~ Creative Writing ~

Blood

Terror. Disgust.

I don't really know.

It's kind of a toss up when you wake up covered in blood.

Especially when it's someone else's.

It had been a long day at Riverdale college; I had taken a nap, and woken to a dead silent house, covered in what I had first assumed was ketchup... don't judge, you would too - at least, you would if you were living the life of a girl growing up with three older brothers, all dedicating their lives to pranking their little sister instead of getting a job and, more importantly, getting a life - but then the stench had struck my nose, and I had let out a short scream, panicking immediately. I distinctly remember asking myself if I was dreaming. I sort of wish I was.

I didn't know who. I didn't know how, or why, where or when. But I sure as hell knew I was going to find out.

I had found, and I still find, the entire thing kind of amusing. Once I'd cleaned myself up, and changed my bed sheets, I'd announced to my family at the table that evening that someone had committed a hefty crime, and that they must own up or deal with the consequences. As I explained the rather dire situation, I realised how fake it sounded. How out of the ordinary. Of course they didn't believe me, and my eldest brother had spitefully muttered "I told you guys you shouldn't have kept her!" To which he received a stern glare from my father, which clearly said 'we'll talk about this later,' and a loud exclamation of shock from my mother, who had always assured me that, although I was a mistake, she would never have dreamed of giving me up; I'm still not sure what to think of it. All I was able to gather from the conversation was that my family weren't to blame.

I had told my friends on the walk to the bus stop the following morning, and we'd decided to keep it quiet for now, just for safety's sake. We didn't want to make it public to the entirety of Riverdale college, and we certainly didn't want to be on the local Riverdale news. I didn't know whether they were being sarcastic or not. Either way, I agreed.

Yet as I walked through the gates, it was like I was the latest Kim Kardashian walking into a room of journalists, all with their questions posed. I figured that one of my brothers had already spread the information; I internally face palmed as people I had never talked to before bombarded me with questions left right and centre. I stood there in silence, opening and closing my mouth. Then the bell rang, and the crowd fell deadly silent. "You all seem to know more than me." I told them calmly, feeling slightly claustrophobic and a little bit sick. And then I was dragged to class, away from the inquisitive strangers and into reality.