~ ・ 𝕀 𝕋 ・~

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. . .
The way they leave
~
tells you everything
. . .

... Stanley was left upstairs. Yeah he did say he would stay upstairs but it was over jealousy. No Stan wasn't a naturally jealous person but with Bill, him and Beverly holding hands though made his blood boil. Stanley wasn't gay, at least he didn't think so. Stanley quick look around the corner as he heard something, nothing was there. He sighed quietly.
The curly haired boy proceeded to stand up and walk down the dark, long hallway. Stan was staring forward like he was in another trance. He was terrified but he couldn't stop walking.
Why can't I stop, should I yell for help, why is this happening, am I gonna die? All thoughts stopped when the Jewish boy reached what he guessed was his final destination.
Stanley was alone in a dark room with one painting. The painting was at the end of another hallway, he couldn't tell what it was.
"Guys!! Guys this isn't funny!" Stanley yelled for his friends, his voice only echoing in the dark hall. Stan was now on the verge of crying.
"Guys pl-ease" Stanleys voice cracked in the middle of the scentance. Stan realized he was alone, at least alone with his own thoughts. He began walking towards the painting. As he felt forced he sighed. The painting became more and more visible by the minute. Stanley soon realized what the painting was and he froze in fear..

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