Cut.

Feeling it necessary to remove myself from the family smog, I stepped into the blood-chilling outside air. I curiously walked over to a normal looking police officer, who was oddly waiting on the sidewalk near the house. Waiting for who or what, I did not know. We had only begun to converse when a brown truck with a tan-striped side went revving by. Skidding the corner down the street, we heard a thunderous crash and a girl screaming in the distance. Without a moment of hesitation, I went sprinting to help whoever could have possibly been hurt. Jumping the hedges, I braked myself in mid-air as I saw the truck immediately in front of me. I collapsed to the hard concrete as if the ground beneath me had been ripped away. The driver leaped out of his truck, lunging toward me. The five-inch blade slid deep into my side. After the painful extraction, I reached to grab the knife in his hand, only for him to stab into the flesh between my thumb and forefinger. Trying to pull back and shield myself, he sliced about my left forearm and hand. The shield bled. I finally took hold of the knife, stabbing into the right side of his abdomen. Cutting severely into his chest, I did not look to see if he got up afterward. I slowly took step after step back to the house. The now seemingly odd police officer was nowhere in sight. I pushed the front door open with whatever strength I had left. Wandering around the family dinner party, I dripped crimson as I called out for my mother.

Waking at 6:27pm.