1. The Murder
*The Victim's POV*
I waited, for it to touch me. For me to find the feeling I have every night. The feeling of loneliness, of regret, of misery. I waited. These feelings were like drugs. I could take them over, and over. I would get weaker, and weaker until no one could fix me. It touched me, and I slipped off into nothingness.
When I awoke, it was at least two o'clock in the morning. I was wide awake though. It was freezing in my room. I could see my breath. I curled back into the covers, and sheets. Someone else was in the bed. I looked over, and a man laid next to me. He hand touched my face. It was cool. He raised her hand squeezing it into a fist. The hand came down hard, and pain exploded over my face. I screamed, but she just kept hurting me. I yelled out, until I couldn't. Slowly I slipped away from the world.