| rdfs:comment
| - It was a regular afternoon, as I sat inside of my room, laying on my bed and scrolled through my Instagram feed. I saw a couple pictures talking about asking questions on Ask.fm. Apparently this site named “Ask.fm” is a website where people can ask you questions anonymously. I decided to create one, and telling others to ask me any types of questions. A week has passed by, and I haven’t even glanced at my questions, too petrified what anon has more to say. My phone buzzed, as I got a text from my best friend, Amber. Amber: is everything ok? u have been acting different lately :(— —
|
| abstract
| - It was a regular afternoon, as I sat inside of my room, laying on my bed and scrolled through my Instagram feed. I saw a couple pictures talking about asking questions on Ask.fm. Apparently this site named “Ask.fm” is a website where people can ask you questions anonymously. I decided to create one, and telling others to ask me any types of questions. The next day, a couple questions rolled in. They were simple questions, such as “what’s your favorite color?” Or “what do you do in your spare time?” I’ve answered those questions, as I hovered over the X to close the site, when another question suddenly popped up. This one was anonymous, just like the others. But this one was peculiar. All what was written in black and white was “I’m always watching.” I chose not to answer it, because it was probably someone trying to mess with me and it’s best not to feed the trolls. I came home from school the following day and checked my Ask.fm like a daily routine. Two more anonymous questions were there, the same odd topics. The first one stated, “You can’t ignore me. I’m always there.“ My breath hitched in my throat as I read the next one. “Your house is nice.“ It was asked less than five minutes ago. I’m home alone, though. My parents are supposed to come home in a half an hour. I quickly typed back to both questions demanding that this “joke” needs to stop. A week has passed by, and I haven’t even glanced at my questions, too petrified what anon has more to say. My phone buzzed, as I got a text from my best friend, Amber. Amber: is everything ok? u have been acting different lately :(I only ignored her text, as I forced myself over to my computer. I pulled up my Ask.fm, to be overwhelmed with anon questions. I only skimmed over a few, as I began to panic. The questions became personal, as if it were my best friend or parent. I stopped on one question, panic spreading throughout my body. “Come downstairs, I’m getting lonely.” I closed my laptop shut, and began to open my window quietly, as it was my only escape route. I could land on my trampoline, since I was on the second floor. I had one leg through the window when my bedroom door slammed open. Standing in the doorway, gripping a bloody butcher knife, was my best friend Amber. She had a sick, twisted smile on her face. I froze. No. This can’t be her! Not my one and only best friend! “I’m getting back at you for what you did to my brother,” Amber croaked, a demonic voice replacing her old high pitched one. Her brother? He died in a car accident while drunk driving. I was in the same car with him, because he promised me a ride home from the party. I came out of the hospital with a broken leg and a deep gash across my abdomen. Is it because I was the only one that made it out if the car accident? She kept on inching closer, a tight grasp on that knife. I’ve regained awareness on how I was going to escape. I took a deep breath, swung my legs over the window, and dropped onto the trampoline. Amber followed in the foot steps, falling and landing as her knife plunged into my stomach. — “Survivor Katie Cooper admitted into the hospital today in critical condition. From investigation, it was proven that Katie has attempted suicide, after what it looks like she had murdered her own parents. She will be in the mental health clinic after full recovery.” The news anchor reported, and signed off. —
* Five months later* After being in the hospital, being fed lies that I’ve only been imagining this, my doctor finally prescribed me going into a mental health clinic. It’s been hell here. No one believes that Amber is out there, potentially looking for a next victim. I couldn’t take it. My parents are dead. I broke open my window in the middle of the night, looking over all fifteen stories of sadness. I stood there, the December bitter wind whipping around me. A nurse suddenly sprinted into the room, her pleads for me to get down all silenced by the voice in my head telling me to jump. I only smirked at the nurse, as I fell into Death’s open arms.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)