For Lonely readers willing to marry, worship, and devote their existence to fictional serial killers who would mercilessly rip their lungs out with no second thought. ( I wish someone could go to therapy for me)
GUYS I'M LITERALLY LOSING INSPIRATION JUST GIVE ME SOMETHING TO WRITE AND I WILL I HAVE NO IDEAS LEFT.
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You were going no less than eighty as you sped down the quiet streets of Woodsboro in your little 1970s classic muscle car, bought from some cheap car shop with good discounts.
You had the windows rolled down, letting the wind blow in your face, feeling the cool breeze in your hair. The feeling was surreal, and it gave you a break from everything that was going.
– The recent murders of neighbor's daughter and her boyfriend, and the fact that your job was going out of business, meaning you needed to find new employment at the soonest opportunity.
Suddenly, you were dragged out of your thoughts by the sound of police sirens, blue lights flashing over your Mustang. Toy rolled your eyes in irritation, pulling over at a closed up law firm that was occupied only by the cars of those who stayed at work later.
You looked in your rear view, watching the legs of an officer walking up to your car, his footsteps loud against the concrete road.
You went to adjust the mirrors in hopes of seeing the man's face, but he was already at you car. You look up to see a man with black hair, a mustache, and a somewhat kind face that appeared no older than twenty five.
"Good evenin', Ma'am. Do you know why I pulled you over?" He asked, holding his pen and notepad as he looked down at you, brows slightly furrowed as the setting sun beamed in his face from behind the trees.
"Because I wasn't wearing a seatbelt?" You asked, looking up at the officer as you removed your shades. "Because you were going eighty in a thirty. That's pretty fast, Miss. Mind explaining to me what's going on?" He interrogated.
"Well, it's getting late and there's a serial killer on the loose. I was just trying to get home safe." That was a lie. You couldn't care less about Ghostface or his victims, but speeding at sunset was a little get away for you.
"Can't say I blame ya, Ma'am. It's pretty dangerous out here. 'Specially after dark. I tell you what. Why don't I just escort you home?" He offered with a smile. Escort you?! Great, now this cop is gonna be on your ass until you get home. There goes your little speedy joyride.
"That won't be necessary." You hoped he would leave you be. "I insist. I don't want you gettin' hurt."
