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The land of make believe
...written on 2008-02-09, @ 9:43 p.m.
Baby boy, the wolf is peeking through the woods looking for the desperate beating of your heart behind the stones. It cannot see the barrel of your big man's gun or the fear in your tiny trembling arms but it can hear them. You don't know it but there is a rapid-fire clacking as your shaking fingers tap together decoder ring and trigger. The erratic pa-dump of your heart echoes through this tiny clearing. What you can hear is the krich of dry leaves under thick grey paws and the slurp of a tongue on teeth as they draw so close you can feel hot breath on your neck. You turn, aided by fear and anxiousness, and the little trigger ticks under your finger. There is a fear in you of a different kind now as you watch the beast fall.
Your mother calls from the porch,"Now who taught that dog to play dead?"