The sleepover was wrong from the start and full of unanswered questions. Whatever game Sarah, my supposed best friend, was playing, I wanted no part in it. The rain was coming down hard, though. My mother who I kissed goodbye a few hours ago wouldn't come to rescue me over such a weird and non-specific fear through that storm, and I couldn't run through it. I was on my own.
She kept talking about her uncle while I thought of the past. Her uncle was coming at midnight. The uncle who gave her all her sweet toys yet wasn't present on any family photo.
Knocking at the door. Sarah, so evilly happy. I knew to make myself scarce. I ran to the bathroom, where I had gone earlier when things had gotten too awkward and weird. but where there should have been showers and linen closets was just blank white cubes.
I hid behind what used to be the closet. Then, in broken code and with claustrophobic tenderness, the uncle began to speak to me.
God help me. But I was just a kid. Even if this was far away from slasher films, I couldn't die, could I?
The uncle stops in front of my hiding spot. I hold my breath. I can't run, I can't fight, but I won't die with my eyes closed.
I died screaming, far too young, rippd to pieces by the uncle of my best friend since first grade, in a happy little rich suburb.
But I died with my eyes wide open.
The uncle who works at Nintendo. Play it, it's pretty swell.
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Topic: How did you last die? (Read 2372204 times)