Rusty Knives

Date: 7/18/2016

I was walking down the street of the last town I lived in minding my own business when three strangers approached me and asked me if I would like to ho somewhere with them. I scoffed and told them off, then turned on my heel--but one of them grabbed me by the wrist. They pulled out rusty knives, one with a serated blade, and tried to stab me, but I managed to get out of their grip and run to my aunt's house. I banged on her door and begged for her to let me in. She refused. I shoved past her. I thought I was safe for a few minutes as I rattled out the story of what had happened when she cut me off, "Good. You deserve to die." I pled, but it was no use. She really didn't care. In fact she nodded to my cousin Matthias and had him open the door to tell them where I was. I ran as fast as I could out the sliding glass door out back, hopped the fence to the dog yard, and crouched inside of the spider infested shed, where I called 911. Then the dream ended.