THE QUESTION

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday:  Uncertain Death

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THE QUESTION

by John Yeo

    Mr. Spokes looked at the class and said, “Good Morning class.”

     “Good Morning Sir!” Chorused the assembled group of thirteen-year-olds.

   “Today we will discuss a subject that is closely bound up with everything we say and do in life. We are going to talk about something that most people would think is unmentionable in polite circles. Can anyone make a guess at this subject?”

   Three of the students instantly raised their hands. Mr. Spokes coughed loudly and said.    “Put your hands down if you have come to the answer of sex or sexual relations.” The three hands instantly disappeared. Mr. Spokes looked disappointed; “Can’t anyone here think of anything else?”

   There was a deafening silence until Sammy looking thoughtful said, “Everything else is discussed on the television or on the Internet Sir!”

   “Good thinking Sammy, but not quite everything. What about death? Or to put it more obscurely. What about uncertain death?”

    “Uncertain death?” Said Tommy to Mary, sniggering. “What’s that? My Mum says the only certainty in life is the certainty of death.”

   Mary grinned; she liked Tommy, they had always sat next to each other in school, since the first day they had met each other, only to discover they lived a stone’s throw from each other on the same road.

  “I don’t know what death is. I never think much about death,” she whispered, blushing.

  “Mr. Spokes,”  Tommy said loudly , “What do you mean by uncertain? I’ve heard death certainly comes to all of us. When my Grandma died, Mum says we have all got to die some time. She said Grandma has gone to a better place.”

  Mr. Spokes grinned and said, “You have just uncovered the uncertainty of death Tommy. If your Grandma is dead how can she go to a better place?”

    Sammy then interjected,  “We buried our cat in the garden when it died last year. Tibbles went into a hole in the garden, that wasn’t a better place.”

  Mary who professed not to know anything about death, suddenly asked. “What about Jesus? In Sunday school they say he died and came back. My Auntie believes we never really die.”

  Mr. Spokes smiled and said, ”Some doctors in hospital say, people who have died, have come back to life again!”

  There was silence in the classroom for a few minutes before Mr. Spokes suddenly said.

  “Class we have just discovered the uncertainty of death. Easy really!

  I now want you all to go home and ask your parents and friends the question “How certain is death? Then write an essay on the results. Class dismissed.”

  Tommy grinned at Mary and said, “Maths lesson next, at least that’s a certainty.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~All rights reserved.

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UNCERTAINTY

A prompt response to ~ http://thinkwritten.com/category/creative-writing-prompts/

No. 296 – Cravings: Write about craving something:

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UNCERTAINTY

by John Yeo

  “Phillip! Stop gazing out of the window. What is it that is fascinating you so much? You have been sitting in that chair for ages, just gazing out of the window, staring at nothing. I see the trees and our garden lawn. There is nothing else to be seen; tell me what is it that is holding your attention? What do you see?”

 “Father, sorry I am deep in thought I see wealth beyond our means, I see riches enough to comfortably follow the sun from one end of this earth to the other. I see the luxury enjoyed by the super-rich. I feel our inadequacy when I see the wonderful lifestyles enjoyed by other more fortunate people, daily flashed into our home by the media. I want to be like those people, I crave the means to escape from the everyday drudgery of our humdrum lifestyle. I want wealth, travel, fine food and clothes with the chance to mix with people who know how to love life and live life to the full.”

 “Philip, my son, Mother and I have given you our all, everything we possess is yours, but you are talking nonsense. You are an intelligent young man and you will go far in your chosen profession, everyone thinks highly of you and you will be extremely comfortable one day. Please forget these impossible ideals of limitless wealth. Crave to be happy and comfortable with a lovely wife and family, this is a realistic set of ideals that you will certainly achieve. Banish these impossible cravings and live.”

  “Father, I love and respect you and I value your advice; but I see how hard you have to work to survive, I see the lines on your face that reveal a life that has lived through some tough times. I have this unbearable craving to be wealthy; I will do anything to escape and luxuriate in the life lived by the super-rich. I feel if I can find a way to accumulate enough money quickly, I will be able to satiate my cravings that hunger for wealth and the life my needs require.”

 “What do you mean by anything; Philip? I see a glittering pathway in front of you with a happy comfortable future, but these unrealistic desires are impossible to achieve. How do you propose to get rich quick to accumulate the money to fund the lifestyle demanded by these impossible cravings?”

 “Father, I have a plan, a brilliant plan that involves a mathematically infallible system I have worked out how to break the banks of all the major casinos in this country. I have spent the last two years working day and night on this system. It is an unbreakable chain of numbers that will certainly get what I want.

