The Call of the Cornfield

Dear reader, I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more. Penniless, and at the end of my supply of the drug which alone makes life endurable, I can bear the torture no longer; and shall cast myself from this garret window into the squalid street below.

For tonight I dared visit the fabled Cornfield, where, SL-lore has it, those virtual souls who incur the displeasure of the Lindens are damned to wander aimlessly until the end of time.

What did I see? That at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight. But… I hear a noise at the door, as of some immense slippery body lumbering against it. It shall not find me. God, that hand! The window! The window!

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