To The Grave

Chapter 7. Marty. Day 45.

*TW: Self Harm*

I sat on the edge of the bathtub, looking down at my legs. The shorts had moved up, revealing part of my thighs. Pink and white ribbon scars ran across my pale skin. My fingers pushed the sleeves of my black and blue flannel up, looking at the scars covering my arms. I tugged them back down, feeling sick.

My legs rose, turning so I could see into the mirror, looking at my sunken in face. I pulled the medicine cabinet open, pulling out a small shaving bag. I carefully pulled the zipper open, looking at the lighter and pencil sharper razor. I moved my jaw slowly, my hand pulling the small blade out.

A gun fired, somewhere in the street, sending me into the air. I watched the razor fall, dropping down the hallow drain of the sink. I looked out the bathroom window, seeing a car driving down the street. A man was leaned out, holding a large gun. He looked up at the house, ducking back in. I moved into the hallway, rushing to my bedroom. Randall was crawling in through the window.

"Did you hear that?" He asked. I nodded, leaving the room, running to the top of the stairs. My mom and dad were standing in the living room, each holding a gun. Molly and Winona rushed into the hallway. There was a loud knock on the door.

I jumped back, pushing my sisters into the hallway. Randall ran out into the hallway, the door to Ferris' room opening in concern.

The door flew open, voices yelling as it slammed against the wall. Molly's hand clasped against Winona's mouth as she dragged our younger sister into their bedroom. "Well hello, neighbours." A voice boomed out. I remained still, trying to think of what to do. I pushed Randall back into the room, reaching between the wall and my mattress, pulling out the two guns I had stored there. He gripped his carefully, checking to see how much was left. I looked out into the hallway, seeing Ferris. His eyes watched the stairs, flashing back to us quickly.

I walked back into the hallway, staying close to the wall. I could see a few men moving around the house. They each held large guns, keeping them fixed on my mom and dad. They were talking, just softly to be unheard upstairs.

"Ferris, Marty. Come here." My mom's voice called out, shaking with fear. I turned to look at Randall.

I pushed him back further into the room. I pushed the gun into my waistband, pulling my shirts over to hide it. He nodded, looking around the room. "Don't let them get to Winona and Molly."

Ferris moved down the stairs quietly. I followed, walking into the living room. We remained quiet, getting pushed closer to our parents. "You don't expect me to believe that's all." A man moved the gun, pushing it against my shoulder.

My body grew tense, trying hard to not shake in fear. My mom's hand touched my other shoulder. "There's no one else here." Her voice wasn't reassuring.

"Phillip, go upstairs and find the girl." The man pushed the gun further into my skin.

"There's no girl." Ferris' voice rose. The gun moved from my shoulder to his chest.

I moved my hand to my shoulder, touching the sore joint. A man was climbing the stairs, turning into Ferris' room. The man with the gun was dirty, his breath creating a cloud of toxic air. "I suppose it's you-" He looked down at me, "that's the Girl Scout your mom is so proud of that she has a sign out front."

I turned around, having forgotten about the dumb sign mixed in with the shrubbery in front of out house. My mom moved her hands to her eyes, visibly regretting everything. "Nice, mom." I whispered.

There was a loud gunshot from upstairs. I sprinted for the stairs, being pulled back by the dirty man and his remaining assistant. They bolted up the stairs, turning into my room. I ran up, looking at the bloody body on the floor. I moved against the wall, watching as Randall was thrown out of the room, his back hitting Ferris' bedroom door.

He looked up at me, his lip and nose bleeding badly. He stood up, shaking hard. The dirty, gun hauling man walked out of the room, pointing the large shotgun at me. He shook his head, putting it down. The other man entered the hallway, moving closer to Randall.

His large hand pressed against my best friends skinny neck, pulling his feet off the ground. He set him back down, pushing him so he turned around, his face pressing against the door. His rough hand grabbed a handful of Randall's long hair, yanking it. I turned my head, looking into my bedroom. Molly stood in front of the window, holding a small gun in her hand.

The leader walked back to the stairs, looking down at my family. He had my mom and dad's guns, strapped across his back. I quickly grabbed the gun out my jeans, firing it quickly at him. He fell forward, tumbling over the railing.

My body fell against the ground, something large sitting over my chest. I struggled for air, my lungs jerking inside my body. His large hand grabbed my hair, pulling it up quickly before slamming my head against the floor. There was a loud crash, my drum set falling over. Another gunshot echoed out, the body on top of mine, growing limp but still crushing me.

I could feel the weight being pushed to the side, collecting against my side. A loud snap echoed through my body, a sharp pain flying through my body. I pulled myself away, curling up on the ground, my breath coming out in short chokes.

Foot steps echoed around me, as I sat up, leaning against the wall. I pulled my shirt up, looking at the large bruise forming around my rib cage. I yanked the fabric back down, looking at my parents and best friend. Ferris bolted up the stairs, seeing the mess.