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I trip and fall flat on my face. I pee my pants, too.
Scrambling to get up as fast as I could I see that I had tripped on
Bobby. A pale, unmoving, lifeless Bobby. A fishing wire is entwined in
the flesh of his slit throat. I gasp and continue to run, run,
run...
I didn't know who was doing this, I don't care. All I think about is staying alive, staying alive for the death-metal concert next Saturday, staying alive for the Medieval Times dinner party this coming Thursday, staying alive for Alfie's planned meth party on Monday, staying alive for the next day, the next hour, the next five minutes. I suddenly can't get that damned 70s song outta my head: Staying Alive! I shrug myself, I begin to cry, I just shouldn't have to think about these things, damnit! I'm only 18 years old! I realize --with a shot of horror-- that life was precious, especially my life! I also realize that I had been so intent on meditating on my life that I lost my sense of direction, what little I had to begin. I don't know where I am, I'm lost. Then I hear a sound, like a whisper. "pssst," it comes again. I whirl, is it the killer? Is it the madman, who probably was the killer? Is it the pizza man from Domino's who should've been here thirty minutes before the first killing? Is it the corpse of the pizza man who was probably that stranger found atop the Miata? Wait a minute, I think, dead men don't whisper. Suddenly there is a rustling in the trees. I lose my, ahem... number two. I turn to run but stop when I see the form coming out of the trees and bushes. It's Princess. That isn't her real name. But everyone called her that because she is so stuck on herself. "Don't leave me," she whispers.
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11/12/2006 8:23:35 AM
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