can't go over it, can't go under it, can't go around it
Near isn't Near any more, but he- it- whatever- knows that he has to get out of here. He has to.
His hands are too slippery and weak for the doorknob. He's tried throwing himself against it. He's tried clawing his way through, even.
Nothing. So he's lying in the threshhold of the room, with vicious splinters under his fingernals (and two of them ripped out) and a bullet wound still seeping. Green ooze absolutely everywhere.
Still, pawing feebly at the base of the door. He has to get out.
His hands are too slippery and weak for the doorknob. He's tried throwing himself against it. He's tried clawing his way through, even.
Nothing. So he's lying in the threshhold of the room, with vicious splinters under his fingernals (and two of them ripped out) and a bullet wound still seeping. Green ooze absolutely everywhere.
Still, pawing feebly at the base of the door. He has to get out.