I just need your help to start the ball rolling with some cash, I know you will be able to get a second mortgage to help me by advancing me some funds. Of course, I will be able to pay you back as I will be extremely wealthy.”

Philip’s father’s, angry, shocked, face revealed his feelings.

“Gambling!” He exclaimed. “You propose to borrow money from your Mother and me to fund your risking everything by gambling?  Never son! This is something I will never condone, I am sure there is no such thing as a perfect system, and I refuse to have anything to do with any hair-brained scheme just because of your insatiable desire to be wealthy.”

Philip looked strangely nonplussed by this reaction,  “Father I am sorry you feel this way, I was sure you would help. I have already approached a firm of unsecured lenders to raise money to test the system, and it really works. I have paid them back their loan with a huge sum of interest. I thought you would welcome the chance for our family to be unimaginably wealthy. I would use the initial winnings to invest in the stock market and we would have more than enough to enjoy life to the full.

 Philip smiled as he left the house that day, never to return in his parents lifetimes. He became extraordinarily wealthy by using his system and diversifying the winnings, thus defeating his craving for limitless wealth.

Sadly another craving slowly took over his life, as he craved the excitement of the turn of the cards. The unbreakable system proved to be as fallible as his Father had predicted.

Ah! But that’s another story.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

CRACKED ICE


A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: 
 We Come in Pieces

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CRACKED ICE

by John Yeo

 It was the same every night, the conversation would haunt me, I kept going over it in my mind.

  “Multifaceted, he called me! A man of many parts! What does that mean? Who is he to judge me or my makeup. I pride myself on being a unique entity; an entity that is definitely a whole unit. A very together individual!”

  I exclaimed, peeved at the remark. I had interpreted as a veiled criticism. “He had been implying I was a jack of all trades, therefore a master of none.”

 “Calm down Peter, he meant to say you are adaptable able to turn a new face to any part of your life at any moment.”

My wife Judy, a trained teacher, was always quick to defend another member of her profession. I had decided late in life to attend an adult education class at the local institute. I had become set in my ways and I needed a new challenge to keep my mind alive.

It started with a few drinks with my fellow students. This was the beginning of the fall down the slippery slope to ruin. I met and stupidly fell for a fellow student, Maria, I was besotted with her and this led to my wife Judy, leaving me and taking our two children with her.

The drink then began to take a firm hold and I lost my job. Maria became disillusioned and demanded I leave the flat we shared, this was in her name and I had to leave. I found myself on the streets with nowhere to go.

I then realized the hidden meaning behind the conversation that had been haunting me and the importance of the word multifaceted. My life had come to pieces. smashed to bits by my own actions.

 

My wife who had been a major piece of my life had left me.

I now have no contact with my children or any part of their lives.

My profession and my source of income had vanished.

My sense of self, an important part of my identity was now lost.

My home, self-respect, and self-assurance were now irretrievably gone.

Incredibly, I felt all the important aspects that made up my life were now lost forever.

 

We are not always aware we come in pieces unless we allow life to come to pieces.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

THOUGHT TRAVEL

A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: THOUGHT TRAVEL

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THOUGHT TRAVEL

by John Yeo

The only time I ever get sunburnt from exposure to the sun is when I am actually exposed to the damaging rays of the sun.

The images just keep flooding in. My mind is overwhelmed with devastating images of poverty and suffering on the other side of the world. I have witnessed the victims of an earthquake, struggling to free themselves from buildings that have imploded and tumbled down, after the effects of huge shockwaves, as the earth moved and split apart. Wholesale death and destruction following a demonstration of the frailty of man.

I have lived through the effects of extreme hunger gnawing away at the consciousness and giving rise to pains racking the emaciated body of a child who is screaming for her Mother. The Mother who is lying dead beside her on the sun scorched earth. Hunger brought on by drought and a lack of rainfall to provide essential moisture for the crops.

Wars have unfolded before me, fought with a venomous fury. Where the bodies of the brave are heaped together; where the combatants have struggled in unequal combat. The victors revelling in the unequal struggle as their far superior weapons destroy all before them.

I have watched in horror as a river bursts its banks flooding the land with huge waves that destroy everything in their path. Leaving a huge death toll of people and wildlife in the wake. Flooding the land, filling valleys with the forceful power of water that over centuries can erode rock. Water that makes the tears of the survivors invisible as their tears add to the flood that destroys all.

I have followed a raging inferno as a tempestuous fire takes hold and rages through huge forests, the flames turning everything in their path to ash. Fire that leaves no survivors, turning all life in its path to dust. People and animals alike suffering an agonising death.

