As I walked down the paved road with houses surrounding the complex, my stomach spoke to me. When was my last meal? Probably the dumps last week, I fringed at the thought. I couldn’t believe how I got myself into this; the price of addiction is too high. As I impetuously turned into the driveway of a rose pink home, I just hope the woman living there wasn’t resting inside. I sluggishly stretched my bony arm out, not even thinking of security systems, just yearning to get into the kitchen. To my surprise, the door made an easy click, and within a moment the door was wide open. “That was easy,” I whispered, in a slick staples-button tone. I walked straight ahead, one step behind another slow stop, into the kitchen. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, but I heard a moan-like noise coming from upstairs. Startled, I stumped my foot and accidentally knocked over a glass on the edge of the dinner table. Fuck! There’s no way she didn’t hear that, I thought. As I broke out in a cold sweat, I wondered if I should go up and explain myself. Do I stay? Do I go? I decided to creep up the stairs to see what awaited me. When I lurked around the stairwell once I got to the top, I heard a drip, drip from inside the room to my left. “That’s the one,” I said under my breath. I reached out my skeletal arm yet again, the one that gave me luck to get inside the house. I hope she’ll understand. I heard a creek from inside as I gently turned the golden knob…
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