Pitch black darkness.
Civilization off in the distance.
Winding mountain roads.
Unsure directions.
Unfamiliar surroundings.
Eerie moonlight.
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Pitch black darkness.
Civilization off in the distance.
Winding mountain roads.
Unsure directions.
Unfamiliar surroundings.
Eerie moonlight.
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Well, Plum Island is an island, and it does have some plums on it, but that’s not weird enough for me to write about it. Let’s start with the basics. It’s a small island off the coast of New York, off the northeastern tip of Long Island. It is roughly three miles long, only a mile in width, at most, and totals eight hundred and forty acres. Sure, it was dubbed Plum Island because of the succulent beach plums that grow along the coastline, but the strange aura hovering over this place is anything but sweet. It has been called Mystery Island, Monster Island, and the non-fictional version of The Island Of Dr. Moreau, not because of its historic lighthouse and flavorful fruit, but because its home to a mysteriously laboratory, hidden away from peering eyes.
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Shade is the dim, the dark, the shadowy places underneath.
Shade is the damp, the dank, the hollowed places inbetween.
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Well, The Great Blue Hole is exactly what you’d think it is. It’s a great big blue hole off the coast of Belize in the country of Central America. You know, those other Americas below us, the ones with less Starbucks. That’s the two-cent definition, but let’s dig deeper—literally.
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