Seventy seven.
It took a moment for him to release that his cycle of falling
then dying had stopped.
Eventually he lifted his head. He now found himself in a
long corridor. The walls were that special type of green you only saw in the
schools of his youth.
He had hated school.
Just as he began to look for a door, he heard a growl. Upon
turning, he came face to face with a massive dog.
He began to run. For a year, he’d run, get caught, get
eaten, then wake up and have to run again.
Seventy eight.
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