my second world.

the knife

I glanced out of my window and spotted my best Peter out of the window. It was 10:06pm- why on earth was he out at this time? I knocked on my bedroom window, a little confused. I opened my window wide, ''Peter!'' I shouted. He was stood in the middle of the road with something in his hand. ''Peter!'' Surely he could hear me? He looked up at me, I waved a little concerned about him. He continued down the road, his two arms dropped down holding something. His blonde flopped down fringe in his face.
His skin
was sallow, his youthful complexion diminished into a boy whom you could see right through his pain and anger. I began to think I had got the wrong person, perhaps it was a drunken yob?
No,
It was Peter alright. Wait a second? A knife, the object in his hand. His grey hoody as it seems was covered in blood...
I edged
back hiding in the shadow of my curtain. Could one have been imagining it? I heard something fall from my shelf, I turned around and took a side wards glance at my dressing table mirror...
''No, no!''
My reflection, a girl with a white nighty on. Covered in BLOOD. I had cuts all down my arms, Was this a highly effective sick joke?