"10, 9, 8"

"Milo fucking stop!"

He slid the knife on my skin. I jerked but it was no use. The rope was holding me down. I grasped for air when I felt my skin open and blood oozed out.

He looked at me and flashed me his dashing slime. All I wanna do is wake up.

"Seven, Six" he counted in a way like it was a song.

I was running. Hallways. Red. Faces. Stitched Mouth. Black Eyes. Children. Knife. Rope. Camera.

"Andrea!!!"

I snapped. I killed my father. I laughed. I finally did it. He's gone. He wont hurt me and my mom again.

I dropped the knife with crimson stained on it. I made my way to a room, a bright pastel room.

The room had pastel pink wallpaper, with blue designs. It was like a baby room.

As I stood at the doorway there was a rocking chair moving back and forth.

"Mother.." i grinned.

I walked towards her and saw her lifeless body. Her arms once soft and lively now red and bruised.

Her hair once silky and glowy now sticky and wet.

Her body once curvy and healthy now skinny and decayed.

Her eyes once happy and lovely now dull and tired.

My mom once loving and caring now lifeless and dead.

It was his fault.

"Three, two.."

"Rockabye baby.. on the tree top.." I swinged the chair back and forth.

Mom's eyes were wide open.

"And when the wind blows--"

*crack*

Gasp.

I grasped for air.

Tears on my eyes.

I'm scared.

It was a dream. It was all a twisted dream.

I held my blanket close to me, goosebumps all over my arm.

I took a notebook and immedietly wrote down my dream. But it was blank. All I could remember was someone counting, my mom's disturbing decayed boy at the rocking chair, her eyes all creepy and wide, the pastel room.

Have I gone mad?

Was it just a dream? or a foreshadow?

I got off my bed and went down.

Mom was sitting down at the chair, all alone holding a coffee mug while staring ahead with dead eyes.

Her figure from my dream flashed and I shook my head. It was so disturbing.

I walked towards her and she looked at me, "He went out. He took the car with him, as always."

I nodded, feeling all glad. He almost killed me. I almost killed him.

"What you did was wrong, Andrea."

I stared down at the table. I knew it was wrong.

"It was self-defense."

"You could've left me." I looked at her. "You could've died." Tears started to sprung on her eyes.

"How could I just watch you getting beat down, mom? How." I demanded, my pulse beating twice as fast.

She looked down in shame.

"Why couldnt we just get out of this house."

We werent looking at eachother.

"You know we have no where to go."

"Better live in the streets than this fucked up home." I spat, turning my back and headed to the stairs.

Before I could go up, I halted when I saw the basement door. I glanced at mom, she has her eyes closed.

Opening the door, I slid inside in peace.

"Andrea.." I heard a familiar voice, cold breeze passing through my skin