a/n: hot damn, here's subrutum. i hopehopehope i can keep this going... i have most of the plot written down and on my memory stick (since my actual pc is broken at the moment) so we'll see how far this goes. concrit is very very welcome, as you all know, and i'll try and return all my reviews. anyway, enough of my talking - it's not like anyone reads these things.

PROLOGUE
…burn, burn, burn,
like fabulous yellow Roman candles.

Dead.

She’s in front of him, but she’s dead. Dead, dying—why does it matter? Her eyes are starting to lose their sparkle, starting to glaze over like the accusing look of a gutted fish on display at a market, and her mouth is stretched out into a twisted expression of pain. Shock. She groans like a wounded animal and falls back, hands desperately clutching the knife that is now embedded in her abdomen.

They both know there’s no hope.

She falls down, collapsing in slow motion as her legs give way and she crashes to the ground. He can see that she is trying to speak, trying to say something, but instead of words coming out of her mouth, it’s blood. Blood that dribbles over her lips, oozing down her chin, forming droplets on the ground. He’s aware of a dull sensation creeping through him at the realisation of what he’s done. There are shrieks and shouts of glee all around him, but he and the girl in front of him make no noise.

“I—I—” He doesn’t know what to say. Like her, he wants to speak but finds himself unable to. He desperately wishes that blood was coming out of his mouth, and that he was bleeding to death, but… no. It is not so. In the end, he stands there watching as she tries to take her last breaths and a cracked, dry whisper escapes her throat. The light in her eyes fades, and she becomes still: she stops living and becomes a corpse. He turns away, bile rising in his throat at the smell of warm, sticky blood that hits him, and the sight of her hands still trying to remove the weapon from her gut, although they are motionless now, just like she is.

The boy runs. Tearing through the forest, he wants to shout with glee like the others, but he can’t. How can he? Dead, dead, dead – and it’s all his fault. He trips, stumbling and landing on the floor in a heap. The wet earth smells nice, and he grabs a handful of leaves as he lays there, trying to convince himself that it was all a dream. She’s not dead, she’s not dead…

She’s dead.

He gets up slowly, shaking, trembling and starts to jog. Instincts tell him to find the others and get out – forget about what he’s done and what happened. Eventually he finds them near the edge of the woods, calling out his name and that of the girl who will not be answering. “Adriana! Adriana!”

“She’s dead,” he says hollowly, coming out of the shadows like a ghost. Heads turn, eyes stare at him with disbelief. Only one other person looks away, ashamed. “She tripped and fell and… she’s dead.” He breaks down, wrapping his arms around his body to try and comfort himself. The act brings little relief. “She took a knife from the kitchen… probably thought she was actually going to… I don’t – I don’t… I tried to help her… Christ, I tried to help her… oh, God…”

It’s made the news in less than three hours.

“Girl found dead… police claim it was an unfortunate accident. Her parents are questioning why she felt the need to take a knife out with her… was she in trouble? Was she in danger? Why didn’t she tell someone? The police have yet to release an official statement… we will keep you updated.”

“Breaking news: Downingham Woods are now being treated as a crime scene… police fear that any evidence may have been washed away by the rain…”

He turns off the television, noticing that his parents make no remarks about the fact that they were also watching that. Suddenly he doesn’t feel hungry—he feels sick.

“Are you okay?” his mother asks, concerned. He nods numbly, excuses himself and goes upstairs to his bedroom.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I know why—”

“No – no! That’s not it.”

“Then why?”

“I…”

“You don’t know? That’s a lie!”

“I—no, it’s not!”

“Tell me why you’re doing this!”

“I c—I can’t.”

Rain. Rain. Rain.