Safe. Atticus was safe, for now.

I watch as Atticus sifted through his pack. He was alone in a mountain cave.

"He is almost out of there for good", I thought.

Just one more tribute. Thats all, then he could come home, come home to me. Easier said than done, no doubt.

As I watched, a small black figure suddenly came into view.

"No… No… NOO!" I screamed, my voice rising with every word. "ATTICUS BEHIND YOU! ATTICUS LOOK!" I screamed at the tv.

He can't die. Not like this. He is supposed to come home to me. I can't lose him. Not now, not EVER!

I stared helpless as the small figure slowly came into view. It was a broad, familiar-looking man. He had piercing black eyes and jet black hair. I stared in complete horror as he slowly and quietly drew out a curved wicked-looking blade.

"Atticus… PLEASE, LOOK BEHIND YOU!"

My screaming was useless. He couldn't hear me. All I can do is watch. The man crept slowly toward Atticus' back. He raised his blade slowly.

"ATTICUS NOOOOO!"

Atticus turned just in time to see the wicked blade slice through the air and right into his chest. He crumpled to the ground, his brown eyes, once so full of life and hope, slowly closed.

I began to sob uncontrollably as I stared at the tv, stared at my dead boyfriend. Just then the killer turned to look at the camera, to look at me. His mouth curled up into a cruel smile.

"Hey, Clemensia!"

He started in a deep voice with a mocking tone. I stared in horror as he began to speak… to ME!

" Hey Clemensia, your next!"


I awoke drenched in sweat.

His killer, Cyprian's killer. I had a dream about Atticus dying at the hands of Cyprian's killer.

"Man, I am two kinds of messed up", I thought.

"Clemensia, you worthless piece of shit get in here and make me food", came the voice of my always drunk father.

"Coming!"

Man, can't the bum just wait until i get home from school to yell at me?

I quickly showered and dressed then shuffled into the kitchen.

"How long does it take for you to get ready you twit?"

"Dad, it is WAY to early to start this", I shot at him.

I practically ran around the kitchen to finish breakfast so I could get to school on time.

"Finished! Here is your damn food! I'm leaving", I said, dropping the plate of food on the wobbly table.

"Fine, get the hell out of here! I hate your guts anyway! It's your fault!"

"What?"

"Cyprian and your mothers death. It's your fault. It's ALL your fault!"

I just walked out of the room. I refused to let him see me cry. I already knew it was my fault. Their blood WAS on my hands. It haunted me ever since their deaths. It echoed throughout me.

My fault...

ALL my fault...