I run. Even though my lungs burn and my legs lost feeling a long time ago, I run. The cold embrace of the moisture in the air creates a stinging force that greets me as I run. My nose fills with the scent of wet leaves, and I can taste my heartbeat in my throat as I hear the bestial growl closing in on me. I slowly remember that I am running from him. He who once called me friend now called for my blood. My foot catches on the leaves that pave my path. As I fall, my head makes contact with a rain slicked rock and I lose consciousness. When I wake, I am pressed to the ground by the weight of the vile creature feeding from my throat. Realizing what was happening, I attempt to push him off my neck. Had he not been lost in blood lust, he may have proven more of a difficult fight. I scream blindly at him.
“Why are you doing this to me? I thought we were friends!” The trickle of rain turns into a down pour. It cleanses the blood off my face and I regain my sight. He steadies himself. His pale and broken frame glares back at me. His eyes are red with fresh blood. His hair as dark as the forest behind him fell past those deepening red eyes. His maw slacken, gushing thick, clotted blood moves with each of his breaths. I didn’t understand why he would do this to me. He spoke. His voice was harsh, cracked, and hot. His breath reeked of iron and decay and sounded nothing like the Zack I knew.
“I do this to teach you fledglings a lesson. Your kind has forgotten how to respect those who made you. And you are no exception.” He practically hisses at me. He then grabs the base of my throat. His nails grow as his grip tightens. They slice through my skin as he lifts me off the ground. I try to pull him off but as I do, he grips tighter. I can't breathe, and just as I am about to black out, he rips my throat away from me.
I wake screaming, sitting up so fast I startled Trash. He whimpers then runs out of my room and into the hall. “Sorry Trash.” I call. He is a Carpathian Shepherd. My dad and I found him as a pup in our trashcan, a few years after my mom disappeared , as a result we call him Trash.
I roll off my bed and stand to check my hair in the mirror. My throat is red, but only for a moment or two, then it fades back into my pale complexion. My white skin is off set by my short black hair that hangs around my face and bangs that fall past my eyes that were so deep brown that they resemble dark chocolate marbles.
I sigh. I smear vitamin oil across my scars, wrap them in gauze, and pull my uniform over my head and put on my boots. I head down the hall to cook breakfast. My father cannot cook to save his life, so I do the majority of it. Pulling out bacon, flour, eggs, and milk I notice that all of the lights are off. I head outside. Rain graces the air around me. I flip the breaker and the porch light comes on. Then I hear the screeching of car tires on wet pavement and I stiffen. I get a sick feeling in my stomach as I hear the impacting crunch of mental on metal, and suddenly I feel as if I shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning. I receive one of Emms morning motivational texts, and I feel better. While the bacon cooks, I start a pot of coffee. When the food is cooked, I call out to my father and I hear him sleepily groan out, “What?” I pop my head outside of the door framing the hall way entrance. “Breakfast.” I hear him stumble out of bed and rush to get dressed. As he scarfs down breakfast, I drink two cups of coffee and munch on plain pancakes for my stomach is too queasy to handle much more than that. I look at the clock and curse. “Dad, I got to go. Have a good day.” I grab my backpack and run out the door and into the rain.
The path is long and soaked. My boots get splattered with mud, but I don't mind. I have always loved the rain, but as I walk through the woods in the direction of school, I hear yet another screeching of tires and a knot forms in the base of my throat. But there is a lack of  the crunching of metal so my tense muscles relax. No one seems to know how to drive in the rain. What is the point of having a metal death trap if you can't even drive it properly. The rain seeps through my clothes and I can feel the cold water caressing my scars. The gentle touch hurts. I am clutching myself tightly when I hear the squeak of wet rubber soles on water logged leaves. I am stunned when I look at my surroundings for this is the exact part of the forest from my dream. I refuse to glance behind me and hit the ground running, hoping to make it behind the doors of my school before my imagination gets the better of me. I thought that I was out running my nightmare but the steps are running behind me and gaining. I reach the steps of my school when I feel the hot touch of determined clutches on my shoulder. I cringe and turn around and to my surprise, I face Zack. I fall to the ground in relief and hit him in the gut. “You f***ing scared me! I nearly pissed myself goddammit!” he looks at me confused and releases his grip from me. “What did I do?” I shake my head. I stand and put my weight on the door to begin what I hope to be an uneventful day of school.