The stars were scattered in the dark, gloomy sky. The windows were tightly shut with effort. Nothing had been the same. Usually, Cynthia's parents leave all upstairs windows, like Cynthia's bedroom window, open. Maybe they'd caught on that Cynthia is cautiously escaping almost every night.
Cynthia woke up, it was dart on 11pm, Thursday. She got out of her moonlight pajamas, into a silk black dress with black glittery heels. She let her brown curly hair dangle. As she tiptoed down the stairs, she noticed some footprints.. Going up. They looked like Dog footprints, but they had a pet lizard, that belongs to Cynthia's younger sister and brother.
She decided to ignore i, maybe it was Ryan, her younger brother, or her sister, Ella, after coming in earlier covered in mud. Earlier that day, Cynthia left the garage open a little bit. She could just roll out, but as she passed the kitchen door, she heard footsteps. She rolled her eyes, maybe it was Ella getting a mug full of milk. But then, as Cynthia crossed the living room door, she heard another creepy noise. A knife sharpening. Now there was not an exuse. She felt scared, but going upstairs meant that she'd alarm the other murderer up there. Cynthia had to remain silent. Everything else then was silent. A muffled voice,
"Yo, we've checked everywhere. We gotta see upstairs now."
Cynthia felt scared, frightened. Petrified. Nothing felt safe anymore, she counted on Sianna, her best friend. She said she'd make it shortly, she should be here right now...
Instead of waiting, she grabbed her Father's self-made knife, out of an expensive vase he also made. The knife was real, Cynthia's Father used to work in the army, and then as a painter. He sold his work for money he needed for himself and his family. Cynthia stopped thinking about him. She held it the way her Father taught her to do when she was only 5. But now she was 11 years older. Suddenly, the door burst open. A man, with a gun and a woman covered in scars. Everything went quick. Cynthia made a run for the Garage, but she was too slow. The woman got Cynthia by her throat by the stairs, as the man held the gun beside Cynthia's pale, shocked face.
"LEAVE HER ALONE." A woman's voice said, and it sounded very familiar.
All Cynthia saw was a woman's hand on a gun, as she shot the young girl ontop of her. Surely enough, she had one bullet. All Cynthia heard was the woman scream. And then, the man's body dropped ontop of Cynthia.