NOOoooo not the story!
Hamilton: The Revolution book
I grab my book to my chest, it’s one of my favorites. I cry into it, so terrified that I’m going to die. When the killer bursts in I instantly turn my head, grabbing my book and hitting him with it. While he’s stunned I run. Crap, I live on the second floor, I think, rushing down two flights of stairs into the garage. I open the garage to freedom and run for my life. It’s difficult but I manage to make it to the corner store so I can catch my breath, grab some Snapple, and read my book, letting my tears fall down the pages.
Coca-Cola in a plastic cup.
I grab the plastic cup and take the lid off. I throw the Coke into the serial killers face. This makes the serial killer angry and he stabs me, repeatedly.
I attempt to sneak up behind the serial killer in hopes to choke him with the bra. The serial killer notices me and tries to stab me, but I duck and it hits the wall. I run into the closet and hold the door shut using the bra. I sit in there for what feels like forever and cry, before I get an idea, trying to fake my suicide. I pretend to choke myself to death with said bra, holding the door shut with my hand, and then fake dead. The serial killer believes my passable acting and walks off. I’m alive, but the killer’s still out there.
A half-empty bottle of Sprite.
Mentally cursing myself for grabbing the bottle of Sprite instead of the real Swiss Army knife when I trotted upstairs, I crouch in the small space below my bed, a hand on my sharpest arrow and the other on the loose cap of the beverage. As light footsteps drew ever closer, my grip on both objects tightened, the bruised knuckles on my fists turning into a white colour painful to look at. I sent a quick prayer to God as the pair of socked feet stopped beside my bed, and as the ski-masked murderer tilted his head to look into my safe spot, my wrist flicked out like a snake, sending the cap flying toward his face and the carbonated liquid spilling into his eyes. With a yell, he reeled back, giving me the opportunity to send one of my signature roundhouse kicks across his ankles.
The man twisted and fell onto the soft carpet as I quickly wriggled out of the confining space, my arrow still in hand. Taking one look at the large butcher’s knife in his left hand, I make a split-second decision to stab my arrow through his wrist-- a decision I knew I would not regret later when the pointed metal tip, driven by adrenalin and fear, dug into soft flesh and bone, eliciting a cry of pain and- my ultimate goal- the dropping of the knife. I let go of the arrow and grab the knife, kneeling down to the tear-streaked face of my would-be killer, and in a flash, rip the soft black fabric from his face, revealing waves of black curls and alarmed, green eyes.
Keeping one knee on his free arm, I grin, the grin of a soul long gone, and plunge the blade into the soft white flesh of his neck.
A towel covered in dog hair:
My heart raced and I fought for every breath that I take. There was a man, no, man was too mundane a word for the beast that had broken through my front door at near midnight. He was a monster and I had no experience with such things to fall back on. I was no badass warrior female that could smite him where he stood, breathing heavily and searching the darkened room for signs of life, nor was I stealthy enough to flee without drawing his attention like a shark when blood hit water.
Somehow fighting back the panic that threatened to consume my senses, I reached for the only thing near enough to use as a means of defense. Unfortunately that was the towel on the couch. Steeling myself, years of action movies and novels of great heroes escaping dire situations against the most heinous of foes flooded my mind. Assuming that the dog hair stuck to the fabric would not turn out to be his kryptonite, I would have to use it to cut off his air flow just long enough to move past him, long enough to escape.
Digging deep for bravery, false though it was, I sneaked quietly to the behemoth when his back was turned, and slid the dirty towel around a neck as thick as my waist. Using all the strength I never knew I had, born entirely of fear and desperation, I pulled and held on for dear life.
Just long enough to escape.
I pick it up and use it to shield myself. Hopefully, a bullet might get stuck in it due to how thick it is but all I can do for that is hope. Instead, I run up to the serial killer and whack it over their head to buy myself time to run away. Fingers crossed that it knocked them out
I grab the drawing and show it to the killer, he’s so amazed that he asks me for a photocopy signed by my hand and leaves with it, sparing my life. On the condition of making him a new one the next day.
i grab ahold of the 3L dildo’s that my girlfriend left and start to shake it wildly at the killer, which he then becomes uncomfortable and walks away slowly and leaves. i live YAY!
a paper written in grammatically incorrect German.
i start reading it to the killer and he stops to correct my grammar, decides we make a good team, and leaves
Oddly a large metal barrel.
I attempt to hit the murderer with only to find he’s much stronger than myself. He shakes off the blow but it gives me time to run away.
I open the pencil case to find a scissor (just kidding, I don’t have scissors in my pencil case) and stab the killer with it. It’s not strong enough, but luckily I’m at school so lots of people see and apprehend the killer before he can do any serious harm.
I stare at the window. Then I jump out and start running for my life.
Wireless Bluetooth speaker.
I grab it and I turn it on and increases the volume thoroughly. It’s so unbearable that the killer flees by plugging his ears.