Outside the dangerous streets, soft dark curly brown hair flows in the moonlight mixed with street lamps which seem to illuminate strong stern features. Thick denim jacket with the bright glimmer of silver hidden inside. A shade of crystal clear gre...
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Every step I take is rushed. I was indeed rushing, rushing home where I feel some form of safety. In reality I'm not safe anywhere and neither my father, sister and little Dottie. My feet begin to ache as I start sprinting, heart beating out of its ribbed cage wanting to be free. My breaths become needy, the air feeling stuffy around me. Everything's seems to be caving in on me.
My hair whips around my face, a tangled mess of dark browns coating my sight every now and then. The sounds of cars screeching fill my ringing ears willing myself to get home. I was engulfed in the vile smell of burning rubber. My plastic shopping bag swooshing around, my arms swinging back and forth wanting myself to embrace warm loving arms yet again. Families shutting their wooden doors, turning locks. Click, click, click. Every lock makes my stomach twist tighter and tighter. Porch lights flickering off as I heave myself through the dark backstreets.
Every alleyway I pass by, I hold my breath praying no one is there. Waiting, watching. I know I can make it back in time, it's just whether someone stops me before I can. Just because the eradication starts at a certain time, it does not mean everyone obeys the rules. Rules after all are made to be broken.
Suddenly my green eyes catch the sight of black figures pouring out of a dusty two story house. I come to a skidding halt and spotting a bush I wriggle myself inside near the curb. Thorns slightly prickle my sides yet I don't pay attention to the slight discomfit. My shallow breath is all I can hear along with my heart pumping adrenaline throughout my heated body. Don't move.
All of them are wearing matching masks. Painting horrible pictures in my mind from previous eradications, now forever etched into my memory. The gruesome masks show mutilated human heads all distorted in different ways. Yet the blood looks so real. Almost too real. Yet a certain stench wafts towards me, silently telling me it truly is real. They're real, and so is the blood. It's all real.
That's when I see it, a large body stood firmly between the doorway. He has no mask, his identity seen to all he passes by during this seasonal 'celebration'. His hands are clenched by his sides as one holds the distorted face of an innocent pig. That's where they got the blood.
I muffle a cry as I drop the bag of supplies near my crouched form, my hand cupping my mouth to force chokes of sadness back. Tears begging to be let out and create a river of sorrow down my warm face. How can people do this? It's just not human.
He takes the three lonely wooden steps down the splinted porch, heading towards the blacked out group gathered on the front lawn. A group of eradicators. A cult. Forcing my crying to stop I slowly reach for the plastic shopping bag, gripping it tightly. The chattering of the cluster before me muffling out the sounds the plastic creates.
