I only remember that dark, windy night. The accident. I was having a dreadful headache. I hit the wrong pedal, I accelerated. From there on, I can't remember anything, just me waking up in an ambulance. I couldn't hear anything, just my own breath hyperventilating. Immediately, I arrived at the hospital and the nurses took me to a private room to be checked. It was bizarre that they checked me constantly, which led me to believe I was very injured. I was trying to sleep when I heard a doctor entering the room. When I opened my eyes, I saw a tall man with a white coat. He said that I needed to be transferred to another hospital where I could be monitored by specialized equipment. They took me to a black van where I couldn't see anything through the windows. They started talking. I couldn't hear any words from the stress I was experiencing. Abruptly, I started feeling very dizzy. —Do you know where you are?— That was the first thing I heard after waking up. I was sitting in a chair looking at the wall, zoned out. I just got transferred or at least that was what they told me. Apparently, there was an accident; I can't remember anything. —Pass patient 16 to a room, he is not answering— No, no, no. What room? Get me out of here. I got to the room. I want to get out of this place, yet I don't even remember my name. I just want to get out. —Get me out of here— I repeated to myself while the people in white coats were connecting stuff to my body. I don't want this, make it stop! —Get me out of here— I yelled, but apparently, no one heard me. —Get me out of here— I cried out for help, again no one heard. I was trembling. I couldn't feel my body, which to be honest, I didn't even recognize as mine anymore. My heartbeat quickened. Tick tock I heard a clock. —Get me out of here!— Tick tock. —Get me out— Tick tock. —Get me— Abruptly, everything went dark. Silence. I wasn't dead, I couldn't be. —Patient 16– then everything was bright again. —You blacked out— said the man in a white coat. Then everything went back to normal, if normal is the word to define this whole situation. The past days, the doctor said I've made improvement both physically and mentally. I don't know how I made progress if I never felt off. However, I do experience nightmares, and I don't like the looks I am getting from the people in white coats. They seem as if they are hiding something. The doctor said fresh air would be good for me and that I needed to go for a walk. I don't like going for walks, it scares me. The voices in the halls scare me; nevertheless, I'll go later. I don't know where I could end up. I evaded the halls; I couldn't help myself. They're too scary, so I made my way through the garden. I ended up in a forest with yellowish-leaves. I lost track of time. There were stones on the ground with names of people, also there was a big hole that looked as if it was going to be filled up soon. I panicked; I don't like to panic because of the voices, the voices that come from nowhere. They talked about death. I refuse to think I'm going insane because if there is one thing I am is sane. Rain poured down, it felt like acid. As the rain showered on my shoulders, I ran. ——— My phone rang; I picked it up wondering what could've happened so late at night. —Dr. Collins here— I answered. —Yeah Collins, I've got a patient here; he's outside. He's at the yard, you know, the yard— he emphasized, it was obvious he was at the graveyard, but why? —Also this patient doesn't match any of the files I have here, Is he a…— —Patient of mine?— I interrupted, anyone could be hearing. —Yes, yes he is. I'm on my way— then I hung up. Before I left I checked on our latest operating procedures on our “volunteers”; most of them were still in progress. I went quickly to the main lobby. Once the door opened, the cold wind of late autumn night flew through my coat, down the hall Dr. Bailey spotted me. —Collins!— she called my attention. —Bailey— I responded. —Our procedure with 66 was a succes, yet there is a patient outside, patient 16– she stated. It couldn't be 16 he was… —I'll hurry, thank you— I interrupted my thoughts and arrived at the CCTV room. —Stephan?— —Hello sir, you see the patient, he's been staring at that stone for at least ten minutes— I then saw him turn around. When he saw the camera, he ran into the woods. I had to go. —Sir, there's a gate, after our last escape we reinforced it— I left without answering. ——— I felt scared, the eye on the wall, it looked at me. I ran into the woods. The voices kept screaming, sounds of pain. Someone screamed. I felt whimpering, the voices were no longer there, no more screams. There was a thunderstorm. A shower of lighting hit the ground. As the last strike hit, so did my body, and everything went cold.

