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Prose Challenge of the Week #44: You’ve been baited by the person you’ve been stalking. Held at gunpoint, you can’t leave, ever. Write about it. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge
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SlightlyCracked

The Dance

"No reason to make this ugly," I soothe. We're in an alley and he has a gun pointed at my chest. "Just tell me what you want and when can both be on our way."

"You were following me," he states, flatly.

"What?" I ask, acting as confused as I can muster. I need to pretend that this information has completely thrown me off if I'm going to have any hope of getting out of this alive.

He stares into my eyes, and begins to intone, "Your name is Robert Thomson. You are thirty-four years of age. You have been following me for two weeks and five days. On Monday, you suspected I knew about you, and ceased following me for two days. Today, you were planning on knocking me out as I walked past 5th street for my evening walk. You were going take me to your boss, where I would be interrogated. When you had gotten what you wanted from me, you were going to leave me dead in my home, with a heroin needle stuck in my arm." His condemnations fall like heavy stones to seal my tomb. "You have already planted a small stash of heroin in the small desk next to my door. There is a larger supply hidden in my hall closet, behind the towels on the top shelf." He pauses, expression almost unchanged, but seeming just a bit colder than it had been. "State your defense."

I blink and step slightly backwards in surprise, my back brushing against the cold brick wall behind me. I adopt an expression of horror and shock "I don't know what-"

"State. Your. Defense." He cuts me off.

"I was working under orders." I answer. "There was nothing I could do, or I would have been terminated." I pause and glance away for a second, before staring calmly back at him. "It was your life or mine."

"I understand." He bows slightly. "Thank you for your honesty. You understand, of course, that I cannot let you leave?"

"Of course," I respond, returning his bow. "It's been an honor working with you."

"And with you." He lets slip a small, grim smile.

"Shall we?" I ask.

"Indeed." Is his only reply.

He raises the gun to point at my head. I close me eyes.

There is a sudden, sharp sound.

And my whole perception fades to nothing in an instant.