A bad ending
Mona was running. The smell of burning was strong in the air. Fuck. Her trailer was on fire. Fuck. She’d set her trailer on fire. Fuck. Terry was dead. Fuck. She’d killed him. Set him on fire with the trailer. Fucker had tried to eat her. Fuck.
She kept running. A girl reached out for her. Mona smashed her as hard as she could. The girl went down, hard. Mona kept running. More, a crowd of them. She turned and ran another way. She was still high as fuck.
There was a house with the front door open. She ran inside, slammed the door as she went. One of them was inside. There was a fireplace. She grabbed the poker and smashed him in the head. Alive he had been a big guy. Still wearing his baseball hat and a loose fitting pair of jeans, no shirt. His rolls of fat spilt over the waist, a disgusting pale wave of dead flesh. She swung the heavy poker down, again and again, until the top of his head caved in. Then she ran out the back. Fuck. She needed a place, somewhere she could go and think. Needed to make sense of this. What. The. Fuck.
The school. She could go to the school. It would be safe there. Heavy doors. It was summer. Nobody inside.
She kept running.