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Fake Out


I keep my breathing shallow and will my body to be limp spaghetti. If I didn't convince that


psycho into thinking I’m already dead, then it would be reality soon. I could feel blood pooling under my belly, warm and sticky. Hell, I even peed myself to make it seem real. Although, if I was being honest, that was more out fear than anything. It was the first time I'd ever been shot.


Footsteps close to my head. A steel-toed boot prods my rib cage. He kicks me hard. I bite my tongue to keep from screaming and hope he doesn’t see my jaw clench. He chuckles. A low, almost soothing sound. Fingertips brush my cheek, pushing back my hair.


"You were supposed to be a mighty opponent and now, look at you." Another low chuckle. Less soothing this time. How dare he say I was easy.


"Ladies and gentle-ghosts, the win goes to Bentley Cox!"


Seriously, his name is Bent Cox. No way a parent should be that cruel. No wonder he went after people like me. I can barely keep my snort of laughter contained.


More footsteps.


Is he...dancing? It sounds like it and I’m dying to open my eyes to see if I’m right.

"Ain't no party like a Bent Cox party!" He screams it out in a singsong voice that’s terribly off-key.


I can’t take it any more. I open my eyes. He is indeed doing the mashed potato. I snort loudly, not that he can hear me over his deafening scream-singing. My snort turns into a belly laugh that hurts like hell thanks to the bullet wound.


And then I see he had put the gun down within reach of me.


I grab it as he turns to notice that I am still alive. For a moment he considers wrestling me for it. I can see it in his eyes. I squeeze the trigger.


I’m not an idiot I aim for his head.

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