From: (Johnny Mayall)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: 100 Words: Jimi Hendrix
Followup-To: misc.test
Date: Mon, 01 Dec 1997 09:02:33 -0600
Organization: Eye-OOF!
Lines: 15
Message-ID: <>
Keywords: Morbid, my ass.
X-Newsreader: Yet Another NewsWatcher 2.4.0

On a dark and stormy night, a lonely woman climbs a lonely flight of
stairs.  Pressing on the fire bar, ignoring the blaring klaxon, she steps
through onto the rood.  In less than a minute, she is soaked to the bone,
clothes clinging wetly.  The howling wind whips her hair about, obscuring
her face.  But the sight she's using this night has nothing to do with
eyes.  Lightning flashes, and she is illuminated, standing on the edge of
the building, swaying in time with the gusts.  With so much rain, tears
fall unseen.  Whispering, she steps.

The wind cries 'Mary'.


 But the lies we live will always be confessed in the stories that we tell.
                                          -Orson Scott Card