Witness the corpse of Bonnie Parker; “wherefore art thou Barrow”, spoken with infamous recognition. What costume do you fancy this Hallows’ Eve? A ghoul, a ghost, perhaps a priest of conjuration; frightening all the same, albeit suitable aside this Festival of the Dead.
Samhain furnished with revered saints, begins entrance into another darker half; subsequently marking end to this pathetic harvest. Go ahead, fabricate in celebration; transform into something horrifically abnormal and unordinary. I have chosen a crepuscular shelled creature as my disguise. Holidays will do their worst; a lesson unwisely divulged from this self-proclaimed tortoise.
Basking amidst Anatta, the martyr turtle sets dawdled pace towards a remorseless winter. A husky exoskeleton has proven much stalwart, armored for an otherwise terribly flawed endo. Lost in reverie, heavy footsteps attempt the abandonment of a prematurely aged persona. Weathered to translucent, dilatory journeys embark for burrows of a testudinidae utopia.