Barefoot. I don’t know how much time has passed, or how I got here. Dead grass crunches beneath my feet. My toes look almost blue, but I don’t feel cold. I don’t feel anything. Moonlight illuminates the trees, casting shadows across the ground. The shadows look like they’re moving, reaching for me. I look up, but the trees are still. There’s no wind. A choked whimper breaks the quiet. It sounds like an injured animal. Goose bumps climb my legs. I cross my arms over my chest, and something warm and wet seeps through my nightgown. I look down. Blood coats my arms. I jerk backward, horrified. It soaks into my nightgown, staining the lacy fabric red. It winds around my wrists and drips from my elbows. It feels warm. Sticky. I try to wipe it away, but there’s too much. I smear it across my hands. It oozes between my fingers. I hear the noise again. A small sound, barely a breath. I stare at my bloody arms, and I start to shake.
