‘𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢’, —𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓𝑓. 𝐵𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑝-𝐵𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑝-𝐵𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑝-𝐵𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑝
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑖𝑡𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 ℎ𝑎𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ. 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑡. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘, 𝑑𝑖𝑚𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑝 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑎. 𝑂𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑚𝑢𝑟, 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠.
𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑎𝑑𝑑 𝑢𝑝. 𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 "𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒"? 𝐷𝑒𝑒𝑝, ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑠ℎ, 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑦. 𝐼𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑒: ‘𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢’.
𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛. 𝑅𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑛, 𝑟𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑛! 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑝, 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑗𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘. 𝐻𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑, 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑠𝑛𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑘𝑒. 𝐹𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑥𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟, ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑟.
‘𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠?’ —𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑑, 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑚, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
‘𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟’, —𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟, 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑑𝑜.
𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑎𝑛 𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟. 𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑎 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚. 𝐼𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑, ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟. 𝐴 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑? 𝐴𝑛 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑚𝑦? 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑒?
‘𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡’, —𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑑, 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒. 𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑗𝑜𝑘𝑒, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑦.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑐𝑦, 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑛𝑎𝑝 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡.
‘𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑗𝑜𝑘𝑒’, —𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑑. ‘𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑤... 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑜’.
𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑎 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑒. 𝐻𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑎, 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑤. 𝐻𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑝 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑠. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑙: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑖𝑟, 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠.
‘𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠? 𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑦!’, —ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑝𝑒𝑟, 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑠.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 "𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒" 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛.
‘𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑔𝑜... 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑘. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢?’
𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑠. 𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑝𝑒. 𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐻𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐶𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘, ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ. 𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠: 𝑑𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑐𝑖𝑟𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑑. 𝐴𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡, ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑟𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑖𝑠ℎ, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑡. 𝐻𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒, ℎ𝑖𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑒𝑟, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑡. 𝑂𝑟 𝑠𝑜 ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡.
‘𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡?’, —ℎ𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑢𝑑𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒.
‘𝐵𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼 𝑠𝑎𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢’ —𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑟, 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑒. ‘𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤’.
𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑛, 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑑. 𝐻𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘, ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑡. 𝐻𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑, 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ. 𝐻𝑎𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚? 𝐵𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑡? 𝐴 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑘.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑚𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑟, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟.
‘𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑦𝑒𝑡. 𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑠𝑎𝑦. 𝐵𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑝𝑒. 𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑤. 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡… 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝑙𝑒𝑡'𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔’.
𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑢𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑛, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛? 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚? 𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒.
𝐻𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝑂𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟, 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒?
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑤 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑤, 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠, 𝑎 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑓𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑, 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟.
‘𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒’, —𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑎𝑟.
𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚.
Welcome to this initiative, this is my first participation in it. I would like to take this opportunity to invite you to participate, it's very easy and fun, come and join in!: @chironga67, @atreyuserver, and @tiffanny.
[Writing Contest] Finish the Tale. Story #6
‘You don't know me, but I know you’, —the voice said before the call cut out.
Cover of the Initiative
Dedicated to all those writers who contribute, day by day, to making our planet a better world.
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STOPOmg.... I was so nervous and scared while reading the story. I think i felt all emotions that Martin had at that time. Thank you for the story💙
My son Matthew told me the same thing when I told him the story. Thank you for your appreciation.