• 62

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    Running away amounts more to tripping over your feet, skinning your hands and then fumbling for balance. You only get about sixty feet from your vehicle before you hear a shot…and feel one too, in your left calf-muscle. You hope that you only pulled it but you see the dreaded dark red spot.

    The remainder of the night is spent in the back of the so-called Anti-CIA’s Prius. Apparently, someone else is after you too – the Anti-Anti CIA – a branch of the CIA devoted to undermining the efforts of their underminers. The rest of the night and the dawn is spent driving at relentless speeds to the west. The two men in front still look as alert and unaffected as ever.

    “Could I get some treatment for this? I’ve never been shot before, but I don’t think I’m supposed to just, you know, shake it off.”

    This is the last thing you say before the car smashes into an invisible wall crafted by the Anti-Anti CIA. You’d heard about what happens next – the sight of your mangled body from a bird’s eye view followed by a tunnel of light that pulls you in closer. Beside you are the two other souls, although they aren’t as complex and colorful as the form you’ve taken. You see a bright blue road sign up ahead with big sunny letters that read “Now Entering: Lost Dakota.”

    The rest is lost to even the omniscience of the narrator.

    The End.

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