Write a sentence to continue the story.

I narrow my eyes at him, suddenly feeling annoyed and angry.

What the hell is he doing here he was supposed to be in cape town

I suppose he thought he was too good for South Africa.

l felt my stomach drop when l say his hand…there was a ring

I took out my pocket knife and secured his arm against the locker, sawing through his ring finger until all the muscle, bone and connective tissue detached it from his hand like a yubitsume ritual.

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He remained silent. Perhaps he really did have a shred of remorse in him?

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“I’m sorry,” I said, looking into those tearful, dreary eyes. I tucked the severed finger into his jacket pocket and patted it for good luck.

I walked away with a smile on my face, that will teach him

But I was wrong. I had only made his feelings for me stronger. I received calls where no one responded, but I knew it was him on the other side. And one evening when I was showering, I heard a rustle of some sort out the window. At that moment when the soap was running down my body, I had wished I wasn’t alone in the house.

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Quickly I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself.

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I went out into the hall. Pausing I heard steps, I called out, “dad?” The high pitch of that clank, was that metal on the empty floor?

“Mom?”

The clock in the dining hall clicked, echoing my discomfort as I stared into the empty-
KNIFE THAT WAS COMING RIGHT FOR ME.