I saw the hot blood seep from her body, pouring the life out of her with every drop. Her eyes widened, mouth drooling blood as she felt the hole now scarred on her body. The blood stained her floral shirt and hands red as she clutched the wound. Only the streetlight lit the scene which was being created, all I could do was hide. I watched, watched from the darkness as my best friend struggled to breath. She stumbled, gritting her teeth as she tried to move but she was finally forced to her knees. She looked at him, the one that caused this. His hood clasped his head and hid his face. I watched her eyes plead to him, grasping each string of life left in her only to let them go in a final burst of life.
Her eyes finally met mine, in the last second of her life; her deep blue eyes seemed to whisper to me, whisper to run. She lay motionless on the cold, concrete floor, the hooded figure standing proud above her body. He clutched the knife he had used to puncher a hole in her perfect body. He turned, his cold eyes looking straight through me. He shuffled anxiously on the spot but sprinted away from her body, leaving foot prints of blood away from her.
I stood motionless, watching the pool of blood around her grow in size every minute I stood there. I knew I should run, run away from this, home to the warmth of my family but my feet seemed to disagree. The moon lit the sky; no stars were to be seen. I felt my whole body shiver, but I continued to stand still and watch her- be with her for as long as I could be. Her perfectly curled brown hair was whisked away from her face, small streaks of blood were hidden within it. The street lights showed her pale, blue skin, drained of life and happiness. She was just fourteen. She had a perfect life ahead of her, but nothing is perfect.
A drop of rain fell on my cold face. I couldn't distinguish tears from rain drops. I pulled my hood on my brown, frizzy hair and walked away from her, not looking back, never looking back. My grey jumper coated me with the remaining warmth left in my body; my jeans seemed to only absorb the cold and rain. I pushed myself through the paths sitting next to what is usually a busy road but all life seemed to have seeped out of this small town.
It felt like I had walked for hours but I knew I had walked for only a few minutes. I pulled myself through the woods, feeling each tree looking at me in disgust. How could I be so calm after this? It was my fault, all my fault and yet I was still moving, my heart was still beating and hers wasn't. I thought about the first time we met, her curly brown hair running past me. She wore a floral dress; a butterfly clip was placed randomly in her hair. I remember following her through the field on a summer's day, flowers surrounded us as their bright colours filled our eyes, her beautiful blue eyes.
I was shy, I never spoke to anyone but she was so happy I couldn't help but open my heart out to her. We walked to play school each day together, with matching dresses and bows in our hair. No-one else was ever as nice as she was; she was like the sister I always wanted and what I needed on a rainy day. We grew up stuck together, pulling each other along in our troubled lives. She never complained, even when she came to my house with a purple circle around her eye. She never said she was hit or hurt by her dad- but I knew.
One time, as I walked home, aged seven, towards my welcoming home, I saw a light flickering in her house. Two black figures stood by the window, arguing so loudly- I knew it was her. I watched him clutch her arm and dig his claws into her, causing her to scream in agony. I couldn't do anything- she told me not to do anything even if I saw it. I watched her stumble out of her house, whipping blood off her arm and face, putting pressure on her almost broken bones and lipping towards the forest in which she hid. She knew I was there, she sensed my presence as I followed her cautiously through the forest. She sat on a log, coating it with blood, blood I would see more than one time. I pressed my arms around her, trying to comfort her, trying to make her talk but all I got was a sigh. Every week, sometimes every day, I would watch her stumble out of her house with new scars building on her skin but the next day a smile would be printed on her face.
I was always sad; I would watch her each day and feel my heart sink even more. She should have a perfect life, fit for a perfect person but she continued to struggle to keep alive each day. When she went home, she was met by a fist in the face. When I went home, I was met by a warm cuddle from a smiling mother. I ruined my own life but he ruined hers.
My dad past away when I was just two, nothing in comparison to what she went through but I couldn't help but feel sad.