My senses then experienced the ultimate shock of a family sleeping through a nuclear explosion leaving this existence in a pile of ash. The burnt, scarred, contaminated, radioactive survivors and their future of eternal suffering.

The only time I ever get sunburnt from exposure to the sun is when I am actually exposed to the damaging rays of the sun.

 

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

 

HEART CONTROL

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: HEART CONTROL

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HEART CONTROL

by John Yeo

   He lay there dying, The bandits had left him for dead when they ransacked the wagon train, slaughtering everyone. We had been explorers, pioneers and settlers, peacefully penetrating this new land, he thought, dreamily semi conscious, drifting in and out of sleep.
    It was the deafening silence of the central interior of this vast deserted continent that got to him most. Mile after mile of sandy, fly-infested silence. The buzzing sounds of the wings of a multitude of flies, going about the business of survival, cannibalising and feasting on the detritus of millions of dead flies and other tiny creatures that had briefly lived and died here was the only sound that permeated the deathly silence. A cacophony of orchestrated wings, creating a symphony that quickly became drowned in the overwhelming background silence, Lost to the momentary awareness that consciousness allowed his limited human senses to suffer. Thrust into the background to be drowned in the interminable silence.
     He listened intently, there was another sound that seemed to be continually drumming in the background. A noise he was familiar with, a sound that was so close to him, he couldn’t pin it down.
The more he listened and tried to identify this alien but seemingly familiar sound, the louder it got. Always there, it resounded louder and louder to his annoyance, however hard he tried to ignore this persistent beat it soon became a crashing thump. The concentrated awareness of this beating sound began to play tricks on him.
What was it? This crashing beat that seemed so close to him that he was totally unable to resist paying attention to it.
    Sleep began to overtake him and dreamily he realised although the noisy beat was still banging away, the thumps were gradually getting softer, more irregular. Soon he could hardly hear them they sounded so weak and irregular.
Slowly a black cloud of unconscious sleep descended on his conscious mind and the beating thump was no more.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

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PATTERNS

A prompt response to ~ http://thinkwritten.com/category/creative-writing-prompts/

271. Patterns: Write about repeating patterns that occur in life.

 

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PATTERNS

by John Yeo

 

Patterns: Write about repeating patterns that occur in life.

   Tom looked hard at that sentence on the wipe board.

     “Hey Walter! What the heck does that mean, patterns? What is the good Shepherd going on about? I mean what on earth does he mean by patterns that occur in life?”

  Walter, commonly known to one and all as the Swot, scratched his head vigorously. Rumour had it, the more vigorously the swot scratched his head, the less likely it was that he would come up with an answer.

    “I dunno what Mr.Shepherd means Tom, I’m not too sure how the patterns that do occur, and appear to colour our lives could ever be visible. Take the routine of an ordinary day. We rise, we live our lives in our own separate, totally different ways. We sleep at probably different times, for different lengths of time. Yet a pattern of behaviour has been formed. We need to sleep and we need the awareness of the day to express ourselves in totally different ways by waking up.”

   “Hmm! That seems like a broad interpretation of the question, Swot. Surely there are no visible patterns that occur, I mean. How about birth? There are so many ways a person can be born into this world, surely you will never form a pattern out of birth?” Tom said, more puzzled than ever.

  After another agitated scratch of the knowledgeable brain cell carrier, the Swot replied. “Yet an actual birth is a part of a pattern that occurs and re-occurs all over the world, and has done since the birth of humanity, thereby forming a huge undeniable pattern of life.”

   “Oh! Wow!” Exclaimed Tom, “I see what you mean! That could also be applied to death, everyone dies in innumerable different ways. Yet the pattern is there. An ever expiring pattern of people’s lives coming to an end, through death.”

  Walter grinned wickedly and gently remarked to Tom. “I think I see a certain pattern of behaviour when I observe the good Mr. Shepherd, teasing his lambs, by leading them to intellectual slaughter. A habitual pattern of events that occurs with annual regularity.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

DREAMTIME

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: FUTURE VETERAN

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DREAMTIME

by John Yeo

     Whenever I went to the village store on errands. Old Moses would always be there, sitting on his customary chair, delighting one and all with tales of the old days before the coming of the strangers from over the water. Tales of tribal practices and survival of the fittest in these vast, arid, dry lands. My all-time favourite stories would involve the running fights between his people and the heavily armed, over-laden, in-comers, as they traipsed through the bush, carving up the tribal lands into sections for themselves. Moses and his family were pushed further and further inland to take up residence in the harsh deserted hot dry interior of this huge land.

