Sunday, August 12, 2007

let's end this, shall we?

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

The Evil Summer: Final installment (OR IS IT?)

I couldn't move or talk. All I could remember were the words on the floor. It said it would be back. When? 10 years, 10 days, 10 minutes? I didn't know what was real anymore. The next thing I knew I was over by Randy, looking down on him.

"Did I kill him?" I managed to choke out.

"I don't know!" said Chris.

I dropped to my knees and put my ear on his chest. I couldn't hear anything. I sat up and said "I can't hear a heartbeat."

"Well, try gain. He can't be dead!" shouted Chris.

I put my ear back to his chest. After a few seconds I whispered, "He's gone. I killed him."

"No, he's not!" Chris yelled. "Move!"

She pushed me away and put her ear to his chest*. She stayed there almost 5 minutes.

"Hey, I - I hear something!" she said.

"Let me see!" I told her.

She moved away and I listened. She was right. I could hear something, too. I sat up, to happy to speak. I just shook my head yes, realizing that he wasn't dead, I hadn't killed him.

"He's not dead. I told you!" Chris yelled as Randy continued to wake up. By now he was fully concious.**

"What's going on. I told you that stupid game wouldn't work!" he said. We all stared at him.

"You mean, you don't remember?" I asked.

"Remember what?"

We told him what had happened. Just as we finished we heard a door slam. We ran upstairs. It was our parents.

"Where the heck*** were you guys?" Chris asked.

"We were next door. Didn't Bret and Josh tell you?" Chris's mom said.

We looked at Bret and Josh. "Sorry." they said.

"Nothing happened did it?" my mom asked.

"Oh, nothing unusual." I replied.

Later, the next day Randy came to me, looking guilty and asked, "I didn't hurt anyone did I."

"Well, you cut me in the side when you threw a knife at us. Then you threatened us with a gun." I said. "Does your head and neck still hurt? I kind of slammed your head on the washer." Now it was my turn to look guilty.

"A little, but I'm glad you did what you did."

"Oh glad to do it. Anytime you need to be strangled and beat up, call me!" I joked.

It's almost 8 months later and I've about forgotten the whole thing. Or at least stopped thinking about it all the time. Until I found a note on my bed one day. It said:


(or is it?)

OK. So that's over. I see several plotholes here. One, I think everyone's parents may notice the bloody towels all over the upstairs bathroom. Two, there is probably a bloody knife lying there, too. Three, um, where did the gun go? And four, was I really planning to write a sequel? I'm so happy that does not exist. Also? I still have no idea who half the people in this story are.

*It's called CPR, you 12-year-old morons. Look into it.
**I still can't spell this word
***see? I didn't always have such a goddamn dirty mouth

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