January 11, 2012
Jason stands there, bloody teeth, torn arm, a look in his eyes, one that I can't place even if I tried. He pursues me, running towards my camera I have used to capture these events. My most crucial piece of evidence. I can't lose it! my instinct is to run, but something glued me to that spot. Was it because I was his friend? No. Was it because I was too shocked to move? No. Was it because I heard someone scream, "We can help!" Yes. We can help. I will never have that sentence removed from my mind. Even if you could tear it straight out of my brain, "We can help" will always be there. I turned around, Finding a group of people. One child, three adults. The four pigs lining up to go to the slaughter house. Yet they came over, bearing weapons ranging from rifle to pistol, machete to that dreaded baseball bat. The baseball bat that I used to kill a person. Jason ran off, so I knew he still had fear. There was still some Jason left in Jason. suddenly, I heard the cry, "What is happening?! HELP ME!!!" Followed by noises sounding like A man beating another man violently. As this group, Known as "The hunters" chased after my friend. The noises stopped. For three tormenting days, I wondered what became of Jason.