The house that I was found in front of, it was there, on the television screen; it was ominious with darkness looming around every corner. The reporter, which was a woman, looked uneasy as she stood in front of the massive structure. The camera panned to the willow tree in the front yard, a note was pinned to the tree with a knife, a butchers knife. I focused on the letter, interest written over my features as the camera focused, the blurryness faded. My features contorted into an expression of pure dread and horror, my hand trembled and my vision became blurry with tears, as the droplets fell from my face they began to soak my hospital gown.
I began to scream, crying, shouting words that could barley be recognized as nurses and police officers rushed in the room, the officers asked what was wrong as the nurses grabbed my arms trying to hold them down as I tried throwing things at anything that moved. The atmosphere in the room seemed to grow darker as my screams increased, images of the blood, gore and the murderer's eerie mask flashed through my mind as I ripped the needles chords from my body that had been hooked up to the machines.
Then I felt a sharp pain in my arm, the room began to spin getting worse every passing second, and then, black, darknesss.
I woke up around two hours later with a throbbing headache, my arms and legs were tied down to the bed by restraints, the pain in my heart never seemed to cease with the minutes ticking by soon fading into hours. 'where is everyone?' My thoughts seemed to have been heard as a nurse then walked into the room with an IV fluid pouch. She didn't seem to notice I was awake yet, maybe it was best that she didn't know, considering the moment eveyone knew I was awake I would be flooded with questions, questions that expected to have logical answers to them. A single tear slipped from my eye, a single tear that held every hope I had of ever having a normal life again. For him this was all just a game of cat and mouse, he was the cat and I, I was the mouse. My sorrowful expression subsided and was replaced with a sickly sweet smile, one that did by no means fit the usual platonic expression that I once wore. This game, would soon have the tables turned, for I am no longer who I once was, but someone much more powerful.
YOU ARE READING
Out Alive
Ficção AdolescenteThis is the story of a young woman named Alexia Chante, she escaped from a masked serial killer when unfortunately her best friend Nyla Gunter was killed. (IM NOT THE BEST AT DESCRIPTIONS THE STORY IS BETTER THAN IT SOUNDS)
