Sammy Haslaw Lawrence The Third

 

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The world is dying to know who Sammy Haslaw Lawrence The Third is, and the truth? Sammy's dying to know too.

    He begged for his heart to start beating. Tears bubbled from the corners of his eyes as he stretched his ears to hear the sound of a passing car, but there was none. The hum of computers and faxes and staplers had disappeared, overlapped by the stunned silence. He was afraid to look up. He knew they were looking at him, all of them. Coworkers slipped through their phones frantically seeing the same headlines he saw on his desktop; Who Is Sammy Haslaw Lawrence The Third? 

The silence was broken by a door closing. As his boss' footsteps neared Sammy leapt up, snatching his satchel and pushing through the office to the staircase before a word could be uttered. He trampled down the stairs, treasuring the sound of their echo. The whole world knew his name, the whole world knew he existed, what else would they soon know?

Bursting through the exit door into the parking lot, he thought it had to be a prank. Impossible, all the radios in the world turned on just to announce his name? His scrawny legs expansed across the lot as he thought himself to be selfish, but then again, how many men out there were named Sammy Haslaw Lawrence The Third? He stopped short of his car; a group of men stood by looking at their phones. They looked up and saw him, but not just him, they saw Sammy Haslaw Lawrence The Third. Sammy turned and bolted. He ran down the streets, he had to go home. Could he go home? this was an otherworldly phenomenon, people would be investigating. As he ran down the streets, the stopped cars and the people turned their heads to look at him, as if they all knew who he was. He ran faster, scared if they looked any longer, they might learn more than just his name. 

He fumbled his keys into the lock of his apartment and crushed into the living room. He slammed the door and locked all six bolts. He still felt eyes on him. He turned, pressing his back to the door he slid to the ground. Running his hands through his greasy black hair, his sunken eyes darted back and forth between the couch and lazy-boy. His twelve year old brother sat in the lazy-boy, looking down at him, blue with the lack of oxygen, betrayal and disgust in his eyes. To his left on the couch, Delaney Marcus, Sammy's ex-girlfriend. Beautiful, so beautiful! and fragile and kind, but beneath her smooth skin he could see the bruises and the torn skin and the blood and bone and the disfigured face and splayed scalp. They had done this. They had let the world know of his existence. He wouldn't be able to hide any more. He wouldn't be able to hide what he did. He pressed his face to the ground and sobbed, rocking back and forth as the ghosts of his affliction satisfied themselves in his imminent destruction. 

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