Traumatizing Experiences

It’s late afternoon and I just got out of school. I riffle through my backpack, searching for my house keys. When I get them out, I sling my backpack back over my shoulder and shudder. It’s not from the cold, but rather from the eerie gloom that seems to blanket and smother the entire atmosphere around me. Not a single sound has been uttered throughout my entire walk home.

When I turn onto my street, a blood curdling scream interrupts my every thought. "What the hell.", I mutter hastily as I start running to my house, anxious to get inside. My feet pounding against the sidewalk, I notice a stumbling figure, unclear from the hazy air, off in the distance. When I get to my porch, I try to unlock my front door. My hands were shaking so badly, it took my a few tries to even get the key in.

When the door was unlocked, I rush and grab the house phone and dial 911. Instead of an answer, a recorded voicemail buzzes in my ear. "We cannot be reached anymore. The zombie apocalypse has begun. We advise you to pack your bags and get the hell out of here." Zombies don’t exist… right? I stand there, shocked, for a whole two minutes before I start taking their advice. I tossed the phone onto the living room sofa. I sprint into my room and empty out my school bag and start refilling it with anything I can find.

I’ve seen plenty of movies, but how could a bunch of special effects help me in a real-life crisis? I grab 5 water bottles, a couple packs of crackers, a handful of money, and as a last resort, a kitchen knife. If I run into any trouble, I’d need to defend myself. With a determined look on my face, I march towards the front door. I freeze suddenly with my hand gripping the doorknob. What if this is all a hoax? Some schoolboy prank that someone thought would be so hilarious.

Shaking my head, I dismiss the idea and stride out the door. The first thing my brain registers is that the stumbling figure I saw earlier is now about ten yards away from where I was standing. The second thing that my brain registers, is that the figure is missing large chunks of their body, missing half their arm and a foot. The third thing my brains registers, is that the figure uncannily resembles my mother. The fourth thing my brain registers is that I’m on the floor, my stomach emptied of lunch, hysterically sobbing and screaming. The fifth thing my brain registers, is that I’ll never see my mother again.