The Pictures on the Wall

I quickly pulled the Sword from it’s back-scabbard. The only thing I had on me was some gladiator armor and the scabbard.

No Sheild.

I wanted to weild the sword two-handed. And for good reason too. Carrying to much stuff would make it easy to lose the paper. The condition of the paper was important because any crease, bend, crack or rip in the paper effected my Mother. The paper was small and easily fit in the scabbard. In there it would be perfectly safe from any harm.

The darkness suddenly eliminated and revealed me in a dark mettalic room. The walls were dented. But the sudden change wasn’t even the scariest thing. On the walls were pictures of people dyi- Of me dying!

In a panic I began to run.

The unseen hyena began to laugh again louder. As I traversed down the corridor I looked over at the paintings again. The paintings were flying by faster than I was running.

They went so fast they began to seem like a cartoon. In the cartoon I was running down a dark corridor.

Suddenly I began to worry.

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