͔̞̈́͘͝ḙ̵̖̼̙̱͉̤̝̈́̄͊͛̏͠,̷͓̮̺̝͗̔̓͒͂͊̇͘ ̷̛̪͋̊̍͌͘a̷̧̫̤͚̳̳͈̠̅̒̿͂̃̽͘ņ̷̗̦̰̿̽̀ḏ̵̛̜̟̬̦͙̳͊ ̶̗͉̗̣̓̃̐̏̃̊̈͘ã̷̠̼̥͛́̋́ ̸̛̟̰̰̞̊͂̎͜f̵̧̞̯̭̝̬̏̇͊́̃͊ľ̷̤͔͙̹̍͋͛̓͐̔͛i̶̧̢̬͋̓ç̷̳̯͖̯̻̣̹̃ḱ̴͍́̋̊̎e̸̫͔͉͈̦͓͕̭͠͝r̷̨̳̥̥̫̘̘̽̇̒͝ ̷̝͋̃̾͆͘͝ò̴̪̱͕̳̲́͝f̴̛̝͎̅̔̃͋̈́͝ ̸̧̹͖̗̥̥̎̂̉͘͜a̷̛̦̭͌̀̓̆͐̂͜ ̴̼̖͐̃̆̀͌̋f̶̼̥̩̦̩̝̍̊͒͑ļ̶̪̳̬̖̑̓͗̌́̑͆͘a̵̛̫̪̼̱̻͒̎͂́͜ͅḿ̸̰̪͇̅ͅě̸̡̻͖̙̤̘͕̍͐͂̽̀ ̴̥̯̦̈́̈́̊̿̓̔͝l̴͇̻̰͓͕̝̫̊̽̑́̚i̸̻̙͕̎̐͠ṯ̶̢̝̝̫̥͚͐͂͆͛̈́ ̸̛̪̪̠̥̜͕̗͔̿͑͆̚u̷͚͍̓̄͋͋ṕ̸̛͉̊̾͐͋̎ ̸̡̟̰̀̿̈̒̋͝ḫ̶̿͑̇̓͐͌͗i̵̯̞͇͂̏̈́́̾̒̚͝ṣ̷̣͐́͒̌̆͗͋̉ ̵̧̰̰̫̱̖͓͗͑͌̈́͐̽̐e̴̘͑̍̎m̶̨̝̰̀̌̃͋͠͠p̶͎̝̼̥͖̤͖̖͝ṯ̶̢̢͈̼̻̱̭̓̿y̷̨̭̓͠ ̸͍̙̯̝̅̈́̐͊͂͘e̸̙͖̳̘̫̣͛͒͑̐̓̍͑͝ȳ̷̻̰͉̑̅̊͌̚͝é̸͇̮̏š̵̝̠̿̄̍͑́.̷̠̻̳̪̺̦̙͊̿̋͌̒͐̅̐
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein