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The Monster Upstairs


Bria (Staff)

I, 17 North Glen Avenue, have waited for time to write me a permission slip that will allow me to collapse upon myself and rest forever. But I can’t. I have to stand here. Stand and crumble, watch humans crumble, and feel the pain. Until someone finds what the Monster is looking for, I don’t know how I can stand any more of this. I know weak spots in my skeleton bowing under years of strain like an old man with failing knees.

I wish I would collapse like a row of dominoes. One domino on top of the other, clicking against each other, each board pushing the next over, each world disconnecting and hurtling into oblivion, me collapsing and finally at peace. Better that than watch the Scroggins kids fail, unable to find the Truth. Things are hopeless. It’s all up to the Monster in the end, and the kids couldn’t really change him. There were too many chances and risks and possibilities. Too much trial-and-error, just too much. Too much for the Scroggins kids.

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