Chapter 1
The young man’s face was pale as the moon in the moments leading up to his tragic end, as if death himself had silently whispered to him that he was expecting him. This boy was young, around my age, seventeen, and I don’t think I would’ve been able to process what happened next. A hunting knife, similar to those used to skin unfortunate animals, was plunged into his back, uncalled for. I felt as if the very blood of that boy was constantly dripping down my face. The knife was then terribly torn out of the victim’s back, scarily sleek with blood. Life falls out of the boy’s face, and he falls forward. The murderer wipes the knife, but then sits down next to the body. The murderer who took the life of the boy then lowers their mouth to the ground, and whispers, hushly, “ That’ll teach you, Blackmore”.
I wake up in my bed hastily, and tears are leaking from my worn eyes. I desperately wish that it wouldn’t have to be like this, that I didn’t have to witness a terribly vivid Death every time my eyelids shut. I try to grasp any energy I can when I can, but sometimes I can’t handle it.
6 Years Ago
“Close your eyes, students” Our health teacher instructs. I listen without question,
“I’m here” The woman says, shaking, with her face reddened from the tears that had sprung from her eyes .
“ Where is it?”
The woman pulls out a suitcase and I can see the edges of his mouth perk up.
“I did it,” tears begin to take their path down her cheeks.
“Where did you put the rest?”
“It’s outside in my car, 'un-limbed' as you asked of me.”
“Did anyone follow you?” the man asks, with a questioning look on his face. The woman's face reddens, and she is quick to reply
“No.”
“Tell me the truth, your face always gives it away, Tonya.”
“I Said no,” The man’s whitened arms close around the neck of the woman.
“Tonya, what did I ask?”
The woman’s face begins to whiten, and she attempts to gasp for air whilst she chokes.
“How would you like your body prepared?”
Tonya’s face whitens even more as she attempts to squeak the words, “Tom, No…”
and I can hear her neck snap. The woman’s eyes bulge and her neck is popping with veins of reds and blues. The victim drops to the floor, her short blonde hair carelessly spread around her. Her lungs have failed her, and the murderer pulls out a knife, and slits her neck, exposing her trachea. He continues around the neck until her head is removed from it.
I open my eyes in tears, breathing hard and sweating.
“Terryn?” Mrs Jones asks. I breathe harder.
“Terryn?!” She calls once more. I am speechless.
“What is going on?” She asks, speed walking to my desk and then slowing down to put her hand on my shoulder.
“Ms Collins? What’s wrong? Do I need to call your mother?”
I stammer trying to get the words out, just observing her while my head thumps.
“Guidance counselor?” I shake my head, knowing that a guidance counselor couldn’t do anything about the occasional daydream.
“Would you at least listen to me while I talk? Please close your eyes once more.” I shut them, but this time, it goes faster.
Flashes of the killer rage my brain, and I’m soon to see a detached head, arms, and legs being thrown into a suitcase. The suitcase is promptly thrown into the baggage claim at the airport at which the victim was killed, and the murderer leaves no trace, besides for the pine green, leather strapped suitcase filled with disembodied remains.
“What did you think about?” Ms Jerald asks.
“What?”
“Are you even listening to her?” one of my nearby classmates says, opening their eyes in disgust.
“Quincy, let me deal with this, shut your eyes." she tells Quincy. “I’m telling you a story and you’re supposed to vividly imagine it.” she tells me.
“But isn’t that for like, kindergartners?”
“It’s part of our curriculum and Health books.” She says, insulted by my comment.
Present day
I hide myself under my pale yellow hoodie, trying to avoid as much attention as I can as I walk through the Hospital, trailing along behind my overwhelmed Mother. We step into an elevator and Mother presses the square indicating floor number eight.
Mother brushes her golden locks behind her, and then yanks the back of my hood.
“Mom..” I’m quickly interrupted
“No hoods inside, Terr.” she says sternly, as if she’s instructing one of her own workers. I second guess throwing the hood back over my dark chocolate hair, and instead, fiddle my fingers inside my long sweater pocket. If only this wasn’t the twenty-third time, but a blank slate instead of one haunted by previous attempts.
10 years ago
‘Service Center, Community Mental Health’
Mom pulls up to the building in our lime green Jeep, trying to make small talk.
“Now Terr, these people are going to help you.” she says calmly, resting a hand on my shoulder, trying to meet my moss-green eyes. I just stare at her simple features, her deep cheekbones and pointed nose.
Can these people actually help me? Rid me of this pain?
We walk down a hallway and turn left, a lady approaches us happily before we even sit down on the cushy grey chairs in the waiting room.
"Hello, are you Terryn Collins?" she asks me with a smile. I stutter, baffled by her instant welcome. Mom nudges me with her wrist.
"My Name is Miss Kennedy, I'm here to help you deal with some difficult things that have been going on." her brown eyes peer at me as she crouches down uncomfortably in a tight pencil skirt. She places her hand in front of me, motioning for me to shake it. I place my hand into hers, and shake awkwardly.
"Why don't you both follow me?" she says, talking to Mom and I. Without resisting, I follow quietly behind.
