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My brother's really into irony, and horror, I don't even know why, so I wrote this for him :p It's super sad, and it'll probably get you right in the feels xD


Submitted:Dec 8, 2013    Reads: 74    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Karen had been walking for some time, not really caring where she went, but walking all the same just for the fun of it. She could not shake the feeling of something being off. A strange warning resonating from her gut. Or was that her starving stomach? She could not even tell. Either way, she felt strange and hungry as she walked on groggily. The cool, winter breeze tossed her fawn colored hair around but she did not care. At the moment there was only one thing on her mind. One thing that truly mattered. Him.

She had felt his presence just a few hours ago. Of course, she could not see him, but something inside her said he was there. She now put her small pale hands inside the pockets of her fur jacket. A peculiar feeling rushed down her spine. The feeling told her that he was near. Sitting at the bench to her left. He had a large duffel bag beside him, most likely filled with weapons. Karen could not see this but she could feel it as she watched him in the reflection before her.

The feeling was familiar because she had felt it for months. The person who had been targeting her has sent bounty hunters after her almost every week, And every week, Karen would escape. It was like a game. A sick, twisted game. All she knew was that these people were heavily paid to hurt her. But this week Karen was worried. There had already been three men yesterday, and all of them had been carrying guns. Guns did not worry Karen, but it was the type of guns that did. For the past few months the people would have knock out guns and sometimes no gun at all. But today (and for the past few weeks) she had been faced against actual guns with actual bullets. Like the men from before, this man was paid to kill. Paid to kill her.

Karen realized that she had been so consumed in her thoughts that she had not kept track of the buses. Her bus was to come at 12:49. She pulled out her iphone from her pockets. It was 1:20. Her blood went cold. Karen looked up and turned to look at the killer. He was holding a newspaper but obviously was not reading it. The man was sitting at a strange angle as if he were trying to make room for someone. Instead of facing forward, he was facing the left, towards me. A wisp of dark hair had been concealing his eyes, but a sudden gust of wind now blew it to the side. His soft gray eyes met her brown ones and widened. She tried to smile and casually turn away, but her neck was suddenly stiff. Karen and the man stared at each other. Recognition was on both faces. The man had to kill her.

A bus slowly came to a stop and Karen was snapped into action. She got up and entered the line for the bus riders. The man was six people behine her. But would six people be enough? Karen ran inside and immediately went to a crowded section of the stuffy bus. She held on as the bus jolted forward. Karen began to take in her fellow passsengers, to see if anyone else looked suspicious.

An old woman with a grandchild. A flirty rich boy. A kind man and his petitie wife. A portly bus driver. No, the killer was working alone. The killer.

He stood beside her, holding the bag close. At the next stop, Karen got off quickly, as did the man.

She ran into a public restroom, and locked the door in a stall. Surely, he wouldn't follow her in. Surely he wouldn't. There was the sound of silent footsteps outside. Karen dropped to the floor and peered beneath the stall door. He walked to a stall on the right, and pushed it open suddenly. Blood pounding in her ears, she crawled on her stomach into another stall. The stall she had previously been in burst open. Karen gasped, tears running down her terrified face. She desperately cried out for help, and instantly an eerie silence filled the restroom.

CRASH!

The stall door was kicked to the ground, and the man grabbed her, his mouth moving. But the young woman could no longer hear anything as her ears went numb. She shoved the killer away and ran out of the restroom. He followed after her.

The woman ran unto a bridge, searching for a police car, or some form of authority. Strangely, there was none.

"No."

She muttered unconsciuosly in shock. There was always a cop on the bridge, or at least a parking officer.

Suddenly, Karen felt two robust arms wrap around her. It was him. She screamed, throwing her head back andsmashing it into his. Then, the panicked woman felt his arms fall limply. She ran to the support beams ofthe bridge, and began to climb frantically with horror, she realized that he was climbing behind her. How much money was offered for her death?

Her ears were still numb, and she could not hear anything, but she could feel him breathing her. Reaching the top after fifteen mintues, she straightened, grimly realizing she had reached a dead end. Karen was trapped. The mas stood up and said something she could not hear.

"Please! Stay away from me!!"

Karen sobbed, steppign back. He reached an arm out towards her. She teetered off the edge of the structure, her heart pounding as she looked down at the traffic. People were now looking up at them and pointing.

"Help!!!"

She screamed down. Several people had stoppped their veichles and others began to call the authorities. Just as Karenwas about to sigh with relief, the man lunged and grabbed her, hugging her close. Horrified, she wondered if he was going to jump into the ocean, buit she doubted it. Killers did not risk their own lives, but then why was this man risking his up here with her? He was not planning on shooting her, that was for sure because he had left his bag of weapons at the foot of the pillar. Then why...?

She felt a warm breath in her ear as he whispered something, but she still could not hear. Terrified, she shoved him away, anmd kicked him between the legs. He stood uneasily, his face contorted in pain.

Suddenly, Karen lost her footing, and felt the wind rush as she fell down a few feet screaming. She would have smashed into a car if she had not grabbed a bar attatched to the support beam. People shouted from below, and Karen shrieked for help. She looked up and spotted the dark head of the man. His face was terrified, and his dove gray eyes met her own brown ones. He reached an arm down to her, but out of fear she did not take it. Just as she was thinking about what beautiful eyes he had for a bounty hunter, the bar she was holding onto gave, and she felt the air rush up as she fell, her body nu7mb.

Was that a look of concern on his face, she thought as she hit the bridge. Her prediction had been wrong. She had not hit a car, she had fallen directly unto the bridge.

Was that a look of concern on his face?

The very next day, a particularly stange story headlined the newspapers. A young woman who had just emerged from a coma about a week earlier had apparently lost her memory. She had entered the coma months earlier when a serial killer had fatally wounded her. Her boyfriend, who was also a police officer, had been trying to catch her as she wandered the streets. Apparently, she could not recognize him and continued to call him a murderer. In the end, her boyfriend followed her up the support beams of the Golden Gate Bridge. Witnesses reported top have seen the woman fall off the support beam, resisting any hel from her boyfriend. Ambulances could not arrive in time to save the dying woman, who (it was later discovered) had been diagnosed with lung cancer. That very night, the young police man committed suicide and was found dead in his aprtment with a picture of his beloved in his left hand, and a case with an engagement ring in his right.





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