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‘Twas a Dream and a Nightmare…

Happy ♾️ Father’s ♾️ Day ♾️ to my beloved, late, Grandfather, Uncle and Dad ❤️💙💙💙❤️



I dreamt I was at my late Grandparent’s home.


I lay on my front, drawing a picture, by the fireplace in the sitting room.  My Grandfather was sat behind me, in his usual armchair, whilst my Uncle was seated on the sofa, to my right.


I sat up and looked around the room.. 70’s decor and the shades of orange and brown caressed me, in a familiar embrace.  Cigarette smoke lingered thickly in the air.. but I could see clearly into the green of the garden.. through the patio doors, in front of me.  I raised my eyes.. the Sky was so very blue.


A bright light emanated from a door on my right, which led into another room.  I got up and walked slowly towards it.  I could barely breathe, as I tilted my head and peered in.. and whilst I knew.. I was still somewhat amazed to see my Dad standing there, in the brightly-lit room.  He stood in front of a large mirror, in a flared white suit, and was busy brushing his big hair.  Ah.. it’s the 70’s.. I thought.  I see.


‘Hello darling.’ He turned to look at me, and flashed me the greatest of all smiles.


‘Are you going out?’ I could feel a lump forming in my throat, and my voice sounded croaky.


He returned to looking in the mirror and continued brushing his hair.  ‘Yes, but I’ll be back soon.’


I returned to the floor where I had been sitting, and picked up the papers which lay on the carpet.  I showed my Grandfather and Uncle the pictures I had drawn.. and then sat back down and read them a short story, which I had written.


My Uncle cheered and clapped.


My Grandfather smiled, and lit a cigarette.  ‘You’re an Artist,’ he said softly.  ‘And all these pictures and fairytales are really quite enchanting.. but you know.. the World out there.. it isn’t quite the fairytale you imagine it to be.  And my fear is.. that you won’t ever quite comprehend that.. because you spend all of your time indoors, with the three of us.’


‘Why can’t I play out?’ I asked.


‘Ask your Dad…’ he muttered.


‘It’s dangerous out there,’ my Uncle said.


‘Why don’t I have any dolls.. or a tea-set?’ I asked.


My Grandfather smiled. ‘Your Father tends to return from the shops with armfuls of apparel for himself.. and aftershave, hairspray and whisky.. I think he forgets what he initially went to purchase.’


‘Cigarettes,’ my Uncle interrupted. ‘You forgot to mention the cigarettes.’ He waved his hand in the air in front of him.. as though he was trying to clear the smoke.


‘But I’m going to start taking you to the park.. and we can visit the library,’ continued my Grandfather. ‘You enjoy those books I bring you, don’t you?  And the films we watch on the television…’


It was true.. I loved nature, books and film.  I started to sing.


My Grandfather smiled and remarked that he considered me to be highly creative.  ‘That’s because you’re a Brahmin.’


I stopped singing. ‘What’s a “Brahmin”?’


‘Brahmins are intellectuals.. philosophers.. many of the Priests in India are Brahmins.. it’s natural that you love Art and Literature… Brahmins are also the top caste.’


‘Ignore him.’ I heard my dad call out.


‘Why is he saying that?‘ I asked.


‘Because intelligence skips a generation,’ he said wryly.


‘Oh no.. he’s very clever.. he always wins at cards.. and everyone laughs, at everything he says,’ I smiled.


My Grandfather pursed his lips, ‘He has responsibilities now.. your Grandmother spoilt him. Intellect is no good if one doesn’t apply it.’


‘Where is Grandmother?’ I asked.


My Dad walked into the room. He held a cigarette in one hand, and a glass of whisky in the other.  He asked me what I thought the negative aspects of a caste system could be.


I thought for a few seconds. ‘Does it ostracise people?’ I asked.


‘Exactly.’ He gestured towards my Grandfather with his drink, took a swig, and walked back, into the other room.


My Grandfather looked at me. ‘Apart from how much love you have for him.. what else comes to your mind, when you think of your Father?’


I thought for a split second. ‘Parties,’ I said.