I saw Saturday's messages which were from my friend Larissa: "Dear Camryn, I understand that you're doing great, so, call me and tell me about this hot dude that inspires you, who's going to be kissed to death." How could I kiss him to death? If he is dead, then it isn't because of kisses... what a relevant message. The second message, Saturday 6:00 p.m.: "Hey, Friend... Imma wear your scarlet red blouse today. I hope that this doesn't bother you... And also you need to chillax; your mom and dad called; I let them know that you completed your studies, XOXO." This was on Saturday, yet, what did I do throughout the day on Saturday? I grabbed my phone and called the voicemail service. I tuned in to the earliest message saved on Friday at 11:00 p.m. from the number 299-0878: "Camryn, Wow! Well done! He's a cutie! You're always getting the best. Btw, Don't forget to inform me about whether you're coming today, goodbye." Oh, So this is what happened: I have been gone since Friday until today, Sunday noon. How is it possible at all that I don't recall and I wake up beside a dead guy? That seems to be the reason he's so solid. But... When did he die? How did he die? I gradually moved toward him; When I uncovered him, I noticed that he had more than five holes in his chest; the bed was totally immersed with blood that had effectively dried. No, this wasn't from any ordinary knife blade, nor from any revolver or gun bullets— he had certainly been stabbed to death, though. I checked him and all around him but I didn't discover anything. However, under the pillow where I had rested my head, there was an ice pick shrouded in blood. So they must've had utilized this to slaughter him... I totally revealed him. He was stripped with firm hands; it appeared as though he was holding something; his part was practically erect. In view of his posture, I assumed that whoever murdered him did it while sitting on top of him. I saw his wicked fingers and a bit of skin in his nails. I couldn't seem to perceive any single of these details; I searched for my garments and went to get dressed in the washroom. I saw myself in the mirror, there was no blood on my body, however, I discovered scratches on my hips and thighs while cautiously checking myself...Without an uncertainty, those were from nails that had dived into my skin which made a line that kept running down my legs. I shut my eyes and my brain changed to replay mode, pictures began springing up in my mind: he was shouting, his nails were diving into me, I was shouting, getting a charge out of one orgasm after another, my body curving, and I continued laying my head on his chest. That was it, that is all I recall. Along these lines, did I slaughter him?... Indeed, I slaughtered him. I secured my face with my hands; I could barely handle it; I cried feeling all bitter, glued to the wall, in a corner that seemed to be the most distant away from the dead body. ½ hour passed and my weepings and wails were under control by now when some phone started ringing too loud and woke me up. I searched for where the sound was coming from, I figured it was coming from near the ottoman. I lazily slithered towards it and it read "Leora calling" on the screen; following the phone call, a few moments later, a voice mail popped up: "Hey, honey, I hope that your excursion for work hasn't been excessively wearisome, however later I'm coming over there to alleviate you of your stress, (KISSING SOUNDS)." I jumped up. Would someone come to the apartment? For sure, it was his girlfriend and I had to get out of here. But the dead body, the fingerprints, his nails, oh my dear lord—I can't ask for help, I have to fix this mistake myself. I was already in a state of absolute panic; I was a murderer and I didn't even know how or when, but I had done it. I ran to the kitchen and searched the drawers for a knife; there was one shaped like a chainsaw. I walked towards the bed, picked up a sheet from the floor and wrapped myself up in it. I turned on the electric knife and began to cut off one of his hands. As he had just bled to death, only a little bit of blood gushed out. Next, I did the same with his other body parts: I cut off his limbs and cleaned his legs. There should not have been traces of evidence from me, no liquid, semen or whatever they call it. I stuck his hands, limbs, and the ice pick in a trash bag. I looked for other clues such as cups, cigarette butts or any of my hair that had fallen out. It took me about an hour to clean; I covered the dead body and left the apartment. Luckily, just at that moment, the hotel employee was eating lunch and so nobody had seen me. I put on a cap and some of his glasses that I found and pulled my hair completely up so that nobody would recognize my hair color and so that it wasn't too long and visible for the rest to see and remember. I walked on the street to go to the pub where that guy had picked me up. I knew that I had come in a car, so it had to be there.

How Would You Feel if: When you opened your eyes, the sunlight was beaming through the window. You suppose it is an early afternoon since the sun was pounding down. You took a glance at the ceiling; it was a cream color and there was a lamp shaped like a teardrop; the walls were an apricot color with some rural pictures hanging. Your look was fixed on them for a brief while, then, you simply opened your eyes completely; a lock of hair was in your eye; You gently scraped it out of the way with your finger. You felt something moist when you touched your face. When you glanced at your hand, it was drenched with blood. You sat up in bed, surprised, and you saw him alongside you— a young man with short hair, dull skin, eyes shut, his face and chest secured with blood. He had a stream of blood hanging out of his mouth, however, it was solid-dry by then. You didn't comprehend what was going on- thoughts and questions had started to fill your head- Why is there a wounded guy next to me and where has he come from. You nudged him with your finger to wake him up— he was cold. His skin was bone-tweaking cold. This is what happened to Camryn, though. To find out, Read part 1B.

Living one of those lives where you can never seem to catch a break- where raw deals keep flying at you like dodge balls in P.E. class, the days where I got to sit back and let my worries vanish were the best. And those days just happened to be whenever I hung out with my best friend, Davey. We always had the greatest yet, more often than not, peculiar adventures together, and inside jokes to last a light year. National Best Friends Day was no exception. The day was already strange to begin with, Davey was half recovering from being sick with a nasty cold, and we hadn't really begun our day until 1pm. We walked to meet up with each other at a school in the middle of both our houses. Deciding what to do, our consensus was the beach, however, after sprinting to the bus stop we only then realized a three hour bus ride was maybe not something we wanted to do on a stuffy hot June afternoon. “Well why don't we go to that cool park we've always wanted to go to?” I suggested. Bad idea. “Sure!” Davey agreed and so we were off. This was the first bus ride of the day, but certainly not the last. Foreshadowing to an event that would occur later that day, Davey had seen an advertisement for fathers day as we passed by a Dairy Queen shop, and bluntly suggested that Father's Day was the most irrelevant and unnecessary holiday. I quite agreed. “Are you sure you know where this bus goes and where we're supposed to get off?” I nodded hoping I was right. That's when a random man turned around and felt the need to comment, ‘you girls are lost.' Was he offering to help? No. He was simply wasting breath on a completely useless unhelpful sentence. After finally reaching our desired location, it was quickly evident that maybe this wasn't the safest area to be hanging around in. Doing our best to avoid being mugged, and after having to look at three street maps, we found our way to the bus station where we would attempt to turn this glorious day around with a trip to a small beach much closer to us. We made it to the bus just in time, and without any wait we were off. The only occupants on this small bus were the bus driver, Davey, and I. Everything was smooth sailing until a man whom we will call, Chummy, gets on. Now, Chummy was not looking too good, nonetheless I was never one to judge, so I sat quietly but I could tell Davey wasn't too comfortable with our new guest. Firstly, as Chummy hopped aboard, he communicated that he did not have any money to pay for the bus as he was going to get money from his ex-girlfriend right now. Okay, fair enough, I'm sure we've all forgot or ran out of bus money one time or another. He took a seat right behind the bus driver, with Davey and I only being across the isle and one seat behind him, otherwise known as very close proximity, one could argue perhaps too close. Right away Chummy dove into a one-sided conversation about the perfect way to clean open flesh wounds, with a little bit of future plans on how Chummy might obtain some money. The bus driver responded accordingly as Davey and I sat in fear. Yet, we were determined to get to the beach so we looked out the window and pretended everything was fine. But that perhaps wasn't the best idea as the bus driver pulled over and low and behold, another creepy man hopped aboard. Now this man sat even closer to us than Chummy- he sat right in front of us. How wonderful. This guy was clearly intoxicated, and there was a white residue covering both his left and right hands. That's not all though, turns out he and Chummy were friends. They soon struck up another uncomfortable conversation together. Davey being more paranoid than I about situations such as these, was not having it. She looked out the window and put on headphones with no music playing just to make herself blend in and look casual. However, I wasn't as lucky as Davey for I was sitting in the isle, kitty corner to Chummy and directly behind residue hands. The terror we felt was growing, but I paid for this bus ride and money was not something I could afford to waste especially because of a bunch of uncivilized men. Notice how no women made unnecessary comments or made me feel uncomfortable that day… just a simple observation. Anyhow, it wasn't until Chummy turned to face me, and asked, “Want to see my open flesh wounds?” Without waiting for a response, and then proceeding to in fact show me his disgusting flesh wounds that I cracked. Davey turned her head, but I wasn't so lucky. I got the absolute joy of seeing this man's nasty drug abuse wounds. So fun. I quickly pulled the bus stopper and we stepped past the two lovely men and exited through the only door on the bus in the middle of country roads at a sketchy bus stop. After regaining our sanity, we still refused to let men ruin our day, so we started on our confusing post-traumatic hour and a half walking journey in the hot sun to the beach. To make a long story short, it wasn't worth it.