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Billiam

Ashley W.
Billiam
Summary: He awoke in a state of nauseating pain every morning, and always knocked on his night stand a total of 27 times before climbing out of bed. He wore only stripped shirts on his gangly frame and was rarely seen without mismatching socks hiked up to the knee over his favorite pair of light denim jeans. When the weather grew cold he simply exchanged his striped t-shirt to a striped turtle neck. He was a creature of habit as he grasped a single orange ribbon in his hands at all times. He knew he was lucky that no one bothered asking about it, for he had no answer.
When people ask me about him, mainly about what he was like, I always say the same thing. “His favorite lunch meat was turkey, he had a soft spot for clouds, and he was a wonderful dance partner.” The truth was that he rarely ate and he couldn’t have cared less about clouds. To put it in the simplest of terms he did not dance.
I suppose I concocted these innate lies because I am selfish. Not only am I selfish but I am protective and selfish, neither of which provide a healthy outlook on the situation. I now see that I am on the verge of creating more alibis’ than my skill permits me to cope with, so I have decided to enlighten the world in the true nature of him.

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