In the middle of a forest in an old broken down oak wood cottage a butcher's knife slowly slides off the pink flesh it has dug into.
Why me..?
She asks herself.
Why me!?
With a clang and a thunk the red knife hits the moonlit planks. Staring into the moon through the tattered curtains and broken window she drops. She screams and pulls ferociously on her olive brown hair.
A hand slowly creeps next to her. Trying, desperately trying to grab her skirt. She looks at the head beside her. The head of a man she once knew. Blood pouring tap like out of from a cut on his neck. Dripping slowly towards her legs.
She grabs the knife.
Far away from the cottage, and into the woods. It sounds like a lumber jack is doing his work...
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