Two sisters are crouched in a three by three space, attempting to suppress their hyper-ventalatized breath; not wanting to address their present fear. Twenty feet and two doors separate them from a man with a gun.
A man whose, out of control, deep and threatening voice, is screaming. “I’m going to kill them!” “I’m going to kill them!”
With the sound of the shotgun being engaged——chk-chk—–the undeniable sound of the pump moving the shell into the chamber, the flow of urine sounded as loud as a kitchen faucet amplified by a Twin Marshall Stack.
Luckily, it didn’t give away their hiding place.
The stomps of rage thundered away.
They were safe – once again, or were they?
Fish Eye Farm 