I stared at the revolver and remembered something George had told me the other day,"Better to have it and not need it, than to get cornered in an ally by a bunch of bums with a rusty butter knife." I smirked, wiped away any sign of weakness and made my way to the kitchen. George had been back from vacation for about two days before everything started going to shit, so his fridge was pretty stocked. I looked through all the kitchen drawers trying to find grocery bags, garbage bags, anything i can use to carry the food over. I continue looking and then freeze to a thumping sound in the hallway by the living room. I put everything down and reach for the revolver tucked in my pants. I pop it it open to make sure that it's loaded,"It's got five shots," i think to myself. I make my way to the threshold of the kitchen to the hallway but not passing it. I'm scared. Do i really want to know what's around the corner. I slowly, hesitantly, shift my head towards the corner and I peek around the corner. Nothing. I let out a sigh of relief and BAM! i here it again. There is something in the closet. I walk towards the closet and there's blood on the doorknob, a bloody hand print slightly to the left and a big splotch a little lower than my shoulders and a trail of blood on the floor leading toward the living room where George was, dead. George closed this door. George forced something into his closet and then proceeded to killing himself. The note. Even as i stare at the rumbling closet door all i can see now are three of the words that were written in that note. "I was bit..."
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