i pulled out my gun, and aimed towards my duffel bag.

it was open.

there was my gecko, purple and green and yellow and black, and laying on top of my clothes.

it was much, much smaller than i remember.

i put the barrel to my temple and pulled the trigger.

the gun didn’t fire.

i pulled it out and tried again.

this time it fired, a loud bang that echoed throughout the room.

the gecko was shaken, but no longer dead.

it gave me a look of hate, and jumped off of the top of my clothes.

he landed on the floor and took a flying leap, and knocked my bag out of the way.

he was quickly trapped by my bag, and i began laughing at it.

i felt an intense burning sensation in the back of my neck.

as the tear gas entered my nostrils, i pulled it back, and realized that it wasn’t tear gas, but red dust.

it seemed to eat through my own clothing and into my skin.

my clothes began to stick to me.

it was at this point that i began to get the feeling that my brother was not, in fact, in prison.

he was much worse off than i had ever imagined.

i pulled the clothes off of me, and realized that there was something wrong with the room.

the air was unharmed, but the ceiling and walls were covered in paint.

the red paint was covered in tears, which were being created by the pressure of the paint.

this was a ceiling, a ground floor ceiling, a cieling, and a wall.

i was fairly certain that there had been no and now the blood was spilling out of my mouth.

the duffel bag, once again a shield, began to falter, and was dropped.

the paint began to climb the walls, creating a deep crimson mountain.

i reached for the gecko and found that his tail was gone and this is not funny so i started to scream.

i felt a hand on my shoulder.

it was my sister.

she was walking towards me.

i tried to stand but i was stuck to the floor.

i started to sink into it, and knew i wasn’t going hopped into a van and rammed it.