Novel & Cerita Jar Of Dirt

Unknown POV When I entered the basement, I unearthed all of my collections in glass jars that had been soaked in a soluble solution to keep them from decaying. Each jar has its name emblazoned on it so that it can easily be identified. I opened another empty jar and poured a diluted solution into it, almost completely filling the glass. Then I opened the fridge and took out a resealable plastic bag that I had placed there the night before. I put on my hand gloves and opened the plastic back to take the thing out from the inside. I tilted it up against my face to get a better look at it, then breathed its exquisite scent.

Peniculus tries to annoy. “Stap that or this jar of dirt will end up slipping off my hands and hitting that butthead off yours,” Isidorus grows at Peniculus and I end of laughing hard as they further insult each other. “Yes, so the Jar of dirt is interesting…” I interfere with their bickering. Soon they remember that I am present in the room too. “Um yes, this jar of dirt is a very interesting thing…” He says as he opens the Jar and takes a handful of it in his hand.

I'd never seen anything like it. "You've been so good, I'm going to open you up easy. Relax and enjoy. Or don't. I don't really care. I'm fucking your ass tonight, one way or the other." As she stopped cumming, she did relax her ass a bit, and I got my thumb in her. I pushed and pulled to the sides, then dipped my middle finger in the jar, and slipped it up her rear. "That's right, my finger slips in so easy, I think you're ready for two." I removed my finger. I scooped up a bit more, rubbed it around the rim, and dipped both fingers into the jar. I slipped my middle finger back in her easily.

I twist the lid off the jar, expecting another obscure sludge. There’s nothing inside. The jar had weight when I lifted it from the shelf. I felt it. But now it’s empty. I return it to the wall and grab the same jar he used. The one that became stew. This time, I hear it. The thick shift of a heavy powder inside as I move it. I pop the lid. Empty. I put the lid back on and shake the jar. I hear it again, the contents sliding against the glass. I open it.

“But look at the shape. It’s too regular to be natural.” As more dirt fell away, I could see what he meant. There was a distinct cylindrical object emerging from the earth, about the size of a large thermos. “Is that…?” “A capsule of some kind,” James confirmed, working faster now. “Someone buried it here, deliberately.” My heart rate spiked. Could this be it? The artifact we’d been searching for? Together, the three of us dug around the object, carefully freeing it from the soil. Finally, James was able to lift it out—a metal capsule, darkened and slightly rusted from decades left buried underground, but still completely intact. It was sealed with a simple lock.

Disposable cups and empty bottles crunched under my knees. I grappled with a garbage bag that was so overstuffed the plastic ripped. When I lifted it, the putrid contents exploded over the floor, coating my hands and the nearby counter. I groaned, planting my hands on my hips, exhausted and disgusted. This relentless misery was my price for staying close to the monsters. A deep voice sliced through the filth, so close it made me jump. “Look who’s playing in the dirt.” I whirled around. My breath hitched.

Her voice cracked as she pointed towards the creek bed and turned away. "Look." There was an old mason jar in the rocks. I knelt and picked it up. It was heavy. I opened the cap and spilled the contents on the ground. With my flashlight, I sorted the objects. There were nails, small bones, and a teabag. I lifted the jar to my nose and sniffed. I threw it into the Shenandoah. "Ah shit, urine." Author's Note: The above extract came from Joseph Glanvill.1681.Sadducismus Triumphatus. (against modern Sadducism)

Complaints, insults, excuses, frustration. “That asshole plays dirty.” “The ref was bought.” “We shouldn’t have lost like that.” I clench my jaw as I read, close the chat without thinking too much because I don’t want to stay there, don’t want to keep going over the same thing, don’t want to think about the game or him, so I set my phone aside and take a deep breath, trying to clear my head, even if it’s just for a while. Tonight I’m only going to do one thing, drink enough to not feel anything and leave early before it all becomes unbearable, no drama, no complications, not giving him more space than he already takes.

Its mysterious scent fills the air, a hint of indistinct fruit, a hint of unidentifiable spice. I drop to my knees and plunge my fingers into the loose dirt. Despite the layers Clay added, it’s still dry and clumpy. It is a miracle the plants have taken root, and now I’m tearing them up with clumsy hands, plopping as many as I can into the wheelbarrow. I can’t bring them all; I just need enough to prove I have them.

“Hypodermic needle, glass jar, things you can get at the hardware for preserving.” “Is it that easy to do?” I ask. “You don’t read enough books, do ya? I read one about a guy preserving hearts for his lover. Rye has specimen jars all in his office. Where do you think he got those, eh?” “I assumed he bought those,” I say dejectedly. Tee laughs at me. “We were collecting since our first family enemy stomp. The jar labeled Vaquero Muerte is that man’s cock an’ balls. He hurt our family somethin’ fierce. The tongue labeled Ol’ Wolf belonged to the man who raised Rye.”