I heard a banging on my door this afternoon while I was watching the news about the unexpected small earthquake that just happened. When I looked out to check, I was completely dumbfounded to see my friend, Danny, standing outside my front door with mud stains all over his body. He stared at me with his smoky gray eyes and with the hoarsest voice, he said: ”I don’t wanna go back there, man.”
As soon as this happened, I dialed our closest friend, Irah. While it rang, Danny stood with no fear on my terrace which, I think, would alarm some of the bypassing people. Finally, Irah answered and told him that Danny snuck out of jail again. Irah hung up and after a few minutes, he was there with us.
As Danny told us the story of how he got out, somebody knocked on my door and claimed it was the police. Danny hid upstairs frantically, leaving muddy footprints on my well-carpeted floor and stairs before we opened the door.
”Good afternoon, officer.”, I politely said.
”We’re looking for Mr. Anderson.”
”I’m Mr. Anderson, why? What’s the matter?” I replied.
”It’s about your friend, Danny Braunstein.”
I felt a cold shiver in my spine. I’m guessing somebody told them he was seen standing in front of my house. If I was to summarize every screw-up I made in my entire life, hiding an escaped prisoner in my very own property might be the worst.
”What about—him, officer?” Irah asked.
”Danny died this morning after he tried to escape. Apparently, he thought digging a hole might be too convenient for him since it was raining but unfortunately, because of the minor earthquake, he just dug himself his own grave.”
I looked at Irah confusingly and thought about the muddy footprints he left on my floor and to my shock, my carpet was clean.
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Credits to: faindyvargas
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