the rain poured down heavy, the sound of the drops clanged against the window ever so lightly. the wind whistled the sweetest tune while the scent of vanilla filled the air from the candle. scoundrel laid on his bacc, staring at the bottom of the top bunk. it was 3 pm and his phone continuously buzzed …over and over again. there lied what could be his last moments; last moments of freedom, of normality, of stillness. but yet, it felt like a charade. time remains before and after and with reality on his shoulders, he realizes that this could even be his last moment of life. no time before now has he ever been more assured but still confused. sitting up, hanging his legs off the edge of the bottom bunk, he reaches under the bed and grabs a .38 desert eagle, one bullet inside, with his right hand and the bible his parents gave to him on his 13th birthday, with his left hand. darting his eyes between both, time freezes and…


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