Trudging through the snow he couldn't help but fear for his life, hoping desperately that the police sirens in the distance hadn't caught his trail, the snow was up to his knees, it made it easy for the authorities to find him as the black fluid was still flowing with no hope of easing, if they followed it would lead them directly to him.
So close, he repeated to himself, promising that if he managed to reach his house in time everything would be okay.
Andy just had to hide, he needed time to think and calm down before he did something else rash. His hands were shaking, prompting how he'd killed the innocent man back at school, how he'd driven the small blades into his pulsing chest, when he took a terrified breath and collapsed to the ground staring at him in alarm and how the boy could see deaths icy hands slowly taking his life away.
He gasped in bewilderment, watching as the black fluid started to end, the last few fresh drops fell from his arm defiling the snow, the whole side of his body and arm was still completely dark though, his school uniform soiled, but did he care? No, as far as he was concerned, school could go fuck itself.
Andy fled towards the door of his house, yanking it open, stepping inside and pulling it shut again with a loud 'slam'. He let free a relieved sigh, then turned, facing the horrified features of his father.
"What are you doing Andy?!" he demanded, bringing a vodka bottle to his lips.
Said boy kneeled, his throat stinging as he tried to catch his breath, his father just kept staring in puzzlement. Lifting himself from the carpet he fled for the cellar door, sprinting down the withered stairs.
"KATHERINE! YOUR SONS BACK!" his father called from up in the living-room. "And he's made a mess of himself as always"
Once down, he crumbled to the timbered floors, torment and anguish to much for him to withstand, finally his breathing calmed though. Lifting himself from his cowering he searched for something to wipe the liquid from his throbbing arm, but what he saw, didn't help his sanity one bit.
"AAAAHHHHH!!" he screamed, startling anyone who would've been walking past their household.
His room, the only place he could find solitude, was destroyed.
Andy's bed had been flipped, leaning against the wall on its side, snow had gathered all over his frayed covers. His work-desk was split, a long alarming crack down the middle, all his materials splayed across the ground, his chairs were tipped and broken as-well.
"Where are they?!" Andy exclaimed, heart quickening when he couldn't see his beloved stitched teddy bears anywhere.
Falling onto his quivering knees, he began foraging through all his broken belongings, whimpering when he realized they were absent, he suddenly understood what'd occurred, his father had bought those vodka bottles with money off-course, but the family was completely broke so he must've sold something in the household of worth... or some'things'.
"NO!" he exclaimed, clutching his head in sorrow, fingers gripping his flustered hair.
In a blind fit of rage he stormed for his curtains, tearing them down ferociously and screaming as he did. He needed to hurt something, crush something beneath his foot, rip the skin of an innocent bystander, he needed to kill.
Andy ran for the sink, and with one swift kick, had it shattered and against the ground, water flowing everywhere from the disfigured pipe. He slammed his fists against the walls, watching amused as it cracked beneath his brutal force.
The boy, eyes streaming with tears, dashed for his mirror. His fist was raised, itching to watch it fracture in-front of him, but what he saw made him pause.
