Cold

There was blood all over his skull and all over my hands, on the sidewalk, on my blue skirt. I was screaming at him to stay with me. I couldn't understand why he would do this to himself. The ambulance should be on it's way. His eyes looked cold. When I closed my eyes I could see my tears washing away all the blood, washing him away, washing everything away. In a giant blue river, rushing all around me, drowning me.

I opened my eyes and he was gone. All that was left was the blood on my skirt and his skin underneath my fingernails.

Looks like he didn't do this to himself after all.

Smashing his head against the pavement wasn't difficult. My hands gripping his head, the dull thud each time until finally there was a crack.

I knew no one would find him.

He was gone, along with all of my tears.

The Dead

A group of friends and I went to the cemetery to look at a supposed 'haunted' grave. I know. I'm 20 years old and I'm doing something that sounds that immature? Well, the experience was a lot different for my friends than it was for me.

The Moritz grave isn't really haunted. In fact, he's not even buried there, he's buried in Germany. There's just a memorial placed there because he founded the Salt Lake Brewing Company. But I'll give em props....the memorial is way creepy looking.

It didn't stop everyone else from telling ghost stories, giggling and getting a little scared, but not wanting to show it.

I sat down on the curb of the cemetery. It was a really nice night. Cool, but not cold. Collin was saying something about how creepy it would be to sleep in a cemetery. I didn't think so at all. The sound of the sprinklers was calming, the grass was green, the trees were huge and really beautiful. The fact that I was sitting among the dead didn't creep me out at all.

It was the fact that when I close my eyes and dream, I dream of chopping up bodies and putting them in graves just like the ones I was sitting by.

It creeps me out that when I close my eyes and drift to sleep, I turn into a different person. I wouldn't even call myself a person. I turn into a monster. I feel like I never really sleep. Sleep doesn't happen. I just close my eyes and live a second life, a violent life, a horrifying life.

When I wake up, I wake up with thoughts of death fresh in my mind, I can still smell the blood. Sometimes it makes me feel uneasy, sometimes I get sick just thinking about it. Other times my mind reels with excitement for a new story to write.

When I'm out with my friends, they don't really know. I feel normal around them. A feeling I sometimes crave, but mostly detest. I laugh at all the jokes. Not a forced laugh, for God's sakes I do have a sense of humor. I smile a lot, and I'll be honest, I'm a fun person to be around. At least I think so, anyways. That's what everyone tells me. Just by looking at me, you would never know that my nights are more haunted than any gravestone in the cemetery.

It's not always the nights. I'll see shadows in the daytime. Things that aren't really there. That's when I really start to question my sanity, and I start to wonder if there is something wrong with me. If there's something inside my head, making me see these things. Making me dream these things.

My mom came upstairs, asked me if I had been up all night. When I said I was, she said, "Becki, you're not gonna be able to sleep if you're sitting up staring at the computer all night."
My reply was, "I'm not going to be able to sleep anyways."
But she just shrugged it off. My family is used to my horrible sleep habits. I stay up, stay awake for as long as possible until I feel the drowsiness take over my whole body. And that's when I slip into the darkness and my mind plays games with me.

Not every night. I think I have nightmares more often than I remember. Some days when I wake up from sleep, I don't remember a single thing. But there's still that horrible feeling that I cannot shake.

The hard part is wondering if I'll ever have someone accept me for everything I am. Monster and all.

I highly doubt it though.

One

Had another nightmare and wrote story. Ready for some fucked up shit?

"I love this song, don't you?" I commented casually as I inserted two small hooks into his scalp.

I'll admit, for being and angel I don't have the easiest or cleanest job. But someone has got to do it.

I wiped my bloodied hands on my apron and tugged open a drawer to pull out more hooks. The man strapped to the chair started to babble and beg. I turned up the stereo to drown out his cries. I bobbed my head to the heavy drums of the death metal song while I pierced the thin skin on his head again. I smiled when I thought of the irony: listening to death metal while I killed this disgusting excuse of a man.

I strapped a plastic ring around his head, just above his eyebrows. The ring would prevent any blood from running into his eyes. When I studied his face, I saw his eyes dart from side to side, unable to focus on one thing. His pupils were dilated with fear and his eyelids trembled.

I had the crank timed to pull on his scalp every two minutes until it would finally rip from his skull. The whole process would take about six to eight minutes, so I had time to kill. (No pun intended.)