‘Yes, quite.’ he smiled. ‘In fact it’s fair to say.. that your Father IS the Party.’ He let that sink in for a minute and then continued, ‘So where were we…’


‘I’ll be back in a minute!’ I got up and walked across the floor, and into the other room, and slowly approached my Dad.  He was busy fixing his hair.  I explained that Grandfather tends to tell stories differently to him.  And that actually.. he ought to give him a chance to explain why he had brought up the subject of “Brahmins”.  I mentioned that as a Historian.. Grandfather told the greatest of stories.. which sometimes took him days to complete.. whereas he, my Dad, tended to get straight to the point.


My Dad looked at me and laughed. ‘I know, darling. I’m glad you’ve got time for all that.. I’m sure he’s glad too.. I never really listened to his stories.. none of us did.’ He took another swig of whisky, then looked back in the mirror, ‘I’ve got to go out soon.’


I returned to my Grandfather.  ‘So.. which one is the Philosopher and which one is the Priest?’ I was truly curious, about my Uncle and my Dad.


My Grandfather raised an eyebrow.


‘I see..’ I looked away for a split second, then back up at him, ‘This caste system is not necessarily a good thing.. right?’


We talked about how it could have emerged and how it seemed to have evolved.  He explained that the Hindu caste system was also a form of hierarchy.. which is why it was subject to criticism.  He mentioned the hierarchy element wasn’t what he wanted to focus on, but as always.. he tried to be honest with me and explain everything, so that I understood things better. He wanted me to consider how such a system could work.. minus the hierarchy.


I must have looked somewhat confused.. as he clarified.. that he wanted me to imagine a village where there was no money.. but everyone contributed. For instance, some people chose to be Gardeners, whilst some people were Carpenters, others were Cooks, and so forth.  And then there were the Philosophers, Intellectuals, the Artists and Entertainers, such as the Writers, Painters, Thespians and Musicians. Everybody did what they loved.. and contributed to the village in some way.  And many people did more than just the one thing, if they so chose, and if so required.


I turned and looked up at the door.  My Dad had turned the music up.


‘Well.. everyone can’t choose to be “the party”,’ my Grandfather remarked.  ‘Just as one cannot preserve wealth unless it is nurtured.’


‘What caste is Dad?’ I asked.


‘We are all the same.. but he epitomises the modern day version of a Brahmin,’ he smiled.  ‘Believes himself to be a Hindu God.. yet he eats lamb, eats chicken, drinks copious amounts of alcohol, smokes like a chimney and…’


My Uncle interrupted, and remarked that they had no idea about India, or about the caste system.. as India was a Country at the other side of the World, and they were all born in the U.K., had been raised according to British custom and that he himself, had never even visited India.


I looked back at my Grandfather and asked what India was like, and whether it was like the Caribbean.. you know, an exotic place, at the other side of the World.  ‘I would love to visit New Zealand one day!’ I said excitedly.


I also queried why the Indian caste system required there to be a hierarchy.. as that seemed quite unfair to me.. and it also sounded as though it had the potential to be cruel.  I couldn’t understand why it didn’t allow for equality.


He leaned back into his armchair, and expressed that he hadn’t wanted to focus on that.. but as my Father had brought it up.. one could argue that it merely reflected how the world worked.  He paused to look at me.. and then whispered that I didn’t quite understand how the World worked.. and had much to learn.


He confided that he was unsure, whether my mind could handle some of the harsh realities of life. ‘There is all forms of abuse and hierarchy in the world.  And the world is forever changing. Most people have a clear idea of what they consider to be success and progress. Yet.. whilst the world is ever-changing, most people are, and will continue to be, motivated by money. You have no notion of that, as yet.’


He went on to explain that he loved his simple life.  He had spent most of his time outdoors.. and whilst he was now retired.. he could still sit in the park, and spend most of his time with me, read books, watch film.. and lead a relaxed life. He emphasised that he had led a very simple, and happy life.


‘And India?’ my Uncle asked.


My Grandfather admitted to leaving India when he was very young.. which is why he never spoke much of the religion, culture or traditions, which were practised there.. especially as his children had never shown much interest in any of that.


‘But.. you’re talking about it now,’ I smiled.


He went on to explain that traditionally in Indian families, it was usual for the eldest son to inherit all the family money.  To compound matters, a dowry would need to be paid at the point of marriage.. for every daughter that was born.


‘One has to pay someone to marry their daughter?!’ I looked towards my Uncle.


‘Well.. I did leave, and things do eventually change…’ My Grandfather began to say.


