348 and dropping

Dear Dairy Population:121- same day and they are all dead as one can be

                 

the pic above is of Scarlett Davis. aint she pretty /\ /\ /\ /\

The sound of silence.

It was such a funny sound, not like you could really compare it to anything else. I guess it's a bit like one ceaseless drop of rain with no intervals for the pitter patter in between and its dropping all at once and all at the same time.

Or maybe it's like one of those dog trainers, the ones that send out a high-pitched noise that only dogs and sometime young children can hear. Or maybe an old TV with a stereo and it's broken and you can still hear the static even after its turned off.

Or maybe silence is just the mutterings of a mad man.

All the voices inside your head, the devil and the angel on your shoulder, things you remember and the things you don't, everything you ever thought. One usually has people talking out loud or the sound of a car engine or the sound of the dishwasher running, but sometimes there are those moments were no one's speaking out loud and its just silent, that's when you hear the muttering inside your head.

So at I stand at my witness point, I'm not sure what I hear as I watch them fall to their untimely deaths into the deep raven. I wasn't sure if I was hearing a hundred drops of water or a high pitched sound or broken TV static, or simply the voices in my head.

But I looked around at the stunned faces which probably resemble my own and I wonder what they were hearing and I wonder if they know how lucky they are to be hearing anything at all, because soon enough they won't hear anything. None of us will.

                                                            ±±±

no one moved for what felt like hours, but it could have been minutes or seconds, I had no way of knowing. That's when the screaming began, it was high pitched and terrified. Everyone moving this way and that. Next to me a woman in her late forties sunk to her knees, hers payers that god would help us were punctuated by sobs. A boy around my age was rocking in the corner of the room, back and forward, back and forward, shacking his head, muttering to himself. This isn't real. This isn't real, it isn't, it isn't, it isn't.

The room was too cheerful, with its floral wallpaper flooded with the morning light; the toys of a child were spread out beside a crib. Its strange to be in such a bright and ordinary room after the events that just took place. I don't know what I expected, not that I would ever expect such a thing to happen. But if it was going to happen, should I not be in a dark room in the middle of night, with supper natural sprits around me, just like in the horror films?.

Bad things happen- in books and film. And I watch and read them because it ain't real. But I look around the bright room I stand in and its not a film or a book, there aren't spirits swooping around me, its just a ordinary day- one were all my friends died. And this cant be over in a couple of hours when I finish the film, I cant shake it of and say to the person next to me ' phew, glade that's over'

I cant, because its not over in a couple of hours. I have to live this.

Because this, this right here is real. This is my life.

                                                                    ±±±

I'm on auto pilot; just running, walking, crying, sinking, falling and I have no control. I searched for a long time, I searched for the police and detective Reed even though I saw them get in to a car. I search for my friends even though I saw the bus sink. I search for Kaitlin graces mom even though she's nothing but cremated ash. I search for old man Serl even though I know if I look all I'll find Is a body. I search for the people I know are dead- and then I'm disappointed when I don't find them.

I walked though the rising dust and I expect to see them and then I realize that I wont, not now, not ever. 'cause they aren't coming back and that's to much to deal with right now. I envy the people that can conjure up imaginary friends. They could pretend that they were still here and that would be easier. So I try real hard to conger up a image, of the friends I've known my whole life. And it sort of works. Sort of will have to be good enough for now.

                                                                      ±±±

Joanna Harwood, Alex Jenkins, Scarlett Davis; I could tell they weren't real. There transparent figures hung around the old fashioned swing set, I was in the middle, Jo perched precariously on the swing to my left and Scarlett on the one to my right and Alex was taking terns pushing the swings, trying his best to make them fly high up to the metal frame that held the three swings up. But I could tell it wasn't real, I could tell because I was the only one that was moving, swinging my legs back and forward and making myself saw through the air and little Alex's hand passed straight through the solid rubber of the swing.

Sometimes I would look away from one of them for a couple of minutes and when I looked back they would be gone, I had to stare at the place they were before and try to remember what they looked like, sluggishly they would reappear. At first they would just be an out line of their former selves, then after a while I could make out the colors of there clothing. But its not until quite a bit after that I can make out there the features of there face. It started of as a completely clear face with no lines or indents to infer a nose or mouth, it was like a hollow egg places unsteadily upon their necks.

They would only ever talk about things I all ready knew, I asked them what had happened since I stopped going to school but they didn't answer, just stared at there feet. There were times were I wondered if maybe they really were there, like maybe, just maybe, I wasn't slowly going insane.

But why lie to my self, right? Father always told me not to lie. Not that he actually even understands what is going on anymore. I think he's gone of the wire, as in completely crazy, the kind of crazy people get locked up for.

I saw these people, the ones that are looking over my shoulder as I wright this, I saw them fall of a bridge, I saw them get in to a bus and I saw that bus sink, sink, sink, to the bottom of a raven which will carry them far away from this place.

" Here's to you guys" I said turning around " at least you got out, you got out just like you wanted, right?" I stared at Alex.

He just stared at his feet.

                 

Hey guys, soooo...

What do y'all think?

who's the killer????

Is there just one killer or is this a group effort?

Does everything make sense?

Help me brain storm ways to kill people- as you do

Do you think its too scary...

Or not scary enough?

Witch character do you like the best?

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And keep reading xoxox