I didn’t want to see the poor kid. I didn’t want to see any of them anymore.
I clutched my head and yelled, trying to wash my brain clean of the bloody images. I pitied my neighbors on nights like these. My shirt was soaked with sweat, and my stomach churned as I forced myself out of the vision. I panted and clutched the sheet to my chin, my heart racing like a freight train toward a wall. My mouth was as dry as sand, my eyes blurry.
Sitting up, I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, pushing down the bile in my throat. Once my breathing steadied, I flicked on a lamp and sipped the stale water on the nightstand.
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