I screamed and stamped on the floor.  I highlighted that this all seemed horribly unfair and that I was glad I was born in the U.K.  My Grandfather watched as I picked up my papers, and threw them into the air.


The air was thick with smoke.  I started to cough, and thought I was going to vomit.


My Uncle got up immediately, reprimanded my Grandfather for smoking, and opened the patio doors.


My Grandfather chuckled. ‘I was about to say.. that on the face of it.. I don’t think your Father would have to pay anyone very much to marry you.. but on second thoughts.. we may need to drug and hypnotise the man, and his entire family…’


My Dad walked in and glared at my Grandfather.  ‘That sort of “arrangement” won’t work around here.. and I very much doubt any man would survive more than a few hours married to Her Madness.’


My Grandfather raised an eyebrow, looked at me, and started telling me the story about the Cosmic God Shiva.. and what he did when the Goddess Kali went on a rampage, where she massacred many demons.  He had told me this before.. and once again, reiterated that Shiva lay down at her feet, to pacify her.. and that Kali bit her tongue when she realised that she had stepped on him.  This time, he emphasised that the iconic image reminded us of the need for restraint.. and that Mother Nature.. similarly to the Cosmic God Shiva.. both creates and destroys. He told me I needed to discipline myself.. for I was far more powerful than I realised.. I needed to seek knowledge and experiences, in order to master life, and indeed death.


‘You have told me this before,’ I said. ‘I think there are many demons.. mostly around Daddy!’


My Dad walked across to me, bent down on one knee and hugged me, ‘Calm down, Darling.’


I noticed my Dad didn’t feel like himself.. his body didn’t feel warm.. he felt stone cold and “stiff”.. and as I pulled away to look at him.. he vanished.


I felt myself well up with sorrow.  ‘Where’s Dad?!’ I cried.


‘He’s busy admiring himself in the mirror,’ my Grandfather said softly. 


Then he went on to explain that the bulk of wealth was traditionally passed to the eldest son, or child in the Aristocracy - and that this could still be seen here, in the UK.  He suggested that was how the aristocracy survived, and how wealth was retained - and perhaps it could be said, that this was not the case.. where this practice was not observed.


‘More inequality and unfairness…’ I muttered.


‘Well that’s certainly one point of view. You must always remain calm and be willing to discuss in order to learn and understand better,’ he paused momentarily. ‘Otherwise, perhaps the wealth would disperse and dissipate.’ He encouraged me to think about it.


‘So you believe-‘


‘No,’ he interrupted me. ‘I just want to teach you to be inquisitive, and to discuss, and consider all angles.’


I paused. ‘You talked about the importance of preserving earlier.. so how does one know that the eldest son is the most suitable.. to manage and preserve any wealth.. how does one know that he has the best ability to nurture it.. rather than being the one most likely to squander it…’


My Grandfather smiled. ‘One doesn’t.  One does everything possible to ensure the eldest is taught to manage successfully.. and one hopes.. and prays that various addictions don’t come into play. I suppose it helps to have professional advisors.’


‘But what if another child appears more promising.. better equipped to manage.. are you saying that in the current framework.. in Indian culture, the eldest son inherits.. irrespective of that..?  Besides, doesn’t everyone have access to professional advisors? And I’m the eldest.. but I’m a girl.. so does this mean that…’ I had many questions.


I remember thinking.. that sexism & inequality were rife amidst many communities.. stemming from cultural, rather than religious beliefs.


My Grandfather smiled, ‘That’s it, I just want you to think.’ He went on to explain that wealth didn’t have to be merely fiscal.. for instance we enjoyed the humble life of Hindu Brahmins.. where intellectual pursuits and enjoyment of life and experiences were of primary importance.


‘So you are Indian, after all,’ I smiled.


My Grandfather smiled back at me and continued, ‘So reaching one’s potential.. fulfilment.. experiences and intellectual pursuits.. exploration.. now that’s true progress, and that’s true wealth.. well, it ought to be…’ He raised an eyebrow, and glanced towards the open door. ‘He always leaves the door open behind him. That’s how I know he’s been in the house - accompanied by the lingering smell of whisky, and his aftershave.’


