You grab your backpack and exit the car. You try to nonchalantly walk in the opposite direction. Your attempt to trick the man fools no one. He sees your slow-motion attempt to flee and begins to chase after. You quickly cross the road, hop the median, and then cross the other road. You hit the woods in a sprint. The backpack is weighing you down, so it gets dropped in a ravine. You wince when you hear the cans of Mountain Dew slam against the ground. You continue running, trying to avoid trees whenever possible. You glance back and notice the man is no longer following you. You take a deep breath and notice that your t-shirt is ripped. You take it off and toss it on the ground while you wait and watch the area you came from, waiting for the man to reappear. Your nipples are hard. Nothing interrupts your watch so you turn around only to see the man standing right behind you.
Your nose hits his chest. He towers above you. Your heart freezes, you cannot think, let alone speak. All you can manage is a raspy "hello" and a barely audible "please don't rape me." He stands motionless for a moment, staring at you. You aren't sure if he will respect your wishes. You remember somewhere that if you don't move then they can't see you. Then you remember that that only works for Tyrannosaurus Rexes.
You quickly back peddle away, only to turn into a tree. You fall back onto the ground. Pine needles prick your skin as you look up, trying to remain conscious. The man's face hovering above yours is the last thing you see before blacking out.
One roommate's art-fueled movement goes terribly wrong.
Emma Stone was the most paranoid person I had ever met. In private she wore a full suit of medieval armor at all times, visor down.
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