I grabbed a stool and sat facing him. "You know," I began as I lit a cigarette, "I don't know hwy you insist on begging and crying. Asking for mercy-"
The crank pulled slightly, stretching the skin around his head and he cried out. The crank locked in place and wouldn't pull again for another two minutes.
I took another drag from the cigarette and let the nicotine burn my throat. "You never gave any of those girls mercy when you raped them. Honestly, I'm doing you a favor by not letting you live. You won't have to live with the guilt anymore."
The crank started up again and pulled. The pierced skin around the hooks started to tear slightly.

Hmmmm....

I let the cigarette hang out of my mouth as I paused the crank machine. I picked up my scalpel and made a surface incision around his head. We wanted the crank to pull his whole scalp off, not just put tears in his skin. I turned the crank back on.

"There we are!" I said satisfied, taking another drag from my cigarette.

His fists clenched and unclenched. Struggling wouldn't do him any good. He was strapped in good.

"As I was saying. About guilt. Living with guilt is like your own personal hell. By doing this, I'm just sending you to real hell."
Click-click. The crank pulled more, stretching his skin almost to the breaking point. Drops of blood dripped from the cut around his head, being pulled apart slowly.

I put out my cigarette and sat staring at the man. I never worried about being caught or sent to jail. The people I killed wouldn't be missed. In fact, many people would thank me for what I'm doing. It's very humbling, doing the world a favor and not being recognized for it, not asking for anything in return. God continued to bless and provide for me. I didn't need anything else.

Besides, female "killers" aren't common.

Some people would call me a murderer, but I'm not. God made it very clear why he sent me to the earth. To bring justice to this world. And boy, do I have my work cut out for me.

The crank clicked once more and his skin gave way, making a sickening tearing sound as his scalp ripped from his grayish skull. His high-pitched scream bounced off the walls and I wondered if it sounded similar to the screams of the women he raped. What a sick man.

He started to say something and I turned down the volume on the stereo to hear him. "Please. Please, just let me go. I swear I will never touch a woman again. Just please, let me go. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The blood ran down the sides of his head, pooling on the seat cover.

"Luckily for you, " I began while I stood to turn off the crank, "We serve a forgiving God. Maybe he will forgive you of your sick crimes. But that's not up to me." I took off my rubber gloves and my apron. "I hate to leave you like this, but I have a hot date to get ready for. I'll be back later tonight to finish this up."

I left the room and headed for the bathroom to wash up. I really didn't like leaving him there, job undone. But he would meet his fate soon enough.

I had a date with a cop, funny enough. He's charming and funny, a good man from what I could tell. The second date is my favorite part of a budding relationship.
We'll see how this goes.

Knives

I sat in the chair crying with my hands in my lap.

Jake walked up to me with a knife and didn't say a word, just stuck it hard into my side. I cried out and more tears flowed as he pulled a chunk of flesh away from my ribs and walked away.

Steven was next. He kissed my forehead with his lying lips and sliced some skin from my soft thigh. I could feel the fire burn in my leg and rush up to my eyes, causing more tears to fall.

An older man walked over. I didn't even remember his name. But I remembered the weekend I had tried so hard to forget. I remembered his rotten breath, his rough and forceful hands, my naked body lying in the bathtub, shaking and throwing up. He walked over and grinned, showing his crooked nasty teeth. He was rotten to the core and just seeing his face made me queasy. He ran his knife along the side of my neck, his hot rancid breath in my face. He put the knife against my breast and sliced it off. I screamed.

They kept coming with their knives, their smiles, their lies.

I was no longer whole, just pieces of me left, sitting in the chair.

And then he finally walked up to me. I smiled, thinking I was saved, that he would piece me back together, that he would kiss my scars away. He called me by my nickname and I smiled. "I love you, Mary Jane."

I turned my bleeding face towards him, hoping he would think I was beautiful even with all these wounds. He stroked my cheek, then shoved a knife deep into my chest.

I choked on my shock, choked on my heart, and I couldn't even form tears.

His wicked smile burned into my eyes and he threw the knife to the side before walking away.

Leaving me broken and bleeding in this broken chair.

And I woke up.

Had a pretty rough nap when I had this nightmare.

Blood Makes Me Nauseated

[[ready for this fucking insane story?]]

The zombies had pretty much taken over town. There weren't very many people left, at least not in this state. It was my little sister, my mom, and me. We stuck together as a group and fended for ourselves pretty well.

