Isaiah

I saw them come into the light, then become silhouettes again, their smiling faces, gleaming knives, and needles pushing my adrenaline to the max.

I ran past alcoves full of stacked, rotting corpses, but I couldn't stop.

I couldn't think of anything but escape.

Again, the flippantness that just children's bodies are inserted into the story just literally piled up in the sewers.

It's a classic.

It's a classic trope.

Oh, man.

I turned a corner and found myself facing the metal rungs of a ladder in the wall.

I climbed until my head smacked the ceiling.

Below me, the shadows and laughter grew closer.

Their footsteps slowed.

They were close, and they knew it.

I pushed at the ceiling above me, heaving upward and panting and screaming.

The clowns were below me, laughing and waving their scalpels.

Something cut my leg.

I screamed and pushed one last time.

The ceiling gave way as the manhole cover slammed onto an asphalt above.

A circular opening.

I climbed out and frantically pushed the cover back over the hole, blocking out the laughter of the clown nurses below.

I lay there on top of the manhole cover for a few minutes as I caught my breath.