The Last Commandment
As her chest frantically heaved up and down in a screaming attempt to suppress the gripping suffocation that had taken hold of her, she couldn’t help but recite the Ten Commandments to herself. She had never stolen, committed adultery, or coveted her neighbor or his wife. Never had she said the Lord’s name in vain, or worshipped any other gods. She had never killed another human being and had always tried her best not to lie and to go to church—or at least pray—every Sunday. Under the remaining Commandment, however, she was hopelessly flawed. And she saved saying this one for the very last.
She was on her own now, and she knew it. Even her body was aware. Several strands of her thick hair had fallen out in grievance; her intestines burned with acidic anxiety.
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