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This was Becky's first attempt to induce my demise. I luckily only just got away from having the machete style
knife my mother for some reason supplied me with driven into my heart. I thought I could relax after that. But I was
quite mistaken.
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Our fight is moved out into the stairway of our building. Will no one hear my cries for help during my struggle
with this relentless, viscious beast of hate?
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