Shifted [z.m au]

IV. Zayn.

My legs trembled so violently, I fell.. Landed on my knees.

My whole body shuddered. I fought back the nausea that chocked my throat.

Zayn's parents lay dead on the living room carpet. On their backs. Their bodies slashed and ripped. Their clothes cut and soaked with blood. Eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling in wide horror.

And the blood, the puddles, so dark and wide, beneath their cut, twisted bodies like wine-coloured rafts.

Like deep, dark holes in the shaggy white rug.

Zayn's parents. Murdered. Dead on the living room floor.

"Zayn. Zayn. Zayn." I don't know how long I repeated his name.

I don't know how long I remained there at the living room doorway, on my knees, trembling all over, blinking rapidly, staring at the horror.

Staring at the slashed bodies of Zayn's parents. Repeating my boyfriend's name in a low chant. "Zayn. Zayn. Zayn."

I could have been there for only a minute or two. Or it could have been an hour.

"Zayn. Zayn. Zayn."

Waves of red rushed before my eyes. Hot waves of red blood washed over me, blinding me, choking me.

"Zayn. Zayn. Zayn."

Rubbing my eyes, trying to rub away the ugly scene or horror, I struggled to my feet. And staggered to the front door.

"Go to tell Zayn." I murmured out loud.

I couldn't think of anything else. The horror was too fresh, the blood too red.

"Go to tell Zayn."

I stumbled out of the front door. My new body still felt strange. I had to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other.

Zayn and I will have to shifted back now, I realized. We'll have to return to that gray wall in the woods and shifted back.

Poor Zayn. He wanted to try a new life. But now..

Every time I blinked, I saw the dark puddles on the white carpet, saw Zayn's parents face blank, staring eyes. Saw their clothes all cut. All cut.

Somehow I made it to my house. The sun had lowered behind the houses, cooling the air. But I was drenched in sweat.

I must have run the whole way. At least six blocks. I didn't remember running. But I was gasping for air, my chest heaving up and down, as I crossed the street to my house.

Over the front lawn. The grass freshly mowed. Moist blades sticking to my sneakers—Zayn's sneakers—as I can.

Onto the front porch. "Zayn! Zayn!" My voice breathless and shrill as I frantically called his name.

I stopped outside the front door. Stopped to catch my breath. And to think.

How could I tell him what I had seen in his living room? How could I tell him? How?

***

a.n
thanks to the feedback guys!!
short chapter I know, but it just a filler don't worry I'll be updates asap :)