A Brush with Death

I wake with a start, regretting it as pain shoots through my head. I’m in a dark room and as my eyes slowly adjust to the lack of lighting, I see there’s something laying on the ground nearby. My heart drops. After working up the courage, I slowly crawl over to whatever’s on the floor. When I’m almost there, I feel something wet on my hands. I look down and see my hands are now a deep red color. It takes everything in my power to not scream. I push the thought of the blood I am now covered in out of my head and continue. As I get there, I immediately recognize the face. At the sight of my dead boyfriend, I let out what can only be described as a mix between a cry and a mangled scream. I lay his head in my lap cry. After what felt like an eternity, I gently lay his head back down and pace the room looking for a way out.

Looking around, I find an air vent big enough for me to fit through. I find and stack some old crates so I can just reach the vent. After using all the energy I can muster, I squeeze myself into the vent and begin crawling in the ducts. After a while, I find another vent that I can move, and I jump down onto a concrete floor with dimly lit hanging lights that follow the length of a hallway. I slowly walk down the hallway, trying any doors that I pass. Finally, after what feels like hours, I come upon a door that is unlocked.

As soon as I open the door, I let out a scream. There’s a large man standing there as if waiting for me. He has on a skull mask, covered in what I can only assume to be my boyfriend’s blood. He’s wearing a long black shirt, cargo pants, and black boots. He’s clutching a machete in his big meaty right hand. As he takes a large step towards me, I quickly recover from my initial shock. I turn and run out of the room. As I take turns down this never-ending hallway, he continues to follow me. No matter how fast I go or how many turns I take I cannot lose him. As I start to lose energy, I stop paying attention to where I am going. I trip over what I believe to be a string of wire placed there for that exact purpose. He is leaning over me before I even hit the ground. My knees and hands scrape against the rough concrete floor.

I slowly start crawling away, but he kicks me before I can get far. I turn over to face him as he slowly raises the machete. I close my eyes, not wanting to see the inevitable ending, and I scream.

“CUT!! That was a good take, now let’s try it again from the top,” the director yells.