The Witness

60 seconds before

Have you ever seen something you wish you hadn't? How about something you knew would change everything for the rest of your life? Have you ever laid eyes on something so horrifying that your mind takes a picture so that you can never forget it? Have you ever witnessed a murder?

I have.

Here is how it went.

60 seconds before

"Oh shit," I stumble forward as a cat yowls from me stepping on its tail. The scare caused me to drop my phone.

As the cat runs off I bend down to pick up the now shattered remains of my phone.

"You've got to be kidding me," I click the side button to make sure it still works, it does.

"HELP ME!!! SOMEBODY HELP!" I flinch and face forward.

I've never been to this side of town before. I have no clue what neighborhood I'm in right now.

"Hello?" I call.

Nothing.

I see a sign at the end of the sidewalk, a stop sign on the street corner. I walk over to it so I can figure out where I am when,

"Somebody!!!"

I whirl around and face my right. I watch a girl crawl using only her arms towards the sidewalk where I stand. We lock eyes. I see the fear, the panic. The blood. She reaches out towards me.

It all just happened so fast.

"I said shut the fuck up!"

It takes my mind a moment to catch up with my eyes. The person in a hoodie-wearing oversized men's clothing. The blond strands of hair peeking past that hoodie. The blood-stained knife rising in the air, then coming down with a harsh jerk of the arm.

The sound of a girl's throat being ripped open.

She stays looking at me, gasping like a fish out of water as blood pools all around her, down the cracks of the cement to the tips of my shoes.

The heavy breathing of the killer.

I step back and my shoes scuff the cement.

I watch the killer's head rise up from her victim to me. My eyes lock with her blue eyes. I can't see her face, it's too shadowed in the night. As she steps towards me, into the streetlight, I can the blood splattered all over her. On her arms, her face, her clothes.

She sniffles and wipes her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie, smearing the blood all over her face and mouth.

My heart pounds, once, twice, three times before I take off like a racer heard a gunshot. My body is in full flight or fight mode. Trees and houses blur past me, cars and mailboxes. The cat from before sprits out of my way.

I hear her behind me. Hard and heavy steps. Her shoes are too big for her feet. Even in oversized men's clothing, she's still fast enough to catch me. I hesitate for just a moment as I think about crossing the street. That's when she gets me.

She tackles me with her full body, we both hit the ground hard. My phone slips out of my hand and skids away from me.

I scream.

"Don't fucking move," she pushes the bloody knife to my neck.

"Please," I beg for my life.

"If you scream, you'll end up just like her," she juts the knife in the air towards the victim, not bothering to look behind her.

I nod frantically.

She gets off of me and pulls me up by my shirt. Then she takes my purse from my arm, shoving my phone inside before slinging it over her shoulder. That's when I register the black latex gloves on her hands because they make an uncomfortable squeaking sound. She puts the knife to the back of my head and forces me to walk back to the victim.

"You're going to help me clean this up." She says.

A sob escapes my lips.

She puts the knife down and grabs the legs of the girl, she motions with her head for me to grab the front half.

I really don't want to, I think about running again but know she'll just catch me. I don't want to end up like the girl whose blood I now have on my shoes so I pick her up by her arms. The head lops to the side and brushes against my dress, getting blood all over me.

We carry her back into the house, there is a plastic mat on the floor in the living room where I set the body.

I watch the killer go to the kitchen and grab something out of a drawer, she comes back and slaps a cleaver down in my hands.

"Start cutting off her limbs, I'm going to go clean out front before someone sees." She says.

I stare down at the huge hacking knife and I drop it.

"No, I can't." I sob.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to ask you for permission!" she stabs her knife into my arm.

I cry out in pain.

"Can you please cut up the body for me?" she asks nicely.

I nod frantically, spit dribbling down my chin as I sob.

"Thank you," she removes her knife.

I pick the cleaver back up and watch her walk to the garage where she comes back with a power washer and walks out front.

I wait until I hear it turn on before I stand up.

Next to me are two sofas, old, brown, pushed against the wall and out of the way. On the floor are wrappers from taco bell. A knocked-over drink. The house smells burnt and my eyes find the bag of burnt popcorn on the counter. The kitchen table is knocked over, blood all over the floor.

All the lights are on.

I see a hallway, which leads to a back door.

I bolt for it.

I slip and fall due to the blood on my shoes, but I don't stop to see if she heard and just get back up and run. I make it to the fence and climb it in less than five seconds. Then I run and jump the fence after that, and the one after that. Jumping fences, going house to house until I am far enough away I run back onto the street.

Except this time I know where I am.

I've been down these streets a million times.

I run faster, harder.

I see the door to my ex-girlfriend's house, a door I've never been so happy to see.

I run-up to the house and forget to stop running and slam right into it. Then I bang on the door like a madwoman. Ringing the doorbell and looking behind me every few seconds just to make sure the killer isn't there.

"Jesus Christ Melony, what the fuck are you doing here?" Bernida opens the door.

I push past her and slam the door shut behind me, locking it.

"Babe what's going on?" her new girlfriend comes out of the room in a robe.

The first thing I do is run to the sink and throw up.

"Mel, what the fuck?" Bernida follows me.

"Shit, babe look," her girlfriend points to the floor where my shoes left bloody scuff marks.

"Where's your phone." I turn to her.

"Shit, what the fuck happened to you? Are you okay?" Bernida finally gets a good look at me.

"Please, give me your phone. We have to call 911." My hands are shaking as I reach out to her.

"Okay, shit," she looks around for her phone.

"Got it," her girlfriend snags it off the couch.

I frantically dial 911.