     The storekeeper, who was of mixed heritage, being the product of a union between a native woman and one of the incomers, would continually refill Moses’s glass with an endless supply of grog to encourage him and to loosen his tongue. Meanwhile the stores customers would sit in a circle on various upturned crates and other unconventional seating and listen avidly to tales of a wondrous life before the incomers arrived.

     Moses, tugged on his long matted hair and began to relay his latest tale. “One fateful day.” he began, “I was just a youth sitting around the bush campfire with the rest of my family, when there was a crashing and crunching of brush underfoot and a whole group of strangely attired newcomers appeared, brandishing some of their weaponry. Using sign language they roughly demanded food and water. The women of the tribe proceeded to fill some leaves with food and the strangers began to greedily eat the concoctions that were placed in front of them. Unknown to them we had eaten some bush tucker earlier and maggots were on the menu.
The strangers were directed towards the river bank to collect water from the river where they sat on a long log. I will never forget that day! The log came to life, and a huge alligator dragged one of them into the swamp, never to be seen again. They fired again and again into the water, emptying their weapons; we quickly overpowered the incomers then and left them by the river. I am old now, a veteran of many close shaves and wars. You and your children are the peaceful future of this wonderful land. Future veterans of your own lives and experiences.”

      “Moses have another cup of grog,” said the storekeeper bustling out of the door with a heap of supplies for some people in a truck that had pulled up.
Moses nodded his thanks and swallowed down the dregs of his first cup, handing his empty stained mug over to a young man, who helped around the store.

     “Moses,” I said interestedly, “You mentioned you were a veteran of your own experience and we are the future veterans. Where are the veterans of the past? “

     “Gone to the Dreamtime to be with many generations of once future, now long gone veterans.”

  I was forced to think about this.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

LITTLE BOY BLUE

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: BLUE WITH ENVY

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Inspiration Monday: Blue with Envy

LITTLE BOY BLUE

by John Yeo

  Phillip and Jack were brothers, brought up in the privileged environs of the Surrey stockbroker belt, the brothers lacked for nothing. Father was a wheeler and dealer in the markets, Mother was a medical scientist employed by the local general hospital. Both boys attended nursery school together, then had private tutors right up to their years together at University.
    Yet, there were subtle, if not blatantly obvious differences between the two brothers. Stature was the obvious outward difference, Jack the elder of the two boys, was taller, more successful at attracting the girls, and seemed to be popular with all their school fellows. His passage through the hallowed halls of learning was cushioned and seemed easy all the way.
     Philip the younger sibling was always in trouble with someone, he had to fight his way through every situation that fate presented. Philip was six inches shorter than Jack, and aggressively aware of the obvious disadvantages that his stature seemed to confer on him. This sensitivity to his short stature was the trigger for some harsh retaliation to the many cruel jibes of his school fellows. Philip’s envy of his brother turned to an ingrained hatred that secretly burned with an eternal flame.

    Both boys became members of a rock group in university. Philip became known as Little Boy Blue and he played a horn, extremely well. Jack became the lead singer, known to all as Golden Boy.
   There was a memorable time when the brothers were together on a trip to India, the amazing lifestyles of the natives and the culture of Mother India, fascinated the two young men. Their Mother was descended from a large spread out family of high caste Indian people and they were overwhelmed with invitations to visit their many uncles and aunts spread out all over the subcontinent.
   Their Uncle Prahib was a mystic and his wife Sarita was a visionary who was very attuned to the auras that people exuded by their personality. The day arrived when the two brothers were introduced to the family.
Prahib was friendly and benevolent and welcomed them to their home.
     “You are so like your Mother Philip, and Jack you have inherited your Father’s looks and bearing!” 

     Sarita smiled, then suddenly went pale almost in shock. “You two are really brothers?” she questioned. “Your aura’s are so unlike each other. Jack; I see a golden cloud surrounding you. The path for you has been paved with golden opportunities and your future is enhanced by a rosy hue. Philip; I am frightened for you: You have a shocking blue aura that reflects your ingrained envious hatred!”
Philip blushed and ran from the room to the garden where he sat alone.
     Aunt Sarita and Uncle Prahib, were soon with him. Uncle Prahib, the mystic, said,
“Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn and stay with us here in Mother India.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

 

 

PICTURES IN THE SKY

A prompt response to ~ http://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/

  1. In the Clouds: Go cloud watching for the day and write about what you imagine in the clouds.
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PICTURES IN THE SKY

by John Yeo

    Peter and Pauline had climbed to the top of the steepest hill in the district, Old Tom’s Tor, the view from the peak was stunning, fields, mountainous valleys, and verdant green forests spread out before their eyes.

