Sixty three

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George went down, crying in pain.

"You fucker!"

Ringo's feet thudded against the floorboards as he bolted off.

He ran all around the house, desperately trying to find even a small opening where he could get out.

Windows were shut tight. Doors were locked.

No! Ringo twisted every doorknob, every handle. No! No! No!

He was trapped.

Ringo felt the tiniest slimmer of hope escape him.

He was trapped.

He wasn't going to see John or his mother again.

He wasn't going to play the drums again.

He wasn't..

He was...

He was trapped.

Ringo banged his fists on the door until his knuckles turned bright red and started to bleed. His nails raked the wooden surface.

A shrill cry escaped his lips when he felt George yanked his head backwards.

"You shouldn't have done that, Ritchie."

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