It Was Easier To Run

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He ripped his arms from their sockets and that feral beast chomped on him limb by limb. It was a naked, 365 pound man who had broken through our windows and snatched my 5-year-old from his bed. Now he was eating him alive with those piercing, razorsharp teeth. My son screamed as the beast's nails dug into his skin, gripped him hard, and took another slow, agonising bite.

Maybe I could've saved him.

But it was easier to run.

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