But, in reality, she was packed away in some ridiculous coffin. In the morning, a new sun would make the dew on the blades of grass sparkle like jewels. When night fell, the sky above her would be dotted with countless silvery stars. The raw smell of wildflowers would fill the air, pollen swirling. The wind would slowly rustle the grass, and birds and insects would call out all around her. We would wordlessly go to visit her, pushing our way through the lush green grass as we went. I felt that her body should be laid to rest in a much more spacious place. I didn’t want my sister’s delicate little body to be stuffed into that cramped, confining box. Shake her all you want-she would never awaken again. Shake her lightly and she’d wake up, it seemed. Lying there, she appeared to be peacefully sleeping. The dress had a white lace collar, so white it looked unnatural. She was wearing her favorite black velvet dress, with a touch of makeup and her hair neatly combed she had on black patent-leather shoes and lay face up in the modestly sized coffin. Her large eyes were closed forever, her mouth slightly open, as if she were about to say something.Īnd the next time I saw her she was in a coffin. The next time I saw her, she’d stopped breathing. That morning we’d eaten breakfast together, said goodbye to each other at the front door, me going off to high school, she to junior high. When I heard, I raced to the hospital, but by the time I got there her heart had already stopped. She lost consciousness while climbing the stairs at Seibu Shinjuku Station and was rushed by ambulance to the nearest emergency room. She was on her way home from school one day when she collapsed. But the opportunity never presented itself. If need be, I was willing to risk my life to protect her and her tiny heart. While we were attending the same elementary school, I always kept my eye on her. My parents told me to watch over her, since her body was so delicate. I spent my adolescence in a state of anxiety, fearful that, at any moment, I might lose my little sister. That fact alone had my brain in constant turmoil. And even a specialist couldn’t locate the defect. Yet, within that chest, my sister’s heart was defective. Her breasts were beginning to develop noticeably. As I sat across from her at the dining table I often looked at her chest and imagined the heart inside it. And he wrote out a few prescriptions for her.īut her arrhythmia didn’t settle down. “Avoid strenuous exercise and follow a regular routine, and things should settle down soon,” her doctor said. The basic issue had ostensibly been resolved by the operations, and they were baffled. She underwent tests at the university hospital, but no matter how detailed the tests the doctors couldn’t pinpoint any changes in her physical condition. It was especially bad when she lay down, and she suffered many sleepless nights. But, in May of that year, her heartbeat became more irregular. She had been born with a congenital heart problem, but since her last surgeries, in the upper grades of elementary school, she hadn’t shown any more symptoms, and our family had felt reassured, holding on to the faint hope that her life would go on without incident. She was twelve then, in her first year of junior high.
A STORY ABOUT MY UNCLE ICE CAVES WINDOWS 8
OS: Windows XP (SP3), Windows Vista (SP2), Windows 7, Windows 8.The protagonist decides to look for him, taking their uncle's inventions into a mysterious world of magic to begin their search. The story, as suggested by the title, concerns the protagonist's explorer uncle who disappears one day. It was originally released on the developer's website in 2012 and was eventually made available on the Steam marketplace in 2014.
A Story About My Uncle is a first-person action-adventure game that makes use of a grappling mechanic for the majority of its traversal.
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