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Petpet Name: RIP
Pet Name: whorder
Breed: Halloween Rock
Being a tombstone is not an easy job, but someone has to do it.
Usually a rock being chosen to become a tombstone is an honor. Though it may he macabre, it's a job to be proud of and to be taken seriously. There they sit, year after year, weathering each season as it comes, directing mourners to their destination and announcing the information about the one they've been chosen to stand over.
This is not one of those stories. One stormy night, a rock was quickly chosen out of the rock quarry and taken home. Usually choosing a rock was a task not to be taken lightly, but quite frankly this Neopian didn't want to stay out in the rain.
Tired and cold, the neopian began carving at the rock he had chosen, images of the warm fire and cost bed he was going to enjoy after he had finished dancing in his head.
As you may imagine, this individual didn't do a very good job. Pieces were chipped off the rock, and instead of writing the information about the person he was watching over, and was traditional, he quick wrote the letters 'RIP' and considered it finished.
Though the storm had stopped, the soil was still very wet so when the tombstone was stuck in the ground it sunk to the point it was barely sticking out of the ground.
As the years passed, RIP watched as other tombstones, shinier and well made tombstones got added to the cemetery. A time or two he was tripped over and figured he would be discovered at last, but anyone who tripped picked themselves up and continued on their way.
One Halloween as RIP lie there feeling sorry for himself, the ground behind him began shifting. He watched (as much as a rock can watch, anyway) as a hand popped out of the soil, followed by the entire body of a techo. You couldn't quite tell what his skin color used to be, but now it was a flat grey. His sunken eyes were red and bloodshot, and as soon as he cleared them of dirt, he looked toward the stone just barely sticking out of ground.
Carefully, using his spindly fingers, he dug the tombstone out of the soil and studied it before sighing.
"RIP, huh?" He sighed. "I should have known I wouldn't get a proper stone. Well hi, RIP. I'm Whorder, but you can call me Orde."
He finished pulling himself out of the grave before reaching back in and taking out a satchel. He carefully nestled RIP inside.
"Well, my dear RIP, I suppose you'll be coming with me. No one came to visit me while I was alive, so it's fitting that no one would visit me dead either. So we shall be each others friends, what do you say?"
Of course, RIP didn't say anything. He was just a stone, after all.
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