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Viewing Single Post From: Laisse tomber les filles
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throw that pussy like i'm famous
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Rhory would have screamed at the girl if she could find her voice. Instead, Marion Summers (sophomore year, Computer Applications with Mrs. Rosenberg, make-up garish then but completely absent now) whisked herself out from some unknown corner and haughtily confronted The Murderer while Rhory sat scared and silent. She knew by the way he held his gun that Marion was full of shit. There was ammo to spare, and it was all meant for Rhory. But not for Marion. Why was she dicking around with this lunatic? She needed to run. Why wasn’t she running? Get the fuck out, Rhory managed to stop herself from shouting, get the fuck-

The girl stood rigid for several fractions of a second before falling in slow motion. Broken mirror crackled under her dead weight. Shot number eight. The head lolled towards Rhory and she could see it was already dead. The second one to take the shots meant for her.

She saw the killer turn his back to her.

It might have been then that she inflicted the first gash on her right palm. She wouldn’t have felt it. She couldn’t even recall picking up the wicked-looking piece of glass, or silently crawling out of her wreckage cave until she was close enough to the new corpse to smell the blood and shit and piss. Close enough, too, to the corpse's maker. She was present enough in her trance to look at the camera’s lens and see the reflection of the boy’s face. She saw his accomplished expression. She felt something burst behind her eyes.

She realized she could scream again as she leapt at the boy’s back and drove the shard around into his throat.
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