Trauma

Chapter 9 (Rylie Matthews Alone)

My name is Rylie Matthews and I am alone. Travis was murdered. Then Mackenzie. And then I watched Dylan so brutally murder Brandon. Although I knew the door is unlocked, I had too much fear swelling in my body to even move. I'm not trapped anymore. It's what's out there that's keeping me in. Usually I don't show emotion, but something this traumatizing could change a person. I used everything inside of me to stand up. I slowly opened the bathroom door and listened to it screech. It too was frightened of what it had seen.

    The front door swung open back and forth. The moonlight shone through as a cold breeze flew through the room. I ran to the door and shut it. I turned on the closest light and sat down in the old-raggedy couch. There was a cloth on the end table. I reached over and grabbed it to wipe off my black eyeshadow and tears. Alone. Before now, being alone was my favorite extracurricular there was. But now, I'd rather hang out with the popular girls and get made of fun of. And that's saying a lot.

The terror that ran through my veins made me shiver almost constantly. I looked around and saw Brandon's body. Dylan had killed him. Dylan had killed Brandon. I don't care if it was self-defense that was vicious. It was maniacal. As I continued to think, I was still in this form of state of shock. I had no idea where Dylan went, and even though he had killed someone right in front of me, I really wish I was with him. Whenever I get out of here, I will never be alone again. I'll find a way. I pushed myself off of the ground, I heard a creak. I jumped to conclusions that it was just my weight off the ground that caused the noise.

I walked over to the quite disgusting kitchen, desperate for any lick of food or water. Torture. Being alone, in a shack in the middle of nowhere, with no supply of food or water is torture. My name is Rylie Matthews and I am alone, tortured, and traumatized. The room grew cold, as flies somehow managed to get inside and swarm around Brandon's body.

After I finished searching for food, I slowly walked over to Brandon. He looked peaceful, but so distraught at the same time.

I grabbed him by his arms and put all of my strength into dragging him to the bathroom where Mackenzie had been laid. Streaks of blood were left across the path that I had dragged him. A tear had fallen off my face. I honestly don't know if it was the circumstances that made me fall in love with him, or if it was my actual love for him. Either way, love is retarded and overrated.

I laid Brandon next to Kenzie and shut the door. Shortly after the door closed, another creak sound re-emerged. My paranoia kicked in and I felt as if I were being watched. Which I don't doubt, considering what was going on. Another cold breeze sent a shiver down my spine. I marched backwards towards the wall and left my back up against it. I heard a knock on the window. My body shivered again.

My dumb, immature self was telling me to look out there, but my small portion of common sense was telling me otherwise.

The chills continued to flow around and my body continued to shiver. My teeth chattered and goosebumps arose from my legs and arms. I lead my eyes around the room and sought for something. Something to protect me. A weapon. A weapon to defend me.

But despite my dark and emo look, you'd be surprised that I am incredibly scared of attacking or hurting someone. My hair started to flow carelessly. Confused, I grabbed the hair tie of my arm and put my hair up, which I never do. My hair still flowed around with a mind of its own. There were no holes around to allow the wind from outside. But then I realized, the window above the sink was broken. I had no idea where that came from.

With my common sense leaving my body, I walked over to the window. I scanned the area and there was nothing around. I smashed the window to make it big enough to stick my head through the window. A hand appeared from nowhere and grabbed my face.

"Death is imminent." The figure said.

"Please, don't" I yelled.

"Death is imminent."

I cried as the deep-voiced man held my face and brought his knife to my neck.

"You vandalized my property, and someone you know well hurt me. It's my turn."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I yelled desperately for him to spare me.

"I was told to slit my throat. So now, it's your turn."

The man dug his knife into my throat and blood poured out. My name is Rylie Matthews and I am dead.