Finding Out Who

Author: Alexandra
From: Des Moines, USA
Age: 11
Date: 5th Jul 2000, 9:13 AM
Rating: 5
Comment:
Title: Finding Out Who

Chapter 10
I thought that was dull enough, but at least my mom would have hope, and maybe
she’d understand about Perry. Who knows.

Anyhow, there wasn’t much excitement at all. But in a way, I was thankful.
Because I kept on having nightmares about someone coming. The same someone that
killed my father, only I couldn’t see his face. Yet he still came for me, in my dream. . . .
and he killed me. I was dead. In my dream, I was just waking up, when I was standing by
my bed and Perry said, "Look", and he pointed at the mattress.
When I did look, I saw myself, just lying there. I was motionless, and my face was
white. I was dead. I was dead, and a ghost at that. I was dead!
I sobbed in my dream, and when I woke up, I was sobbing as well.

A few days later, something happened almost as bad as my dream.
Perry was gone again, and he’d locked the doors, in case I tried to run away. I had
really kind of befriended Perry, and I really trusted him. It was true, he definitely didn’t kill
my dad. He just wouldn’t be able to.
Anyway, I was just playing a game of solitaire, and was pretty mellow. I was also
keeping myself busy by humming one of my favorite songs: Sir Duke by Stevie Wonder.
Then I heard a faint creaking at the back door, and I assumed that it was Perry. So
I got up to greet him at the door. But when I got there, and the door shattered open, yep,
you guessed it. It wasn’t Perry. It was a man about 30 years old, he had brown hair and
dark eyes. There was also a machine gun in his hand.
I was scared. So incredibly scared. All I could do was scream and run.
I was horrified at that moment, after my dreams of death, I was about 10 times as
afraid of guns. Plus, after you found out that there was someone with an urge to kill you,
after killing your dad, that would also raise your fear level.
Then again, I was more than just "incredibly scared", and I was more than
"horrified".
I was so down right creeped out, I might have actually killed myself then let those
men who were after me kill me themselves!
That’s not at all good. In fact, it’s positively mentally-ill.
Here’s the scene: I was horrified to die, I desperately missed my father, I was
running away from people wanting to kill and most likely torture me because they don’t
have all of the pieces to my dad’s jigsaw-puzzle of a good idea, and I was considering
committing suicide.
What really scares me though, is how close I was to doing the worst. I was
thinking of my life, what had happened in the far and near past, and I was thinking how
much I hated myself. I hated my life, I hated Perry for pulling me into this, I was mad at
my mom, I was mad at my math teacher for letting me take a bathroom break, I was mad
at the people that killed my dad for killing anyone at all, and I was mad at my dad for
having to die. I had loved my dad, in the short amount of time I knew him, I loved him so
much! He was killed though, killed! What if there isn’t any after life of any kind? Then
when you die, you just don’t exist! No conscious, you can’t cry over your own death!
You just stop living, obviously! Can you imagine everything black, and then you can’t
even think? I don’t know if you picture it the way I do, but it really scares me, it scares me
a lot. I never want to die, I’m to scared of not having the ability to do anything, you can’t
remember, or think! I know that I’m repeating the same stuff over and over again, just in
different ways, but I’m trying to get the message across to everyone that reads this story.
I was so scared of death, and still am now, yet I was staring at an open window on
the top floor, and after the intruder caught up with me, he pointed his weapon at my head.
I knew this, even though I was facing the opposite way, because I could actually feel heat
radiating out of the gun barrel. The gun had been used recently. Maybe even on my
mother.
"O.K. sweetie, go where the gun pushes ya." The intruder barked out.
There was a silence for about 5 seconds, but suprisingly I decided to defend
myself. "Who are you? What do you want with me? ‘Cause I know that I don’t want any
kidnapper on my property."
"Ho, ho! Little smart mouth here, eh? Well ya big kid, who has the gun?" You had
to admit. The intruder had a point. To prove his point even further, he pointed his machine
gun at the ceiling and shot some deafeningly loud bullets, which proceeded through the
ceiling, and allowed what felt like two tons of plaster to fall on my head.
I started to cry. Not from pain, but rage. Rage from the fact that I was giving in to
the intruder, and letting him lead me through the house, out the back door, and into what
looked like an old beaten up van, which it was.
I cried even harder as I allowed another one of the "bad guys" that had been
waiting for the intruder tie up my arms, legs, and gag me. After all, wouldn’t you let them
do the same if they had a small, yet effective pistol pointing hungrily at your throat?

I heard a lot of talking in the front of the van, though I couldn’t make out what
they were saying, and then I heard the engines roar to life, and I felt a strong jerk as the
van pulled forward.


* * *


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