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Route 27

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In the town of Marlborough, CT, there was a single route that was considered strange, compared to other highways in the state. Even during the day, Route 27 remained barren. Not a single car brushed its surface, not once. During the day, during the night - Route 27 stuck out like a sore thumb, compared to the other routes with exits for bustling cars, restaurants, gas stations and stores.

Route 27's entrance was extremely narrow, steep and had random plants acting like a barricade, making it almost impossible drive onto. Yet no one attempted to reach it, as if there was some sort of invisible, magic repellent that kept people away. It worked on animals, too. Not once did I spot a squirrel choking acorns, or a chickadee chirping on the branches. I had known a few people in school who said they were going to drive on to Route 27, but I lost touch with them, never knowing what really happened.

My friends and I one time finally discussed the mysteriousness of Route 27. One of them, named James, suggested we investigate it. Joey, Trey, Mark and I agreed, and the next day, we drove down to the main intersection of routes, and did a quick, abrupt turn, swinging on to the abandon route, #27. After driving down a ways, we reached a fork in the rode. About three minutes of discussing brought us to the decision of heading down the right road. More pine trees and dead trees lined the road side. At one point, power lines began lining the side of the road, too.

Eventually, we reached a sharp turn after minutes of going in a straight line. It took a few moments for the swerve to register in Mark's head, so we almost crashed against a plethora of pine trees while he was being an idiot. As we followed the route further, a cut off ended our adventure. There wasn't a roundabout or anything, just a clean cut off. Right in front of the dead end, there was a narrow strip of field that was about three yards long. In front of that, there was an enormous pine tree that could easily crush anything that collided with it.

Looking around, I once again noticed there was not a single animal in sight. Additionally, this end of the route felt unusually cold, especially surprising because it was July at the time. I listed my complaints and feelings of uneasiness just being at such a secluded area. They all related to me, and we jumped into the car, and began our journey back to civilization. When we reached the fork in the road, I asked Mark if he could pull over so I could stretch, as we had been driving for forty-five minutes straight. I got out, stretched, yawned, took a mighty piss, then got back in the car. Mark attempted to restart the car, but nothing happened.

After minutes of arguing, our final decision was that we'd split up and retrieve help once we reached the end. I automatically claimed the road as my path, so I could have a sense of direction. As we split up, I began to feel frightened, being outside at the current level of darkness. I walked for what seemed like hours, and reached a dead end. I began to panic. I went insane, hoping that I took the wrong way down the road. However, I could tell I had walked towards the entrance because there wasn't that awkward stretch of land beyond the pavement. I fought my way through prickers, pine trees, weeds, grass, vines, you name it. Hours later, I saw a glimmer of street light ahead.

I began sobbing, hoping that I had reached civilization again. I stumbled over a tree stump, but stood back up and sliced through the final layer of dangling vines. As if there were some sort of barrier blocking all outside sounds, the sounds of buses honking, cars whizzing by and police sirens suddenly filling the air answered my question - I had escaped Route 27. I pounded the ground, sobbing tears of joy, knowing I had survived the nerve racking experience. But my happiness was short lived, as I remembered my friends, probably still searching for a way out. I sprinted down to the nearest phone booth, and dialed 9-1-1. I told them where I was, too, as I did not have any money on me for a bus, or a car for a trip back home.

Once they pulled up, and asked me for the full story, I was cut off with a question that practically killed me,

"What is Route 27?"

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