A dive to the right into a roll turns out to be a mistake. Landing on your left shoulder, pain explodes through your arm; accordingly, your escape falters. You end up flat on your back staring at Cecilia’s descending pump. You scramble to get back up, but your arm refuses to cooperate with you. The house-sized shoe looms closer and closer as the musty smell of dirt and dust increases. Slowly, the pump pushes on your body squeezing the breath from your lungs.
“Cecilia,” you choke. “St-top… P-p-plea—”
The crushing force of Cecilia’s foot dwarfs the pain in your shoulder. Quickly, the suffering intensifies as your ribs snap backward driving themselves into your heart and lungs. At the same time, your cranium gives way and your brain matter spills into the fibers of the carpet.
Cecilia continues chatting with a parent who needs information on her daughter’s grades, unaware she just snuffed out the life of one of her closest friends.
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