My sister Lizzie and I had gone to the store to see if we could find any food. Even crappy canned pork and beans would be better than nothing. Surprisingly, the grocery store was empty. No zombies hiding in the grocery store? Well you've all seen zombie movies. There's always at least one. But it looks pretty deserted. I keep my crossbow near me though, just in case. Yes, a crossbow. Don't judge, I can't use a gun and a blunt object would be too risky. You do what you gotta do. It smells like stale air as Lizzie and I quickly grab what's left of the food off of the counters. I feel responsible for her, I feel that I have to protect her. It's a dangerous feeling, I don't want to have to shoot her in the head if she gets bit. I already lost three other people in my family and I think I might be hanging onto my little sister a little too much.

When we have what we need packed in our backpacks, we move for the door, but there's a little girl standing in front of it. She's bleeding from her mouth. God damn, I fucking hate killing children zombies, I always feel guilty. A weird gurgling noise is coming from her blood smeared lips and I raise my crossbow and in just a millisecond, the little girl is on the floor and we no longer have to worry about her.

When I look over at Lizzie I almost giggle. She had a jar of pickles raised over her head as a weapon against the little girl.
"Pickles, Lizzie? Really?"
She lowers the huge jar of pickles and says, "You never know. Maybe one of these days you miss and I'm going to have to save your butt with a jar of pickles. Don't hate."
When we both smile I think for a moment how nice it is to smile even in such an ugly world. It makes me feel good to know there's always something to smile about.

We walk only a block away to the church where we're staying at temporarily, until we figure out our mode of transportation. We don't know where we'll go, but we need to keep searching for supplies and food if we want to stay alive.

When I go through the heavy church doors, I know something is off. Something is wrong. My throat is aching to yell for my mom, but I bite my lip. If one of those brain mongers are in here, or more, I don't want to attract too much attention to myself. I signal to Lizzie to keep quiet and slowly move forward in the church foyer. I turn to one of the couches to see my mom sitting on the couch. She looks pretty calm but slightly worried, so I lower my crossbow and move to her side.
"Mom, you-?"
She doesn't let me finish when she snatches my arm and sinks her teeth into my wrist. I start screaming and I hear footsteps behind me. I'm doomed, I know I am. I can hear more zombies approaching from behind, but I'm surprised when a knife is buried in my mother's forehead and she drops my arm. I scramble away from her and look behind me to see Lizzie looking terrified at what she'd just done. My arm won't stop bleeding and I clutch it, screaming.

Lizzie's voice is far away and I try to focus on her face but all I see is her halo of hair and everything is moving, the whole earth beneath me is shaking. I roll to my side and empty stomach acids and blood onto the carpet. No. No no no no no, I can't leave Lizzie. I can't turn into them. This can't happen.

I roll onto my back and focus slightly on Lizzie's face. She has my crossbow in her hands and I want to ask her to kill me, but when I open my mouth, the only thing that comes out is blood. I plead with her with my eyes and it's almost in slow motion when she raises the crossbow, pointed straight at my forehead.

I can't believe it. I'm about to die. And I'm instantly terrified that there won't be anywhere I go when I'm dead with an arrow in my head. Lizzie whispers something that I can't hear. There's no pain, just black and I know that I'm dead.

To my relief, I'm dead, but I haven't ceased to exist.
And know that everything is always not so bad.

Author's note:
(bahaha)
So I changed up what really happened in my dream. My dream is more humorous and fucked up. In a weird way. It had a different ending. After my mom bit me, she bit Lizzie too. And I was so repulsed that I would be eating human flesh as means to stay 'alive', that I started throwing up all over the other zombies. hahaha and they were pissed about it! Weird, right?

Bird Repellent

I can't believe Home Depot can get away with killing birds. So I'm at work. Setting up my good ol' hot dog stand. And I notice there's something sticky on the electrical cord. Like...really sticky. Grooossss. It's like a glue that never dries. And that damn shit won't come off my hands unless I use forty million ounces of fucking soap.

Then Treyson walks up to me and asks if he can use my sink. He's got that same sticky shit all over his hands.
"It's bird repellent."
The Home Depot People spry it in the rafters so the birds won't nest there. The bird repellent had dripped down and gotten on my cord. It got on one of the carts and that's how Treyson got it on his hands.

But here's the fucked up part: The bird repellent doesn't 'repel' birds. It fucking kills them! Yup. Wonderful, right?
When the birds land on the rafters, their feet get stuck together. Their feathers get stuck together. They can't fly and can't hardly move, so they just fall over and die. Isn't that awful? I'm officially angry with Home Depot.

The other day I saw a bird hopping around the parking lot trying to fly, but it couldn't. I almost cried. :(

I almost died

Kind of.

