Examples Of Edgar Diary Entry

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Edgar Edgar Edgar Dear reader, I have taken great risk on your account, in that if I do not turn up with some serious cash sometime soon, I am probably going to Hell. Edgar found his feet taking him, as they did every morning, on the short walk across a trampled road, which was most certainly composed of piss, shit, and dirt. He thanked the Lord that he was given enough money by Pope Innocentus XXX (God bless his Holy Rotundness), otherwise the walls of his cottage would have been composed of that very material. His frock itched him with every step as the hairs on the inside of the shirt fondled his torso like a – actually, nevermind. According to rumor this so called “hair shirt” was an intentional choice by the designers. Only the higher-ups Let him die? I only have so much control. Boom, story ends here? You wouldn't like that, I wouldn't like that, and I'm most certain that Edgar wouldn't like that. So let's do right by Edgar and save the idiot. “Alright, Edgar,” I continued. “Yes, God?” “Don't call me that- nevermind- The only way you shall survive this ordeal before you is if you abandon your gun-toting ways” “Wait you want me to not use the gun on the wall?” “Absolutely, also stop singing when you get drunk at night, nobody wants to hear that. I'm not even sure you want to hear that. Alright, I'm out of here.” And just like that, I was gone. “Wait no, come back! Don't leave me! I'm saint material!” He pleaded. As the bright light began to fade and the room returned to a valley-girl dim, panic gripped Edgar like a vise. He knew in his heart of hearts that his encounter with God would make him famous, but his giddiness was watered down by what appeared to be imminent death. Edgar returned to survey his options, an apple and a knife; he picked them both up. A projectile could be useful he reckoned. Then, just as he heard a furious bashing accompanied by a splintering sound coming from his doorway, the hooligans dressed in peasant rags flooded in with the wooden door collapsing like an overloaded dam. Edgar was left there with an The peasant, as if doubting him, opened up the book and flipped to a random page, and an outraged look twisted his face like a bundled cloth, “Oi! This priesty book no be! What this!?” He flipped the book around and showed him an illustration in the marginalia depicting a swarm of infants bludgeoning a man to what appeared to be a most certain death. “Students,” Edgar retorted, “All they do is write and get drunk these days- who can blame them? The peasant, dissatisfied with this threw the tome to the floor, another peasant began to rummage through some drawers, and then the rest followed suit, searching for anything that could advance their illegitimate, preconceived theories, which were mostly correct. Flinging drawers like catapults. One such drawer hit the ground, envelopes flying through the air, skidding on the ground when they landed. Another peasant, whose face was smeared with what was hopefully dirt, began to gather them up and stuff them in a cloth sack. “Ye coming with us be,” demanded the peasant with the beard that Edgar mistook to be mud, or was it the other way

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