Writers Forest[Editing]

•~6~•

When your dreaming
with a broken heart
and waking up is
the hardest part

Standing there in complete shock, I stare at the men in front of me.

Bodies lying lifeless as bullet holes with oozing blood decorate their bodies.

I turn my head up to look at her, then at the guns that are comfortably held in her hands.

She did this...

"Layla..." I breath in shock. " you killed them."

"That was kind of my intention, Kevy." She says as she laughs coldly. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

'She acts as if she just took a cookie from her little brother.' I stare in disbelief as I try to process what just happened.

"How did you....?" I trail off in a whisper of utter shock.

Her laugh is like cold, cold like think venom that slowly flows through the veins of its victim.

"Easy, I simply just aimed and pulled the trigger." Sarcasm  lacing her tone as she starts to laugh uncontrollably.

Slowly I back away and turn on my heals as run as fast as I can.

'My twelve year old best friend is a murderer!' I think to myself.

I could feel her eyes burn holes into my back as I ran for my life. Holes deeper than the bullet holes decorating those lifeless bodies.

My face burning up as tears pool in my eyes and start to fall down my face.

I got home and climbed the vines that clung onto the sides of my house.

I jump into my window and run straight to my bathroom and lock the door behind me.

I start to take off the cloths I was wearing, covered in thick blood.

Their blood...

Images of the bullets piercing into their flesh, from head to toe play across my mind.

Their bodies falling to the floor as they saw life for the last time.

One by one, they fell.

I started scrubbing the splattered blood off of my face with ice cold water.

I scrub harder and harder until my face is burning red. Stinging from the intense scrubbing.

"I don't want to be here any more!" I scream in anger- I scream in fear.

I was scared.

How could I tell my parents what happened.

I couldn't...
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Fighting my thoughts I force myself to wake up.

As I come out of my dream, images of her burst into my head.

Clutching the gun in her hand as blood splats across her face and clothing.

As I start to slip out of my dream, nightmare, memory or whatever that was, my mind floods with questions.

Why is she here?

Why am I here?

The only answer I can't provide myself with; I don't know.

'But what I do know is that I am going to figure this out...'

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