But before I get into the story...
check out my steezy mustache!!!

So anyways. I went to Lagoon again yesterday with a bunch of friends. I love rollercoasters. I love pretty much every single ride at Lagoon. Except for the Rocket. SCREW THAT RIDE. It is so friggin awful. It's a ride that you sit in a seat with your feet dangling over the ground and a restraint comes down over your head and securely sits on your chest. Here's a picture of my friends about to go on it.

See? They look happy and not worried at all. The ride shoots you straight up and then back down for a fantastic thrill. It's the Blast Off version of The Rocket. Re-Entry, on the other hand, takes you up slowly to the very top, stops you at the top and waits about seven seconds before dropping you to the bottom when you don't really expect it.

Blast off, I can handle.

But Re-Entry totally fucks with my mind.

I went on Blast Off and I totally enjoyed myself. It freaked me out a little bit, but it was fun.
At the end of the day, before the park was going to close, we had time to go on one more ride. Eric yelled, "THE ROCKET! ROCKET ROCKET ROCKET!" I go, "Umm...how about we just go on the Jet Star?" But no. Everyone wants to go on the Rocket again. Except for me. I don't wanna be a total boner and sit it out. It's the last ride of the day, big deal. "Okay fine, the Rocket. But if I die, you are all gonna feel so guilty."
Eric laughs and says, "Don't worry. Nobody's died on it today. But if you do die, can I have all your money?"
Har har har.

And off to the Rocket we go.
But you know what?
IT'S A BAD FUCKING IDEA.

I was assigned seat number six and Jerry was assigned seat number five, so he was sitting right next to me. We sit in our seats and I reach up to lock my restraint in place and it stayed for about thirty seconds before popping back up, before the ride was supposed to go off. I start freaking out, slamming the restraint against my body and I consider leaping out of the seat so I don't friggin die. Finally the restraint locked in place. You'd think I'd feel relieved. Instead, I'm a little freaked out. I'm stuck. I'm stuck on this ride. I can't go anywhere. And what if the mother fucking restraint pops up again while I'm at the top or while the ride is in motion?! I'll go flying out of the seat and die. Well, I don't want to die today. I hear the people in the booth say over the intercom, "Re-check seat number 6."

OH. FUCK. NO.

I start screaming.
"NO FUCKING WAY! NO! NOOOOO! FUCK FUCK! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!"

The employee comes over and re-checks my seat and says, "You should be fine. We had some problems with this seat earlier but it seems to be working."

I stare at him dumbfounded, I can't even say anything. Are you fucking retarded?! Problems with the seat? Get me off this god damn ride.

But he's already back to his station, turns the key in the box and the ride starts slowly moving up. Jerry's laughing at me at this point. "Becki, you'll be fine, really."

"No! Oh my god oh my god oh my god!" I close my eyes so I don't have to think about how high I am above the ground or the fact that my restraint popped up when it wasn't supposed to, or how they re-checked my seat. My stomach is doing flops continuously and when it reached the top it stops. The seconds are too long. I'm screaming again. "No! No no no no no. Oh my god, please no."

And FWOOSH.

The ride drops. The restraint holds, but I completely lose all control. I start crying, my head swims and I scream the most blood-curdling scream anyone has ever heard.

The ride comes to a stop at the bottom and I can't stop shaking. I quickly wipe my eyes because I'm embarrassed that I was crying. I'm trying to compose myself, but my legs are jelly and standing feels like it's even more dangerous than the ride was. The restraints pop up, this time because they're supposed to. And I stare at my feet trying to focus on my breathing and holding back tears.

Someone asks, "Are you okay?"

I think to myself, 'God damn it, Becki compose yourself! You're alive and on the ground for Christ's sakes.' I stand up and manage a shaky smile at Jerry and say, "Oh I'm good. Great. That was fun!"

The employee comes over. "Sorry if I scared you. We were just messing with you, there's nothing wrong with the ride."

I try my best to do a convincing laugh and say, "Oh no, dude it's cool haha!"
But Adrianna doesn't help at all when she says, "Oh no! Were you crying?! You made her cry!" No. Don't embarrass me like that. Becki doesn't cry on rides, I'm not a sissy la la! Fuck that! "No, I wasn't crying! Geez! Haha it was fun. Thanks for letting us ride!" And then I book it to the exit, hoping I don't barf in the first garbage can I see.


I'm never going on that ride. Ever. Again.

Restaurant

My Dreams Are Fucking BRUTAL.

