I'm going to die.

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Okay, chill. It's not that bad.

The hell are you talking about, not that bad?! You're tied up, and duck taped in the trunk of a car, headed god knows where, for god knows what.

Oh my glow up they're gonna' kill me!

I'm going to die.

Who's going to feed Metamorphoses? That dog is my baby! He'll die if he doesn't eat 8 meals a day.

Bitch.......... You're going up die regardless.

You right conscious, you right.

Instead of fighting with myself I focused on getting out of my bonds. The silver duck tape gleamed as the sunlight from the trunk cracks peered in.

I started licking around my mouth until it was moist enough for me to rip it off with my duck taped hands without giving myself a mustache wax.

I don't have a mustache.

Once the tape was off my mouth, I transformed into a rabid monkey, biting and tearing at the tape wrapped securely around my wrists. I chewed the foul stuff until my hands were free.

Tastes worse than licking an envelope.

I quickly used my hands to try and unravel the tape from my ankles.

What's up with bloods and duck tape?

I scratched at the metallic paper until I had worn it down enough to tear it. I kicked my stiff legs and shook out my aching arms.

Well shit. Now what?

Get the hell out!

I felt the car slow down considerably and the engine cut off.

Well shit. Too late!

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