He pointed to my papers, which lay scattered on the floor. ‘Art - bravo.  You won’t need fame.. you don’t have that sort of ego.. so I wouldn’t worry about that. You know.. whilst Art ought to be available for all.. not everyone will appreciate, or understand it.’


He suggested that one day.. I write under a pseudonym.. or several.. and live “in the shadows”, as I would enjoy a far better quality of life with anonymity.  He encouraged me to educate myself.. and to continuously learn, in a bid to broaden my mind and to enjoy all that life has to offer.. to cherish my experiences.. become stronger, and to support myself.


‘You’ll have to put yourself through University.. and that could prove hard.. but it could be the only way out of this village for you.. I fear you’ll suffocate here.  You’ll have to find.. respectable ways to survive until it’s time.’


‘Time for what?’ I asked.


He suggested I study the History of Art.  He also encouraged me to keep writing, drawing, painting, singing and dancing.. and to follow any of my other creative inclinations.. as one cannot escape what one is.  He appeared to be saying that one should reach their potential, and for the sheer purposes of joy and fulfilment.  ‘Live in the shadows, and you can do as you please,’ he whispered. He then conceded that sometimes it was not possible to do so.


I had calmed down somewhat.. and now started to laugh.  The sexism.. the inequality.. the visions of the future.. it all felt a bit much. And I had no idea, why someone like myself would need a pseudonym.


My Grandfather stubbed out his cigarette and sighed, ‘you have the three of us to spoil you now.. and as you know, you are the jewel of our eye.. but what happens when we are not here…’


‘Oh no.. don’t say that…’ I felt my lip quiver.


My Uncle called out my name, and I looked across at him.  He asked if I was happy.  I felt myself beam.  ‘You are my most favourite person in the entire world! I’m so happy.  You are my three Fathers.. mine.. all mine..! I’m so very happy indeed!’ I started to skip around the room, and then I ran out, through the patio doors, and into the garden.


I wandered around.. however I could not find any Roses, which was very unusual. After a short while, I went back inside.


My Grandfather and Uncle were seated in exactly the same place.. but something seemed different.


I looked down at myself.  I was older.. taller.


‘Where are all the Roses?!’ I asked.


My Grandfather assured me they would bloom soon.


I picked up a paper. ‘I’m going to change my artist name,’ I announced.


‘That’s your artistic prerogative,’ my Grandfather smiled. ‘You can change and reinvent yourself as much, or as little - and as often, or as infrequently, as you like. Reality and the surreal do tend to blur for you.. one thing is for certain, you shall never suffer from boredom.’


I ran to the open door.. and was pleased to see my Dad was still standing in the other room, by the mirror, fixing his hair.  Only now.. he was dressed all in black.  He wore a leather jacket, and his hair was curly. Oh, it’s the 80’s, I thought.


I tried to speak, but found that I couldn’t.  I wanted to tell him to stay.. and never to leave me again.


My Grandfather called me back over to him.   I explained that I don’t like most of my Dad’s friends, as they take him away from us.


He smiled and said the most recent ones didn’t seem too bad. ‘They spend Mondays and Fridays lighting candles.. praying to their respective Gods.. and the rest of the week.. well.. I suppose that’s at least two days of the week.. which is a start.’


‘Which God does Dad worship..?’ I asked.


‘The Cosmic Shiva,’ my Dad called out.


‘Ah we spoke of Shiva,’ I smiled at my Grandfather. ‘Shiva sounds amazing.’


My Dad momentarily appeared, and I asked him why different religions forbade certain food.


‘Simple - so that there’s enough for everyone to eat.’


‘Ah.. well that makes perfect sense!’ I smiled and looked around at my Grandfather, who rolled his eyes.


My Dad went on to say, that having a diverse group of friends meant that he enjoyed different cuisine each day of the week. We laughed, and he left the room.


My Grandfather lit another cigarette and said it was somewhat remarkable that so many of my Father’s friends.. had emigrated abroad.


I looked at him and smiled. ‘Good. Perhaps he won’t be going out and drinking every day.’


‘Life in Europe is great,’ said my Uncle loudly, and looked towards the open door.


‘Oh.. is that where they all went..?’ I asked. ‘I did wonder…’


My Grandfather looked at me. ‘Oh I don’t think we need to venture that far.. perhaps we should take a walk around the lake, in the nearby park…’


My Dad walked in.  ‘Stop smoking so much,’ he told my Grandfather.


