KILLED

My best friend's body lies on the wooden floor, her head help up by the rope that is tied around her slender neck, which is secured to the ceiling. Blood still pools out of a wound in her abdomen, creating a vivid red puddle on the cedar planks.
Sara's gray eyes are wide open and glazed over slightly, her light hair pulled into a messy side ponytail.
When my brain fully registers these details, my hands drop away from my face, I turn on my heel, and then I burst into an adrenaline-filled sprint out the door.
I take the steps two at a time, and when my feet hit the snow covered earth, I take off again, running and running as fast as I can, feeling not free, but full of unfamiliar fear.
When I tear into the house, I find my mom sitting on the couch, staring at our Christmas tree with a soft smile on her face and a cup of coffee in her left hand, steam swirling up into the air in an intricate and beautiful pattern that only I can see.
"Tess? Are you alright?" She's at my side the instant she sees my face, the coffee mug crashing to the floor and shattering to a million pieces, the shards representing my heart.
"Call 911", I manage, my shoulders shaking. "Sara's dead."
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Christmas was never supposed to start like this. My father wasn't supposed to come back, and my best friend shouldn't have been murdered.
Now I'm wondering: What have I gotten myself into?