I looked at the street sign and sighed. I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere because I got off at the wrong bus stop and I don't have enough money to catch the next one. I looked at the gas station/restaurant and figured it was my only hope. Maybe someone in there would at least lend me fifty cents so I could use the pay phone to call for a ride.

I walked across the empty parking lot towards the restaurant. There was a young man wearing an apron that was just about to enter the restaurant.

"Hey! Excuse me!" I approached him and he turned around. I was surprised at what I saw. His eyes were sunken in and his blue eyes were so pale he had a ghost-like look about him. "Um...hi. Do you have fifty cents? You work here right?"

He looked uneasily towards the doors and nodded his head. "Yeah. Come on inside."
I followed him inside and immediately regretted my decision. It was dimly lit, and along the walls there were booths like any normal restaurant. Only this had children and young teenagers chained to the tables. Many of them had cuts and bruises and vacant eyes.

I turned to run from the evil place, but the young man grabbed my arm and whispered urgently in my ear, "If you want to live, put on an apron," and he shoved a blood stained apron into my arms.

Just as I slipped the ratted cloth over my head, a very large older man walked between the booths toward us. I froze, staring wide eyed at him. He was undoubtedly the largest man I had seen in my life. He was about seven feet tall with bulging muscles and angry eyes that warned everyone not to cross him.

He said nothing to me, just slapped me hard across the face. The blow was so hard that I fell to the floor, my whole head ringing. He then turned to the young man and said, "The dishes need to be done."

The young man helped me off the floor and led me to the kitchen in the back. I looked for a back door but didn't see one. I shook my head, trying to get the ringing to stop. "Who are you? What is this?"

The young man didn't even look at me. He just went to the sink of blood stained dishes. A cockroach crawled over my foot and I gagged, almost throwing up in the sink full of blood. He finally answered, "I don't know much. Nobody leaves here and if you do, he'll just find you. If he catches you in the act, he kills you on the spot." he paused then motioned for me to help wash. I started to rinse the stained dishes.

"What's your name?"

"Sam," he answered.

"I'll get us out of here." I whispered the last sentence really quietly, just in case. I was racking my brain for ideas when He entered the kitchen.

He punched Sam hard in the stomach. I jumped then backed away. Sam started to yell as he was being dragged out of the kitchen by his hair. My brain snapped and I ran after him.

"No! Stop!" I grabbed His burly arm with my hands, "Don't take him! Just kill me!" I'd said it before I knew what I was thinking and once the words were out of my mouth I became ten times more scared. Kill me? I don't wanna die! What the hell am I thinking?!

He dropped Sam and grabbed me instead, hauling me easily towards the entrance of the restaurant. I bit my lip so hard it started to bleed and I tried to keep from whimpering. He sat me down right next to the entrance, but chained my legs to the nearest table. If anything I'd only be able to stick my head out the door. Maybe cry out to a passing car for help? No, he'd kill me before anyone could even hear me.

Sam started to yell hysterically. I couldn't stand, couldn't see Sam. All I could see were the rows of children and teenagers, some of them crying, some of them just staring. Both Sam and the burly man came into my view again, between the booths. Sam was yelling at him. "I'm going to tell everyone what you're doing! What you're doing to all these innocent children! You're sick! You're fucking sick!" Sam started to run towards the entrance, towards me.

The man grabbed Sam by the throat and made him look into his eyes. "These aren't fucking children!" The man spit in his face and then pulled a knife out of his pocket, flicking it open with one hand. With his other hand still firmly around Sam's neck, the man reached over a booth and sliced open a young girl's neck, blood pouring down her neck. I could hear a disturbing gurgling sound and scooted as close to the wall as possible, trying to disappear. He threw Sam down on the ground and then moved down the rows of booths. He cut every single child and teenager's throat and Sam scrambled towards me. I could smell the bitter coppery smell of blood, heavy in the air. He finally approached both of us.

He pulled Sam away from me and pinned his forehead to the ground with the palm of his hand. With the knife he made quick, thin cuts across his face and down his neck. Then taking the knife he carefully and slowly started to pierce Sam's eye.

I closed my eyes and screamed.

Then I woke up.

