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Scare Yourself

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As I creep down the steps, I try to remind myself why I’m going down in the first place; I remember, I was thirsty; I am thirsty. My hand grips the railing, hard. My knuckles are white. As I linger towards the bottom of the stairs, I take a deep breath, step off, and go into the next dark, empty room. I quickly find the switch that will my trip downstairs better, and flip it up. Light reaches to all corners of the room, showing me there are no scary monsters lurking in the shadows. I step into the kitchen, my destination. I flick on the light, and pitch black windows cover the walls. I try not to think about if someone were watching me, I couldn’t see them. I grab the cup that is to hold my drink, and bring it to the fridge. I open it, finding the latch that will release the pomegranate lemonade into my cup, put my cup under it, and pull up. The liquid streams out of the plastic cooler and into the green glass. Through it, I see my pale fingers wrapped around its torso, their image twisted because the glass is wavy. The drink seems to slow, then drip. I urged it to go faster. Once it’s done, I close the fridge and head back upstairs to my safe haven; not turning off lights until I leave the room. Quickly, I go up the stairs, continuously looking back, afraid someone is following. I enter my room, and sit on the bed. I crawl to the corner, where I can see everything in front of me, including the door. I rock back and forth as I drink the blood red substance, whispering words of assurance to myself. I gulp it down, a little bit relieved, and lay back into my pillows. I finally felt safe once more.



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