Chapter Three: Things Suck Worse
(Beware; this chapter is a lot touchier than the previous ones. We deal
with some tougher issues here.don't flame if you happen to barf or
something while reading this chapter. Blood Warning.)
Colin stood in front of the door, hesitating. Slowly, he opened it, and stepped inside. No one was home, and the house was utterly silent. Colin slipped out of his shoes, and left them by the door. He cautiously walked towards his room, still retaining the ominous feeling. The closet was open, something that his parents never let happen. They were odd about that. 'If you are the last one out, you must close all doors and closets,' they would say. This only added to Colin's already worried emotions. Colin opened the door to his room, sighing that it at least was closed.
Colin flopped down on his bed, and noticed his own closet was cracked slightly open. Even more nervous than before, he got up, wondering what the hell might be causing something as weird as this. He opened the closet door all the way, revealing Colin's worst nightmare. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get this sight out of them. He turned from the closet and ran in utter terror, tears already streaming down his face; he was choking back huge sobs.
Colin burst out of the house, just needing to run and burn himself out of energy. His heart had begun to slow down after about a half hour of just running, and he stopped, regaining his breath. Then, he took off into an insane burst of speed, and bolted around the block at a suicidal pace. When he was utterly exhausted, he simply slumped to the ground, trying to get his heart to beat normally.
When his pulse calmed, he stood and walked back to his own home, which he entered and walked to his room, trying to keep his cool. Colin entered his room, and stopped in front of the still open closet, trying to actually absorb the sight. In his closet lay the slouched, bleeding, cut into body of his greatest and only true friend, Patricia. In her left hand, limp, lay Colin's.sculptor's tool, the Stylet dagger he had gotten as a gift four years ago, and in her right hand lay a box cutter; both items were stained with dried blood, yet her wounds were still dripping.
Colin didn't know what to do; he didn't know how to get this taken care of without, in best case scenario, no one on Earth finding her here, or in not-so-great scenario, only having a very limited few find her here.
(Beware; this chapter is a lot touchier than the previous ones. We deal
with some tougher issues here.don't flame if you happen to barf or
something while reading this chapter. Blood Warning.)
Colin stood in front of the door, hesitating. Slowly, he opened it, and stepped inside. No one was home, and the house was utterly silent. Colin slipped out of his shoes, and left them by the door. He cautiously walked towards his room, still retaining the ominous feeling. The closet was open, something that his parents never let happen. They were odd about that. 'If you are the last one out, you must close all doors and closets,' they would say. This only added to Colin's already worried emotions. Colin opened the door to his room, sighing that it at least was closed.
Colin flopped down on his bed, and noticed his own closet was cracked slightly open. Even more nervous than before, he got up, wondering what the hell might be causing something as weird as this. He opened the closet door all the way, revealing Colin's worst nightmare. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get this sight out of them. He turned from the closet and ran in utter terror, tears already streaming down his face; he was choking back huge sobs.
Colin burst out of the house, just needing to run and burn himself out of energy. His heart had begun to slow down after about a half hour of just running, and he stopped, regaining his breath. Then, he took off into an insane burst of speed, and bolted around the block at a suicidal pace. When he was utterly exhausted, he simply slumped to the ground, trying to get his heart to beat normally.
When his pulse calmed, he stood and walked back to his own home, which he entered and walked to his room, trying to keep his cool. Colin entered his room, and stopped in front of the still open closet, trying to actually absorb the sight. In his closet lay the slouched, bleeding, cut into body of his greatest and only true friend, Patricia. In her left hand, limp, lay Colin's.sculptor's tool, the Stylet dagger he had gotten as a gift four years ago, and in her right hand lay a box cutter; both items were stained with dried blood, yet her wounds were still dripping.
Colin didn't know what to do; he didn't know how to get this taken care of without, in best case scenario, no one on Earth finding her here, or in not-so-great scenario, only having a very limited few find her here.