I looked up at the ceiling, a puce color that made me want to puke. I tried to like it, desperately tried, since it would be the last thing I ever saw. I had run downstairs, but it had followed. I shut the door, but the slime dripped through.
And now I was drowning in creamed rice, my favorite. How ironic. The gooey substance enveloped me, like pushing a letter through the slit into the letterbox. Then the cavalry came in.
Giant, succulent peaches, falling into the rice. I grabbed one, and kicked my way to the window. FREE!
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