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#7
The letters were still faintly visible on the old oak. Henry ran his hand across the etchings and smiled. He couldn't believe it had been ten years since he had come back to the old farm. | Henry was a mosquito (with hands). The ugliest of the brood, with a long protruding snout the size of Madagascar. Or at least that's what the other mosquitoes said. Henry didn't mind, he could suck a pint of blood/minute from over 3 yards away. | Henry snapped a few photos of the etchings and then returned to the farm house to sift through his old documents. After several hours, he finally found the evidence he was looking for. Henry wasn't a mosquito after all. He was something far greater. | Or so he thought. He stepped (with feet) into the cold and realized Autumn had come. Alas, Henry's open-circulatory system was no match for 45 degree weather. Kablooey! His gigantic snout, followed by his once impressive bod, did a literal nose-dive. | And so it came to pass that the last and greatest descendant of Jesus Christ met his demise.


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