everyone dies in the end.

09

Once a murderer always a murderer.

Once a murderer always a murderer.

Once a murderer always a murderer.

Once a murderer always a murderer.

Xander was currently laughing as he attempted to speak, "And then...he...Oh my god, I can't...he tried to speak to vomit!!"

She pretended to laugh along with him, but she didn't understand what was so funny about a drunk person hallucinating. It was perfectly normal and acceptable.

How could he even laugh about that?

Once a murderer always a murderer.

It rang through her head like a Tibetan singing bowl.

"As much as I'd love to know more," Kaya began to stand up, dragging Xander along with her, "Why don't we play a game. What about tag?"

"Sure," He agreed, a bit unsure about her idea.

"Okay. I'm It." Kaya quickly tapped his shoulder and ran.

"Tag, you're it," she yelled behind her.

Xander stood there for a second, completely confused until he realized that he had to chase her.

He then began to jog in the direction she ran.

Thank God she could get a break from him! It was exhausting being around him. Over and over, her mind would argue between what kind of person he truly was.

After a couple more minutes of running, she stopped and lied down in the cool, soft grass.

She closed her eyes for a minute as she let the bright yellow rays rest onto her face, like she was under the spotlight in a Broadway musical.

Suddenly, an opaque bag was thrown over her head and her hands were grabbed.

She felt something sharp (a mini dagger for example) softly graze against her neck, drawing burgundy liquid. "Scream and you die," the wielder of said object whispered into her ear.

How cringey.

Could she have not found a better line? There were plenty of horror movies out there for inspiration.

"O-Okay...Ple-Please don't kill me." She did her best to sound scared. If there was anything her parents had taught her, it was that it was always better to be underestimated than overestimated.

"Walk," The nice lady with her claws out whispered.

She was scared shitless.

Scared shitless that she'd trip over a root and fall, that is.

She'd rather get her throat slit than suffer the embarrassment of falling. Atleast the scar would look cooler (if she even survived).

She was led in a car with extremely soft leather seats and that new car smell.

Observation: Her kidnappers seem rich enough to have a nice car.

"W-Where are you taking me?" She stuttered hoping her captors would be able to smell panic in her voice.

Unfortunately, there was no response.

She began to count in her head as the car began to move.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

At eighteen hundred Mississippi, the car stopped and she was slightly thrown back in her seat.