Anam Cara – A person with whom you can share your deepest thoughts, feelings and dreams with; your soul friend
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With Dylan's blood dripping down my hands, tracing my veins in their cooling drops, I shake and shake, and I don't stop shaking. I'm going to fucking murder them.
Snatching Dylan's gun from his lifeless, cold, dead corpse, I also swipe Sami's knife on my way out. One covered in blood, one so clean it's like Cinderella scrubbed it herself.
Smashing open the gate, my blood pumping. Everything is red.
Pelting down the infested street, I ignore all the Rabids that stalk after me, ignore the fact that I have someone else's remains on my clothes, ignore some voice in my head that somewhat hesitates. Quickly, my right side shuts it up. They get to kill one of us and I can't take revenge? Not in my world. Not if I can help it.
Dylan Coleman is fucking dead, and it's their fault. They pulled the trigger, they caused him pain, and they ended his life. This is an act of justice.
Finally, in a matter of seconds, I find them. All three hunched over a car trying as desperately as they can to open it. His hands are shaking? Well, they won't be when I'm done with him. Firing a shot, I aim to the right of the tallest one, and all three flinch. Good. If I can't get through all three, then hopefully a Rabid finishes them off.
"Whoa, whoa! We're leaving, we're leaving we promise!" Alex stuttered, still quivering, and trying to insect the key. The other two stay frozen, unmoving, as still as a statue. With wet cheeks, I inhale as much oxygen as I can, yet my lungs still feel empty.
"You killed him." I mumble once, "You killed him!" My fists clench around the gun, knife ready in my back pocket, "YOU KILLED HIM!" Shouting my voice hoarse, it does nothing to calm me down. Shooting once more, I hit one of their tires. Now, I'm not thinking.
"We-we-we're sorry, okay!" Exclaimed one of them, voice so off it slightly brightens my mood. It's the oldest: he had a beard, defined features and worn eyes.
"You're sorry." Wetly, I laugh, "You're fucking sorry?" One more shot, and I hit one of their shoulders, causing him to stagger back. Quickly, they pull their guns on me, too, but I don't care. I couldn't care less even if I desperately tried.
But it's like they've both forgotten how to shoot. Shame.
Rounding the car, I lunge for Alex who screams bloody murder – ironic. Above him, I get to look down at his messed-up features. At his squirming lips, scrunched up eyes and bunched up nose.
Bringing the knife over my head, I stutter. Suddenly, I'm not looking at eyelids, but at bright blue irises. I'm not seeing tanned skin, but white. I'm not catching brown hair in my vision, but bright, bright blonde it is almost white.
Gasping, the knife goes from my grip, and I can't move. Two strong, familiar arms grab me around the waist, hauling me off the murderer's body.
Fuck life, fuck this world, and fuck you, Alex.
YOU ARE READING
Population Control
Teen FictionIt was supposed to be a normal start to the school year until Camille sees a Rabid creature get shot by police, Matthew's mother is turned, Jason's parents try to force him into a bunker, and Sami comes across someone feasting on a dog. Now the four...
