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Katy Trenton: A Short Story

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Katy Trenton: A Short Story
We started getting ahead, and a familiar voice shouted loudly, " CAN THIS THING NOT GO ANY FASTER?!? THEY'RE GETTING AWAY DO SOMETHING!!"

I turned around to see the face of my betrayer. The face of the person who I thought I could always trust. The face of Katy Trenton.

I rolled down the window and roared, " WHY WOULD YOU THIS, I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND, I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST YOU."

She looked over at me, and glared with a nasty smile. " START SHOOTING!" she yelled.

They did as the rich, young woman told them to do, and started shooting at the car. There were loud bullets booming, glass shattering everywhere, and sirens ringing in my ears. Everything was so loud, piercing my ears and quickening my heart. I screamed in horror as glass
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It was a wooden house with plenty of supplies, but no people living it. There were two other houses on each side of the house, identical to the one we were staying in. Even though Emilia and Leah always warned me it was dangerous, every year I would drive down to Virginia Peach Ocean Side and lean on the the large, green sign watching the sun fall from the illustrated sky.

The infamous Graffiti Gangsters of New York were now a forgotten crime to the city, but I had unfinished business. It had been 15 years since Aaron had died, and I stood watching the bright sky fade away.

It's time.

I was going to go back to the city. That night I planned to go to the city, planning every step I would take.

It was 2am, and I drove into the familiar town. I stood right in front of the same apartment complex I used to live in with my mother, and quietly knocked on apartment 325. An unfamiliar woman stood in front of me. She was wearing a dark teal, satin nightgown and had her wavy her fall at her shoulders.
" Can I help you?"she asked politely, rubbing her eyes.

" Does Mrs. Hudson still live here or in this area?" I asked awkwardly.

" Oh, no. She died 5 years ago, dear." said the woman gently.

My heart sank. My mother was
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I walked out of the car, and looked up to see the same large window. I stuck my hand in my pocket, to feel the same switchblade knife I had been holding onto for years. I took a deep breath and started climbing up the wall towards the window. The window was closed, but not locked, and I stepped into the cold room. There she was, in the same rose quartz room. She slept peacefully in the same baby pink, puffy bed, so comfortable compared to the hard, pavement floors I’ve slept on for the past 15 years. I stood at the edge of her bed, watching her breathe heavily while dreaming of something pleasant. How ironic.I tightened my grip on the knife. My palms sweaty, but my eyes focused. I raised my arm, the knife firm in my hand, and swiftly stabbed

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