A teenager stood alone at a bus stop late at night. The streets were covered with lights but no cars. Everything else was clouded with darkness. Atticus checked his watch to see when the bus would arrive. Eleven. If the bus wasn't there by then, it wouldn't come at all. Atticus had no choice but to walk home. He set his iPod to full volume and played something fitting to his tired mood.
As he walked, he decided to try a shortcut through the nearby park.
"Why not?" he asked himself quietly
"I'm late anyway. Can't hurt more to see if it's faster." He walked through the grass, feeling each strand be crushed with each step. He moved onto the pavement, being lit by each passing light post. It was a beautiful sight to behold. No people, no life, only the path he walked on and the light that guided him.
But something felt off. Atticus looked behind him to find that each light he passed by burnt out.
"Strange" he thought, and moved forward. More lights went off. Now he was getting nervous. He stared to run but each light kept burning out as soon as he passed them. Soon, all the lights in front of him went off. Atticus was surrounded by darkness. He yanked out his earbuds to hear heavy breathing. Atticus knew someone was there but couldn't see them. He felt surrounded by nothing. Then all of a sudden, the lights went back on. A figure with black robes appeared holding a knife in his hand. It was the killer, right in front of Atticus's eyes.
Atticus was frozen. He couldn't move an inch, he was so scared. His life was about to end with in seconds. He didn't know how to react. The killer moved forward and swung his knife in front of him, cutting Atticus's throat. Blood burst out of his neck, pain like he never felt before moved through his body. He collapsed on to the ground, grabbing his wound, uttering one last word:
"Why?" The killer didn't answer. He walked away and left Atticus to die. He grabbed the air, trying his best to get the killer, but no use. He knew it wouldn't end with him. Atticus was the first to go in a series of deaths and nothing could be done to stop it.
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FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-dge.
... is what I'll be eating at the JIB.
Yeah, I'm dead. BOO.