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Had a home in Sayville. Beautiful mahogany wood floors. LED display on my flat screen TV. I think I had everything I wanted in a home. Then there was scurrying. There was manic footprints on the floor, and no one knew where they were coming from. I made a dinner. Similar to Thanksgiving only it was me, my fiancee, and my son. My son complained about hearing noises. I went into his room which was huge — like a Cross-fit gym with books, and stuffed animals, and boxes of board games and a white furry object ambled up to his feet. I kicked it out of the way. I was scared, I was being protective. I didn’t know what it wanted. It came back as if I had thrown him a ball and he wanted to return it to my feet. This furry mix of gerbil. Or, a rat. But bumps all over it. As though it were pregnant on it’s sides, and it’s back — big pregnant lumps covering it’s furry frame. My son asked if we could keep him. I said no. Then there were hundreds, and they had children. They grew in size. They now looked like dogs with lazy faces and untrusting grins. I had to kill them to get them out of the house. That’s what someone told me. I couldn’t kill them. i didn’t want them there, but I wasn’t going to kill them. I took their faces in my hands and they were soft and loyal like any faithful canine. But they pulled away from my hand when I looked too close. They stood by each other. Hinting toward a conglomerate. A union. A gang. I was afraid for my family. I didn’t want to be in Sayville, anymore. I was angry at having to leave my home.

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