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I’m greeted at the front door of my apartment by the barrel of a pistol – instead of the usual bichon frise mix. The death notes are
By islandofsuir http://islandofsuir.tumbl...

Untitled

by islandofsuir

I’m greeted at the front door of my apartment by the barrel

of a pistol – instead of the usual bichon frise mix. The death notes are

immediate. Two bullets tear through air fabric and flesh until they reach

their final resting place amongst shattered bones and leaky vessels. I falter; over

the banister first, splattering on the spread of grey commercial carpeting

below.Damn, they think they got me.

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