I panted, clutching my side as I pressed my back into the parking garage wall. I stared down at the bloody gash across my forearm. Dark veins branched from the cut.
My head spun. I was infected. I studied the progression of the dark veins. Veining became obvious in Stage Two? Stage Three?
The pen is mightier than the sword, they say. What they forgot to add is that the pen is often meaner, too.
“You wench! Do not put me beside that foul beast.” Pride and Prejudice squirmed in my hand, its pages fluttering as though it wanted to fly away. In honor of Canadian Library
“Welcome to Extreme Maze Fest!” the announcer’s voice blared over the arena speakers. The crowd roared as the platform I stood on descended. “Eight felons, one deadly maze…”
I tuned out the announcer’s voice as best I could. The rules for the maze that plagued the annual fall festival never changed: escape or die
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