Many days—almost two weeks—have passed since I made the biggest mistake of my life. Too late now to make amends. They're already closing in on me.

 

I crouch, my eyes peering over the kitchen counter, watching my garden through the window as the dusk settles. The only thing worse than seeing them is not seeing them.

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A few slices of sunlight remain. I hope to catch a glint—a reflection of a carelessly exposed stethoscope or—

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I swallow.

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—a scalpel.

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I draw the curtains. I lock the door.

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What else can I do?

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Right now, I bet dozens of vicious, rabid general practitioners are scaling my wall, eager to dissect me...

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It's been almost two weeks since my last apple. The biggest and last mistake of my life.

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They're coming!