It was dark, and I shuddered as the winter wind buffeted me. I pulled my jacket tighter over me, although it was no use against the biting cold. I clutched at my side, wincing as my fingers brushed over my wound. Pulling my fingers away, I noticed that they were covered in sticky red blood. It was bleeding again. Ignoring the pulsing pain in my side, I pressed on. The silence was suffocating, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. My footsteps made quiet scuffing sounds on the pavement, and a dry leaf scratched along beside me. The streets were eerily empty, the street lamps devoid of their usual glowing lights.
Finally, the grey sloping roof of my home began to come into view. I grinned and broke into a sprint, no longer attempting to be quiet. My feet made loud slapping sounds against the cold sidewalk, and I pushed on, my home coming closer and closer into view.
As soon as I reached the front door, my instinct that something was terribly wrong grew fiercer. The front door was hanging open on its hinges, and the hallway was littered with shredded papers and random articles of clothing. I slowly entered the house, and a chill came over me that had nothing to do with the cold. I stepped over the piles of clothing and entered my living room, my breath coming out quick and ragged. The frames on the mantle had been stripped of their photos, and my dad's favorite sheriff's hat lay abandoned on the floor. I picked it up and set in on my head. From where I was standing, I could see that my parents' bedroom had been stripped of all the essentials.
"Mom?" I called frantically, "Dad?" I received no answer. Distraught, I searched through every room in the house, but there was no sign of life.
No longer feeling safe, I walked out of my house and sat down on the front steps, putting my head in my hands. Hot tears began to roll down my face, but I brushed them away impatiently. I heard a light noise across the street, and I looked up expectantly. A man was standing in the street, and he was making his way towards me. I waved at him, trying to be friendly. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the previously silent night, and the man fell to the ground, blood pooling on the sidewalk. Another man stood over him, a rifle pointed in his face. I suddenly felt dizzy, like I was going to be sick. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind me, and I whirled around. A girl was standing there, her long brown hair pulled into a braid that laid over her right shoulder. She was wielding a shovel, and before I could say anything, she swung it, smacking me clear in the face. I toppled backwards, my vision blurring in and out of focus. The man who had shot the person in the street made his way over to me and bent over me.
"I got it!" The girl said triumphantly.
"It doesn't look dead", the man said contemplatively. The girl raised her shovel again.
"Should I hit it again?" She said, but the man stopped her.
"No", he said, "I mean it doesn't look dead dead." The girl lowered her shovel. The man bent lower over me, pointing his rifle in my face,
"What's your name?"
"N-name�" Was all I could manage before I blacked out.
