Kates loungeroom flies past as she stomps towards the kitchen, each step releasing a foul smell from down below. The dull steps changing to ear piercing squeaks as her worn Vans sole pounds the hard kitchen floor. Your hands begin to slip as above Kate pulls stuff from a cupboard before turning on her heel, releasing a mind numbingly loud sequel of rubber on wood, before stomping towards the fridge. One of your hands slip from the thick threads of her sock as she opens up the fridge door, the cold wind chilling your body as you dangerously hang from her sock. As you try and swing your body around, you watch a jar of jam crash against the floor and fire its contents outwards. Kate instinctively jumps back sending you ...
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