I quickly scuttle out of the bushes I have been hiding in for 3 years. Squinting, I turn toward your figure in the distance. "Wait!" you call out, running towards me at immense speeds. "No," I reply. I angrily yeet Day 55 at you, hitting you in the face. You collapse on the ground, screaming with agony. I scramble over to where you lie and slap you. "You stupid Spaghetto," I hiss. I kick your body into a nearby ditch before taking to the sky and flying away at 197.3 miles per hour, my little neck arms flapping in the wind.
