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April 14, 2013
NONE OF US dared breathe, let alone move. I prayed I wouldn’t piss my pants and coat myself in what the angelhead would scent as a playful vinaigrette.

If I could have pressed back any further against my boulder I might have. I wanted to fall through it and have it swallow me up. Safe forever entombed in granite, good night, good night.

The ploppy, wet burp of a summer Dumpster.

It was moving.

Curious claws scraped rocks. Were we here?

No.

Were we there?

No.

Hm.

Well, we must be somewhere.

My Daisy AR-19 plasma rifle.

My phone.

Buzzing...