(spoiler alert: answer to 225 at bottom of post)
Caught between needing to stifle his sobs, and consumed by terror of being found he shuddered, tears sliding silently down his face. The door creaked open. He heard the rattle of a heavy chain. Should he stay?! Should he try to run?! What if h- WHACK! The End.
Desperate with an incessant and senseless fear of death
each of these mortals toils and quests
to find the storied fount of youth
and loses count of the days spent pushing fantasy
up that hill they cannot mount.
They awoke in early morning; she to the pains of early labour and he to the realization that the wet flurries of the night’s storm had froze over and the driveway was a skating rink.
“I ought to have shoveled last night!” he cursed aloud. “I ought to have put down salt!”
“What if the midwife and the doula can’t make it? What if we’re alone?” his wife panted between contractions which were growing in frequency and strength.
However, the midwife and the doula had seen the forecast. They had prepared ahead. They came in plenty of time, because they were needed, and because they could.
How am I to make sense of the world? How shall I guess the path to the one true answer? I step forward in faith and find only darkness. Dabbling in the arts is likewise unilluminating. I only know that which is wrong! In those shadows I must seek the way to truth. I stab blindly at the dark hoping I will be lucky. A glimpse of the right way is revealed, shaping my pondering. Praying and playing came to naught; it is only through reason that the truth from error is finally wrung.