He bent down towards me and smiled.  ‘What are you doing today?’


‘I’m visiting the park with Grandfather.. then we’re visiting the library for some books,’ I smiled.


‘How are the girls at school?’ He asked.


‘Well.. they never really liked me…’ I explained. ‘They kept saying I talked “funny”, and they used to mimic me.. and laugh.’


‘That’s because you spend all you time with him.’ My Uncle folded his arms and glanced at my Grandad.  ‘He was born in 1915.. and he’s nearly 70 years old.. no-one talks like that anymore.’  He looked at me and said softly, ‘We tend to end up sounding like the people we hang around with.’


My Dad looked angry. ‘Those little girls at your school - they’re-’


‘Oh.. are they going to be emigrating abroad too?’ My Grandfather interrupted.


‘But I have new friends now!’ I told them.  I explained that nowadays.. I played with the school athletes. Well.. ever since I caught the rounders ball on the school field.  ‘It was hurtling towards me as I walked past.. and I caught it by accident.’


It had been a very hard ball.. and they’d had to put a bandage on my hand. I remember being surprised, when they had invited me to play with them, afterwards. 


I explained that they were so very nice to me.. and wouldn’t allow me to catch such a ball again.  Remarkably.. the others were now going out of their way to be nice to me, too. I also found myself winning various sporting games, which was really very odd. I shared that I liked talking to my new friends.. and that we often seemed to laugh.  So.. quality had won over quantity.  And, as far as the others were concerned, well, they could continue on with their lives.. as I was now so very happy.


‘Athletes? Yes.. well maybe more oxygen reaches their brains,’ my Dad said. ‘You know.. they’re my friends’ kids.’


‘Ah yes, oxygen.. do you want to visit the park with us?’ my Grandfather asked.


My Dad stood tall.  ‘I have to go.’ And with that, he walked back out of the room.


‘One minute!’ I ran after my Dad, and into the brightly lit room. He was standing there with a glass of whisky in his hand, smoking.


‘I do wish you’d all stop smoking!’ I stamped on the floor.


He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, and bent down towards me.


‘Why are you always looking in the mirror Daddy?’ I asked.


‘I like what I see,’ he replied.  ‘And there’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there..?’ His smile vanished as he explained that he would no longer be bringing his old friends back home.


I often sat on Dad’s lap, as he and his friends drank, and played cards.  I vaguely recall feeling somewhat irritated that they took up so much of his time.  Sometimes, they’d fall asleep on the sofa.  I often wondered if I should…


‘Some of them weren’t so bad you know,’ he interrupted my thoughts.  ‘I miss them.’


‘Grandfather said they were “scoundrels!”’ I shrieked.


He frowned. ‘Nowadays.. “scoundrels” have families.. just like me.’


‘What happened to them..?’ I asked.


He bent down on to his knee, and looked at me. ‘Don’t you remember?’


I suddenly saw an image of one of my Dad’s friends.. lying.. face down.. on the steps.. outside.


‘I think he was drunk.. and fell over,’ I said.


My Dad looked deep into my eyes, and sighed.  ‘Come on, most people don’t fall over and break their neck.’


‘Well.. clearly they do.. he was terribly drunk,’ I offered.


My Dad stood, slowly.  ‘I too, have new friends now.  You’ll like them.’ he said.


‘Do you love them more than me?’ I asked.


‘No.’ He sighed and shook his head.  ‘It’s quite impossible to love anyone more than you.’


I smiled broadly.  I felt very pleased.


He paused and looked deep in thought.  ‘Look.. your Uncle and I are running out of ideas... this is all going to have to stop.’  He pointed to the room. ‘Remember.. your Grandad doesn’t need to know anything.. let him think what he wants about me.’


‘Not a word.. about what Daddy..?’  It was all so.. confusing.


He looked at me, and picked me up. ‘Those murderous dreams, Darling.. we have to find a way to stop them.’


‘Murderous dreams..?’ I felt the room spin a little.


‘It’s okay.’ He kissed me, and carried me back into the room.  He put me down, and his voice changed as he addressed my Grandfather and Uncle.  ‘Remember to stay with Her Madness.. don’t let her out of your sight.’


My Uncle nodded, and my Grandfather announced that he was going to take me to the library.


