The Murderer and Me

I was running as fast as my legs could carry me from the murderer. My heart was in flames; my chest was stinging from running so long and fast. Good thing I run up all the stairs of my house, which is all ten flights with thirty-two steps in each flight, fifteen times a day! I'm fourteen and I was in a store when this guy pulled out a gun and shot somebody.

I was so scared I took out my cell phone and called 911. Well, I almost called 911; I dialed 9152#* before the guy looked at me. So I ran. I turned a corner so he couldn't see me, but he knew I had turned the corner. So I raced down some stairs to a laundromat and jumped into a huge basket of clothes. What's that smell . . . is that stinky socks and poopy underwear? Oh, come on, I jumped into the unwashed clothes!

Meanwhile, outside the murderer said, "He thinks he's so smart, doesn't he? He's gone into the laundromat." He went into the laundromat and said to the person at the desk, "Did you see a boy, almost as tall as me?" "Vell," the man at the desk said with a heavy accent, "I deed see a boy run in xe unvashed clothes section." The murderer said, "Okay, thanks" in an impatient way. He went into the unwashed clothes section. I held my breath, I was so scared I thought I was going to vomit on the "already horrible looking and smelling clothes. Disgusting as it is, I think I'm going to wait here for a while until the murderer leaves!

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