I never want to go to a restaurant I've never been to now. FUUUCK THAT SHIT. This is still kind of a draft. I'm probably going to write a better story about it. I had to write this in only about an hour which is really hard for me! When I write it takes me about three hours. Haha! So yeah. This freaked me out. Jussayin.
TTFN. ♥

Having a Writer's Block.
This is all I have so far:

She didn't look like my sister, lying so lifeless in the coffin. My little sister always had rosy cheeks, I remembered her that way. It was weird. It didn't feel like she was really dead. And that was not her in the coffin. I mean, it was of course, but when I looked down at that empty body it didn't seem like my sister was really dead. They made her look really good considering she'd been stabbed in the chest five times and once in the throat. My mother stood next to me sobbing, but I couldn't seem to find any tears. Sure, I was sad. Devastated, actually. But I was still in shock of it all.

I was the only one who knew who her killer was.

The cops couldn't find him anywhere. Should I take things into my own hands? Probably not. I'd probably end up dead. The last thing my mom needs is two dead daughters.

Dreaming of Screaming

It was late at night, I was sitting on the couch reading a good mystery when something unexpected happened. A stranger walked right through my front door. I was too surprised at first to do anything and then the fear struck when I saw the look on his face. He was angry...crazy angry. His rotted teeth put goosebumps on my arms and I froze, unsure of what to do. My eyes spotted the silver gun in his hand and my mouth grew hot, as if I was going to vomit. He pointed the gun at me.
"Don't make a sound," he commanded me quietly.
I nodded once, but then Lizzie my little sister walked in the room behind him. He heard her enter, whirled around, and shot her twice in the chest. She fell back and onto the ground. I heard screaming and then I realized it was my own voice. Shew was dying. I started to run to her, but the man slammed me against the wall. He shoved the gun in my mouth and tears started to fall down my cheeks and onto the cold metal. I wasn't just facing death. I was swallowing it.

My dreams don't come as often, thank goodness. This last dream was actually quit graphic, so I left out some of the dirty details.

I'm so confused.
I'm so worried.
I'm so emotional.


I will figure out what it is I need to do with myself.
But I am so scared to fix my life.
I'm a project.
Nobody should want to date a project anyways.

Do You Remember Your Dreams?

I've figured out that bowling is not my forte. I suck at it.

I was going to write about me being a sexy killer mermaid, remember?
Well plans have changed. I had a dream that I find much more interesting, so I thought I might share again.

I was in the basement of some giant mansion. It was supposed to be like, this maze theme park type thing. I thought it was pretty interesting, wasn't having the time of my life, but it was definitely interesting. Then I found Adrianna's body. Or parts of it, anyways. I found her torso, her legs had been completely cut off, along with one of her arms. I bit my lip to keep from screaming, but when I started backing away I stumbled over more bodies and limbs. Vacant eyes, the floor slippery with blood. I pulled my phone out of my pocket while moving away from the bodies, fumbling and shaking. I could smell the bodies and I gagged, trying not to vomit as I dialed the number. Danny wasn't in the basement and I needed to warn him. I needed to tell him to get the fuck out. When he answered I found that I couldn't even talk. I was too busy crying and to my surprise whimpering. All of a sudden Danny was standing right in front of me. He held my shoulders gently and asked me what was wrong and what happened. All I could do was point to the doorway and we went back into that dreadful room full of death. I was so scared. I just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. But I just couldn't move. Danny kept his wits about him and grabbed my arm, leading me towards the stairs, headed for the first exit we could find. But they saw us. They wore plain white masks stained with spots of blood. We ran with Danny leading the way, I could hardly see because I was crying so hard. Their footsteps behind us got louder and louder and I knew they were gaining on us. We just couldn't seem to run fast enough. Through hallways, through rooms with more bodies and limbs, until we finally found a window. I sheltered my face as we leaped through the glass. We fell on the grass and before we could get up, one of them was standing over us. He held some sort of weird knife.
"What do you want? Who are you?"
He said nothing, just held the huge knife over us. That's when I saw the bracelet he wore, the one I'd made for one of my friends long ago. At first I thought maybe this sick creep had killed my friend, but then I recognized his eyes. I immediately knew it was that same friend. I don't know where I found my strength, but I pushed his arm away so the knife flew out of his hand, I flew to my feet, and ripped his mask off. Sure enough, it was my good friend. I took his face in my hands and looked into his cold blue eyes. "Sam?" I wanted to find a spark of life in his eyes, a spark of some kind that told me he still cared, that there was still hope for him. There was a searing pain on the side of my head and I cried out and clutched my ear....or where my ear used to be. He'd cut off my right ear. Blood ran down my neck and then I cried out when the knife was embedded in my left thigh. I fell to the ground screaming and crying. Danny lay in the grass unconscious. I knew we had failed. Sam stood over me, gripping the knife so hard that his knuckles were white. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again...I was awake.