Every 30 Minutes

I'm Ella. A survivor. The memory haunts me whenever I pass by my old school, now abandoned. Nightmares came true that night. Every minute was precious. Every thirty minutes is a grief. Every thirty minutes, someone is gone. So many went, so little escaped.

How does it feel like to witness the bludgeoning of your own friends, to hear every cry and beckon they scream at you, to have to literally tear them open if we wanted to escape? The name's Kristine. Even though physically I made it out alive, mentally I'm still trapped inside that hell. To this day, I question myself if it was all a reality, or if it was just some really messed up nightmare. Even after I escaped, everybody tore into my mind, the wave of people who were suspicious or thought we were insane: it never ended. So this is our horror, the trip to our insanity.