Friday, March 13, 2009

3 A.M. # 130 - Monotony

Pressed against the wall, Andrew closed his eyes. They swarmed over the wood chips, the monkey bars, and the swings like tiny, barbaric apes. One bellowed then charged him.

Andrew opened his eyes because of the cry. The brute pumped its small arms forward and back, accelerating toward terminal velocity with surprising ease. Lips parted around feral teeth.

Chip Brewster, that one’s name is, Andrew thought. Chip was six years old, already failing class and known as the meanest red-headed bully around. Chip’s sharp teeth glimmered hungrily.

Chip screeched; Andrew's heart leapt within his chest. The brute closed in and Andrew fell to his knees, curling up into a fetal position. The beast slammed the wall.

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