WEN: 096A33
Exhibitor Name: Daniella Smith
Division: Creative Writing--
Class: 04 Short Stories (
Heart palpitating, I took a deep breath while I stood in the middle of Wyatt’s kitchen. It felt surreal, standing in such a forbidden place, knowing the consequences of him catching me. That was why I needed to act quickly. Boots still off, I snuck out of the kitchen and into the living room. There was no sign of Wyatt or the woman, so I moved on. Walking along the hallway, I saw a door was slightly agar. When I peered inside, I saw Wyatt’s sleeping form on a dirty mattress. Quickly, I walked away from Wyatt’s bedroom as fast as possible. As I trekked along, I noticed another door that was placed at the very end of the hallway. It was firmly shut, and when I tried hesitantly turning the doorknob, I realized it was locked. I deemed someone had to be in there because it didn’t seem locked from the outside. Cursing silently, I pondered what I should do next. I could try to unlock the door with my swiss army knife, but the person inside might think I was Wyatt and panic. I didn’t want Wyatt to wake up, but I also didn’t want to leave without the woman who lived here. Deciding to risk it, I pulled out my swiss army knife and used the knife tool as a makeshift key. Sticking the blade into the lock as far as it would go, I applied pressure and shifted the knife in one direction, then the other. Luckily, I didn’t have to repeat this process for long; the door unlocked in just my second try, and I slowly opened the door without stepping in. I was met with the sight of the porcelain-skinned woman laying in the bathtub, silver hair down and covering her bare shoulders. She looked too weak to move, yet she stood up straight and covered her face with her hands. I hastily slipped the knife in my pocket and put my hands up in a gesture of goodwill. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I murmured, kneeling near the sink, taking off my face mask. Slowly, the woman lowered her hands and looked at me. She seemed highly suspicious, which I expected.
Quietly, she asked, “who are you?” She wrapped her arms around her body, shivering.
“Sarah. I do lawn work for Wyatt.”
“Sarah?” She repeated, looking me up and down. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you yesterday, trying to leave.”
She looked guilty for some reason and looked away. “I was.”
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