October 24, 2018

You creep along the shabby corridor behind the kitchen, taking care that your $380 neon orange sneakers produce not the slightest squeak as you place them carefully one in front of the other. Reaching the door, you breathe a sigh of relief, not a loud one, no, but a silent one, yes. Through this last thin pine rectangle, escape in its jaunty cap beckons. You fling the door open.

There she is. You die.

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