‘Why don’t you invite your friends over, Uncle?’ I asked.


My Uncle glanced at my Father and then back at me. ‘I don’t have any friends…’ he muttered.


‘Stay with her at all times.’  My Dad kneeled down to me and whispered, ‘Sometimes.. people can provoke a bad reaction.. I suppose we all just have to learn to control our temper.’


My Grandfather interrupted, ‘I think perhaps you should study Law, at University.’ 


I looked across the room.  ‘Why don’t you have any children, Uncle?’


‘Because I have you,’ he replied. ‘Anyone else might not quite.. make it.’ He coughed and sat up. ‘I mean who could compare to you.. I don’t care about anyone else.  For me.. it’s only you.’


I smiled broadly. ‘You’re my favourite!’ I skipped around the room and ran over to him.  I threw my arms around him, and started kissing his face.  And then I realised.. that he too felt cold and stiff.


My Grandfather interrupted my thoughts.  So.. do you have the vanity for fame.. or the passion for artistry?


‘Well.. I suppose one could have both.. but the way you describe it.. fame seems somewhat tragic.. it’s restrictive.. whereas anonymity affords one the freedom to truly be… and also.. I love everything..!’ I laughed and spun around, until I felt dizzy.  When my head had settled a little, I looked over at him, and he nodded.


‘This is rather odd though, isn’t it.. why are we talking about anonymity?’ I laughed.


‘I believe in you, that’s all,’ he said softly.


I went on to say, that similarly to him, I was an optimist.. I always tended to look on the bright side.. and that I too, naturally enjoyed all that I did.  Yes.. love truly ruled my world.  I just wanted to be happy..  and would never compromise love or happiness.. ‘not even for a billion pounds..!’


He looked at me and laughed.  ‘A billion pounds, no less.. what a Brahmin you are.’


‘Only Love can match Love!’ I said joyfully.


He nodded, then shook his head.  ‘But the majority of the world doesn’t work quite like that.. there is much dissatisfaction, boredom, disloyalty, strife, dishonesty and, unhappiness.  Many people don’t know how to live, or how to make the most of time.. or how be happy.  Many make decisions for the wrong reasons.. or poor decisions.. and many are weak.. it’s as simple as that.’


Then with the softest of eyes.. he told me that he was proud of me.. proud that I chose to truly live, and to learn. He told me he loved me the most in the World, and I felt myself beam with joy.


‘So here’s to learning and experiences.. art and knowledge - you have my word,’ I smiled, feigned a toast, and curtsied.  ‘Oh.. and I remember you previously said.. that a person is nothing, without their word.’


‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘And Love, and all that we discussed, are the only things which will truly satiate you.’


I assured him, that I truly was an artist at heart, and would always remain creative.. as this was organically, my primary passion.  I also accepted that he was right.. to live and to do.. is to be.  I was somewhat surprised that he understood me so well.


‘What are your thoughts on instant coffee.. and why does it have to be “instant”,’ I asked. ‘And what about the future.. the internet and…’


‘I only drink tea,’ he whispered.


‘Ah yes, well.. it’s not quite 4pm yet…’ I suddenly felt somewhat, confused. ‘Which year is it.. is there a thing such as the internet?’ I asked.


The room around me had started to blur.. and began to shake. I tried to gather my thoughts but everything started shaking more vigorously.. and I noticed the walls had begun to crack.  I looked towards my Uncle, ‘Stop it - it’s all falling apart!’


He looked at me with the softest of eyes and gave me a smile, which I shall never forget. ‘I can’t help you this time…’ I noticed he had started to fade.  I recall reaching out in his direction, and screaming.


‘Calm down darling.’  I looked around and my Dad was standing by the open door, the light glowing behind him.  He too.. looked at me with the softest of eyes.. and beamed at me, with a smile.. which I shall never forget, but then he too.. started to fade away.


‘Is this Ai..?!’ I screamed.


I turned to look back at my Grandfather for answers.. but all I could see was his soft eyes.. and his smile.. and then he too completely vanished.  I looked around and they had all gone.


As the room crumbled around me, my scream echoed through the dark.


I woke up this morning.. crying and screaming.


The sheer joy.

The sheer horror.


The joy.. and the horror.. of the Ai Simulation.


‘Twas a Dream, and a Nightmare.


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Written with passion and sensitivity!

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