Young Writers Society

Chapter 1:

My name is Xero. Yes, it is like Zero, spelled with an X. Usually, I wouldn't tell the story. But I need help. See, I am having troubles with a certain group of people. They are called the Terrors. What is terror, you might ask. Basically, a terror is a person clinically insane that broke out of the asylum to raid everything else. Or something like that. I don't exactly know what they are up to. Well, I didn't know. Till I met them. Her name, ironically, is Terro. Pronounced "Tearo", but spelled Terro. Right now, she is following me through the store. I feel her watching me, gazing at me. I am scared to be honest.

"Do I know you?" She asks, stopping my cart.

"N-n-no, I, uh, don-don't think I, uh, know you." I stammer, looking away.

"Hhm, are you sure? Cause you look oddly familliar."

"Y-e-es. I am sure."

"Are you Dexa?"

"No."

"Cherr?"

"Cherr?"

"I guess not. Hey, do you want to get to know me? I am very fun and very exciting!"She pulls a package of meat from my cart, tearing a small hole in it, and drinking the blood.

I shiver a little. She's insane. Completely, utterly, entirely insane. She pulls an old pocket watch from her pocket and looks at it, then sighs.

"So sad, dearie, but I must make haste and leave. Promise you'll be back tomorrow?" She asks.

"Uuh.." I stammer.

"You don't and I'll hunt you down."

My eyes widen, and I nod. She smiles, giggles, kisses my cheek and leaves. I shiver again and run home from the store, my cart still full. A burn mark from her kiss is on my cheek. Now if I don't go see her I will die. That's how they get their kicks. Torture. They touch you in some way, leaving their mark. And if you don't fulfill your part, you either burn, rot, get eaten, or some other oddity. I run to my bathroom and try to scrub the mark off with my thumb. All I do is make my skin bleed trying to get it off. I take an ice pack from the fridge and try using that. The mark burns through the pack. She will burn me. I hear burning is one of the most unpleasant forms of torture they have. I shiver yet again, then lay down on my bed. Soon I hear my door open. It's Clant, my husband. He comes into the room and sits next to me.

"Hey sweetheart." He says gently.

I don't reply. Instead I try not to cry. He strokes my goodcheekgently, whiping some of my red hair off my face. He places a hand on my hip, the way he does when he knows something bad is up.

"Come on, babe." He says.

I sit up and look at him. He notices the kiss mark, and his eyes widen with horror.

He begins to shake his head no. Like he knows what it's like to be obligated to have to go see one of these people. I'm almost mad at his reaction. I expect him tobe strong and big and here for me, but, no, he has tofreak out on me. I'm the one that will be burned in a fire hotter than the theoriesedHell if I don't go see this chick.

"Baby, I am so sorry.I hope that you can survive." He says sadly.

I begin to cry, and he pulls me in close,letting me cry on his chest. His strong, protective armswrap around my shaking body. My tininess against his strong, firm body feels so good, I don't want to leave ever. He looksdown at me, kissing my hair. Soon, I fall asleep in his embrace.