I run across my living room and I hit the ground and slide under the table, just as the window breaks and rocks fly through. I can hear them all now, chanting and yelling for my imminent demise. I could practically feel the heat of their torches then and there.
They were at my door now. They were at my door and they were going to get in. I could smell burning. My house was being burnt down and they were outside and screaming and angry. I felt so unwelcome, I guess I wasn't really ever a good neighbor.
I crawl out from under the table and grab my coat from the closet, just as the front door began to splinter from their tackles. I ran into the hallway and headed for the back door, but they're there too so I turn around and head up the stairs to my bedroom. Their torches' lights shine out in the twilight under the stair window.
I slam the door and lock it, and then I head to my closet and shut the door. I hid among the dusty jackets and forgotten books, and I almost vomit when I smell her smell. I fall against the wall and sink down to my knees, all the while panting and choking on the rotten air.
I felt the door give way and the crowd charge into my house. I smelt the burn of the emerald torches as they headed up the stairs. I heard them enter my room and yell and scream.
And then I saw the light of the torches. The green, green torches.
I try and float away, to get away and survive, but I can feel them grabbing me and pulling me into the crowd and I feel them tear into my chest and begin to pull my organs out and then the emerald fire burns through my soul and surrounds me and I feel the smoke leak out of the corner of my mouth.
My blood. Blood. It evaporates. I didn't think blood could do th
But then her red hair. Her red hair tickles the side of my face and I grab onto that memory like a rope.