When The Snow Falls

Chapter 3: What happened five years ago.

Fake Susan was chopping her own fingers off, then they grew back, and she chopped them off again. "What's her deal, Dallas?"
"I don't know. All I know is that it's messed up." He said.
She quit chopping her fingers off, and started chewing them off. She'd smile as well, showing her now blood stained teeth. "Yeah, I think you're right." Becky said.
She wondered for a moment, could they go outside? Would something weird happen? Something weird is already happening. That was her own thought this time.
"Should we go outside?" Dallas asked.
"Don't ask me, you're the professional one."
"No, I know just as much as you."
"How long have you been here?" She asked.
"I don't know."
"Why don't you keep a tally."
"The storm doesn't let you." What did that mean? Was the storm some kind of strict creature? "All I know, is that it has been a long time ever since, well since it happened." He said. After a long, excruciatingly long pause, Becky spoke.
"So... what did happen?" She asked. He paused a moment longer. "Well." He said. "Let's see."

FIVE YEARS AGO.

The suddenly he burst open, the light spreading through the dying world. But this light, it wasn't good. It permanently settled the equality between light and darkness.
"Becky!" He shouted. But his words only echoed in the dark void. Where was he? He was just floating in space, except there were no stars, nothing.
Suddenly something began to tug on him. A sort of vacuum. It began to get stronger, and he struggled to breathe. Why was breathing a problem if he was dead?
Thunder was rolling around in his head, reminding him of the last sound he heard. Or was it? Becky's voice whispered around him in the void.
He closed his eyes peacefully. The warmth of the void rightfully comforting. If this was death, it seemed nice. Dallas's ears began to ring.
Then he opened his eyes, a new place introducing itself. He was out back, chopping wood. With the axe. "Shit!" He shouted, dropping it.
Pick it up. The sky was full of red clouds swirling around. Pick it up. It said again. Dallas grabbed it and yanked it out of the ground.
Water started rising out of the ground. It got so high, water leaked into his boots. Dallas rushed to the house's screen door and stepped through. Before he went in, he spilled the water filled boots so Susan wouldn't cuss him out.
What the hell you shit head! She'd be screaming. He decided to take his boots off as well. He opened the door. He jumped back. Susan stood in front of the door. Her stomach was cut open.
A bloodied knife was laying on the floor next to Susan. Her hands were reaching into her stomach, and she was pulling her intestines out slowly, smiling freakishly.
"What the hell, Susan!" She just kept doing it, her entrails piling up on the floor. She turned around and walked away, her intestines following behind her.
He stepped over the blood. It was still really wet outside. He walked to the living room. The tv kept playing an opera, but all the actors were tearing their skin off.
He tried to turn it off, but the remote zapped him.in his palm where he was shocked, his hand was glowing red and bleeding. But he wasn't bleeding blood, he bled water.
Rain water.

Over time, he'd try to mark tallies in the wall, but the same zap came. Dallas was trapped. He'd come up with fantasies in his head about his other life, where he was still alive. He'd fantasize about his dad, Uncle, Susan, Becky.
But he never left, and Susan kept doing the most unimaginable things to herself. Ripping her eyes out, chewing on her fingers, yanking her hair out, once she even stuck a tooth pick under her big toe, point faced front. Then she'd kick a wall.
It would stab into her toe, that was one of the things that settled the face that she wasn't really Susan. She never spoke, but he'd wake up in bed with her standing over his bed, smiling and laughing.
For some reason, Uncle was never there. Until one day. Dallas had had enough. He rushed outside. Running through the water, facing the storms.
He ran into Becky's house. Dallas saw her entire family as corpses laying on their living room floor. Dallas rushed upstairs. "Becky!" Then he remembered that day. Are you ready? He'd asked.
He heard something. Something else was walking up the stairs with him. She was cursing, and complaining about the smell. What was that about.
When he looked down, he could see where the carpet of the floor would press down. Someone was there. He followed the steps, they ended up at Becky's bathroom.
The doorknob suddenly had finger prints and sweat on it. It opened. Inside he saw someone in the bathtub. Someone screamed. He walked closer. Their stomach was ripped open, their intestines pulled out like Susan's. He looked closer.
White beard, white hair. Uncle. "Oh my God!" He exclaimed. It couldn't be. No, no, no. He thought. He didn't care he was touching a dead body.
Dallas had his right hand on Uncle's cheek. It was as cold as ice. "No," Uncle was dead. Dallas walked out. Sheriff Gregg stood in the center of the road. His face still unrecognizable from when he'd shot him.
Later on he also saw the doctor who led him to those things. He also had the bullet whole in him. His chest bleeding. Dallas walked inside the house. Soon, Becky arrived.