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plotter's field

Dewey stared at the clock, for at least the hundredth time in that same 10 minutes.
1 minute?? how could it have only been one minute??
Dewey’s restlessly turned over and over again praying for sleep to come. The red dials on the clock screamed 2:38 am. He stared in disbalief as his anxious body quickly roused to a solution.
Dewey threw bakc his covers and slowly crawled to his bedroom door, slowly, he perched it open, just a tiny crack. He stared down the dark, long hallway to mrs. s’ room. The light under the door was off, he let out a slow breath.
Dewey started to crack the door open slightly farther….
“caaarrraack!” Dewey winced as the sound escaped the old door frame. He slipped quiet out of the open space, and into the dense hallway.
Dewey sneeked up to mrs. s’ room and cautiously put his ear to the door, her loud obnoxious snoring set the growing fear inside of him astray.
Now, he had planning to do, planning that could only occur in the dead of night… literally.

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