There was no one else in the room. The walls had a warm whitewashed color, low-wattage bulbs in the ceiling. She was standing in the middle, blurred. Her hair was silvery, she was calm. I wasn’t. I wanted to get out of the room, but couldn’t. I turned around, looked outside through the small windows, cobwebs in the corner. I heard some noise, she moved, still calm. I wasn’t. She was holding a gun.

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