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Sunday, October 18, 2009,

Chapter 5: Thoughts in a...pigeon roost

“Oh?” I stare in disbelief. I am horrified. Sure, I am a cold-blooded murderer who killed her own mother, but I do not live in what seems to be the most shabby and run down apartment in London.

A train runs by, the ground shakes like an earthquake is happening.

CRASH!

I can hear a glass vase fall and break.

“Screw this,” I say, kicking down the termite infested wooden door.

“James Evans, hm?” I smile, licking my blood-stained dagger.

8:58 PM



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