    Peter flattened himself on the soft green grass and lay back, enjoying the opportunity to rest in the glorious sunshine.

   Pauline laughed and joined him on the ground.  ‘This grass is so soft and comfortable we will have to be careful we don’t fall asleep in the warmth of the sun, look at the colourful wildflowers growing unruly and freely  all the way down the steep slopes: Beautiful!’ said Pauline.

     ‘You’re so right. Pauline, what a wonderful place; look at that sky, blue as sapphire, with milky white and creamy clouds scudding across freely. I can see shapes in those clouds, can you make out a flying horseman, led by an angel with her wings spread out.’

    ‘Yes! Oh yes, Peter! Isn’t that a wonderful sight? I must grab my iPhone and take a photo…Oh no, it’s changed already!… Do you see a map of the world? Britain and the United States are closer together on the sky map. The divisions between the separate continents and peoples are all blurred. That huge cloud breaking in from above seems to be taking control.’

      ‘Yes, Pauline that’s right a continual reflection of the changing patterns of the future! Look again and the picture is one of the powerful elements merging and becoming one with each other. The separations seem to be gone and the sapphire sky is the backdrop to an ephemeral forecast. Look flying birds with their wings outstretched chasing the dawn of a new age.’

    ‘Peter it’s getting late, we must make our way back down the mountain now, before dark sets in.’

     ‘Pauline I have a question for you; this magnificent background is the perfect place to ask. Pauline, will you marry me? We can be wed here, at the top of Old Tom’s Tor. I will arrange for a priest to marry us here. Please say yes.’

     ‘I thought you would never ask.’  laughed Pauline.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

 

ARTISTIC DECAY

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A prompt response for ~ Inspiration Monday: ARTISTIC DECAY

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ARTISTIC DECAY

by John Yeo

  We ran down the platform at top speed, the train had been sitting in the station for at least fifteen minutes.

  “C’mon Betty! Keep up, we mustn’t miss the train, I’ve been waiting so long to get this interview over with. Means a lot to both of us.” Joe said, literally tugging her along.

 “Alright Joe, I’m coming! Please don’t pull my sleeve like they. You will ruin my new coat, I bought it especially for this college interview. It will be great to go to the same Art college together.”

 “Wait, please wait!”  shouted Joe to the Guard who stood on the platform with a flag and his whistle, which he raised to his lips ready to set the train in motion. He smiled as the young couple dashed up and jumped into the nearest carriage.

  “Phew, that was close!” Joe went on, as Betty collapsed in the nearest seat to the door. The train soon pulled away from the station into the leafy countryside speeding through the rural beauty of England on the way from their hometown of Ware to the city of London.

It was then that they took notice of the other two passengers in the carriage, an elderly gentleman with a smartly dressed young lady, both were politely smiling, as Joe and Betty settled back into their seats.

 “Look at that wonderful view Joe,”  said Betty. “Beautiful farms and country houses set in acres of rolling countryside.

Joe grunted in reply, as he put his head down studying his iPhone intently.

The closer they got to the city, the more derelict and decrepit the buildings looked as the large blocks of flats and terraced houses with washing lines on the balconies, became views of factories and industrial units. The buildings were covered in graffiti; an amazing variety of shapes and patterns and pictures that seemed to accentuate the general state of urban decay.

Betty was shocked at this change of scene. “Joe, that’s disgraceful, look at that shocking rubbish and abandoned litter, piled around the buildings and the graffiti all over the walls!”

Joe looked up from his device and said, “Betty, I hate the rubbish and the piles of junk all over the place, but I think some of the graffiti is good and actually has the effect of brightening up the urban landscape.”

 Betty then replied, “Joe that graffiti is mostly rubbish and has no meaning, just block initials and hearts and zigzags.”

There was a polite cough as the elderly gentleman in the opposite corner of the carriage broke in. “I beg to differ, young lady, the graffiti is an example not only of urban decay it reveals the underlying artistic decay of the population. This is an example of youth expressing themselves in the nearest they can get to pure art.”

 Joe then looked closely at their traveling companion and gasped, “You are Sir Larry the television artist, who has made millions from art! We are off to college to be interviewed for our places.”

The young lady then smiled and said, “Sir Larry will be on the selection panel!”

Betty said, “I hope I haven’t put my foot in it by what I said.”

The gentleman smiled and said, “I am sure you will get a place, both of you, I am a prime example of Artistic Decay, I was a graffiti artist once a long time ago when I was young.”

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

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