Gripping the key firmly in my right hand, I slipped it lightly up my sleeve so he wouldn’t notice its presence upon my person. He turned his back to me for a moment to continue his task of drilling. As I watched him, I darted up from my seat upon the bench and stepped towards the steps as he swiftly switched around with the speed of a whip to face me. “Where do you think you’re going, Pretty Girl?” he cooed. I did not respond. All my life force was focused on getting to the door. For God sake, I had better have the right key. I continued to move toward the trapdoor, a little faster as he began to step towards me with great thunderous footsteps that became the only sound in my head. It pulsed with the thriving beat of my heart; my living heart. And I intended to keep it that way. As my short breaths increased, so did my pace, so did his. In one silent movement, he slotted his strong arms around me roughly and pulled me toward him without a word. He had a silver blade in his hand. It was my time. He was about to end my existence. I would soon be a creation. No. I grabbed the blade from his hand, brushing it against my left arm in the process so it felt strange. I reached the blade up and brought it down harshly upon his right temple. There was an odd crunch of a sound as the blade harshly slammed into his skull. A great red river trickled away from me as he crashed to the floor. My existence was not ended. He was.
I calmed walked up the creaking oak steps to the trap door and unlocked it with the key in my sleeve. Peacefully, I left the Studio of The Artist.
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