as reply to notebooks

George remained frozen in his chair for another 15 minutes breathing heavily, sweating, and shaking. He couldn't get himself to understand what had just happened. The man who walked out, was it real? It was the first time in his life that he received a death threat. It felt so surreal that it made him feel alive. Every single second that passed now pressed him with its weight like the ticking of a time bomb that could go off anytime. With a faint voice, he uttered: 
"I don't want to die..." and then again. "I don't want to die..." Why me.., "I don't want to die."
Heavy tears suddenly ran down his cheeks and crashed on the table like raindrops. "I don't want to die..."

That night George couldn't go to bed. He walked through his large apartment, from the kitchen to the bathroom, traversing the living room; and looking over the window every once in a while. He could see cars passing, other cars parked across the street, people, going in and out of his building, strangers, and all this made him feel uneasy. He checked the door, locked it, unlocked it, and then locked it again. It was useless. The killer had the key. The apartment he was so fond of until a few hours ago was now the object of his eventual death sentence.

He stood motionless with lights off in the living room, looking at the open balcony door where the plants were glowing, reflecting the street lights. He fell to his knees and screamed from the bottom of his lungs: AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!! Then crawled onto the couch and fell asleep.

It must've been 4 AM, after hours of rumination and walking kilometers from the kitchen to the bathroom door, replaying over and over again in his mind the menacing words of his tormentor.

He woke up the following day on the couch. The sun was shining strong, and the street noise was unusually loud. He could hear people talking, the car engines roaring, accelerating, the noise of the tramway passing over the old metal bridge, and even the bell of the bakery downstairs that rang every time someone walked in.

He swiftly got off the couch and walked straight to the kitchen. He saw the three notebooks left on the table from the corner of his eye while filling up a two-liter bottle of water. He closed the faucet slowly while taking a deep breath, walked back into the living room, then onto the balcony, and began to water the plants carefully, looking attentively at each.

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