I don't think I've ever hated the sun so much in my life. Correction; I know I've never hated the sun as much as I do right now. Its white-light glare hurt my eyes and worked to burn my pale skin. Oh God, how I hated the sun. As I stumbled forward, my shoes unwittingly kicking small stones across the sun-dried desert earth, I wondered if God even existed in a place like this.

After what I'd just witnessed, I was leaning towards no. My mind flickered back to the events of earlier that day. And the horrible things that I had seen. I had been in the back seat of my aunt and uncle's car. It was new, but since I never gave a shit about cars and trucks, I never actually learnt what type it was. The extent of my knowledge led me to just call it "the white one with the eleven plate"... Yeah...

But the car's not important now. Not anymore. The important thing was that, for some reason, my uncle had decided to take us on a seriously long road trip through the New Mexico Desert. Fun? Uncle Jim would say so. My idea of fun, however, involved a little less carsickness and sing along family car tunes. Thankfully though, I had my iPod blasting out heavy rock and metal to block out the latter.

The former, I could not deal with so easily. That was why, as soon as we pulled over at the lonely gas station in the middle of nowhere, I took off running for the outhouse that my aunt spotted round the back of it. I threw up before I even noticed how disgusting the place was. I didn't stay in there long. Especially not after I saw the dangling flypaper that was covered in hundreds of the tiny black insects.

I don't think the place had ever been cleaned. I had to half fight off the urge to go and disinfect myself for even spending so little a time as I had in there. The flypaper and stench had been enough for me. I was out of there like a shot, almost feeling like I was about to vomit again. But I didn't.

I shook my head and left the filthy outhouse behind me as I walked back to where my uncle had pulled over. When I rounded the corner, I saw him talking to the gas station attendant. I rolled my eyes as I noticed that they were both smoking. Stupid men, I had thought. They'll kill themselves like that. Little did I know then, but smoking would be the least of my uncle's problems soon enough.

I smiled at my uncle vaguely as he waved to me. The two men were too far away for me to hear what they were saying, but it was obvious from how they were looking at me that they were talking about me. I made a point of looking away from them then, a slight frown on my face.

I hated the way that Uncle Jim always talked about me with random strangers. It was just plain fucking weird, in my opinion. I mean, really, who gave a fuck about an only-just eighteen year old girl who looked dressed like a Goth and apparently had a glare that said "fuck the world".

That was what my aunt always said anyway. Personally, I thought I looked just fine. My clothes suited me and I didn't give a fuck what I anyone else thought about them or me. So I guess Aunt Vanessa was right about the "fuck the world" part, at least.

I made my way back to the car and past the two men who were busy topping up the car with petrol. I didn't fail to notice that my uncle's tone seemed to hush as I neared. What a save, Uncle Jim, I though sarcastically as I plonked myself in my place on the backseat.

"Better?" my aunt asked, turning around to face me and lifting her dark sunglasses.

"Urgh," I replied.

"Only if this journey's over soon."

"Sorry hun," she answered in a soft sigh, her American accent thick.

"Jim and I didn't think about you getting sick when we planned this trip."

I shrugged and turned to look out of the window, instead of at my aunt's deep bright green eyes. The eyes that she shared with both me and my father. I knew exactly what she meant about not expecting me to get sick on this trip; and that was because when she and my uncle planned this trip, I wasn't supposed to be on it.

But no one could have expected the car crash that killed my parents two months ago. The car crash that meant that even after I'd lost my parents- the two most important people in my life- I was uprooted from all I knew. My country, my friends, my home; all had to be left behind as I was brought over to live with my aunt and uncle in America.

I still felt bitter about it. I missed England and everything that I used to have there so much that it hurt. But the thing I hated the most now, was that the crash had not only taken my past; it had taken my future. If that stupid fucking trucker hadn't fallen asleep at the wheel and collided with my parents, they'd still be alive. And two months down the line, I wouldn't be walking, or more like stumbling, through the desert right now.

I seemed to have been blaming everything on the crash since it had happened. Thinking about it as I usually always was, I knew that I should probably stop blaming everything on the crash. But now, since I was stranded in the middle of the desert, terrified for my life; I felt that assuaging the blame a little couldn't hurt. Particularly since it was the only thing stopping me from blaming myself about what happened.

Because this- what had happened, and even the situation I now found myself in- was my fault. It was. Just as we had been about to leave, the attendant had knocked on my uncle's window. And when my uncle rolled down the window, the man gave us a wide smile, revealing a less than full set of teeth.

"Y'know," he began, his accent even more thick and noticeable than those of my aunt and uncle.

"If she gets as sick as you said-"

I scowled at the back of my uncle's head for a moment. Why the fuck is Jim telling this guy about me? I thought almost angrily. But that thought soon dispersed when the old attendant continued.

"-there's a shortcut through the hills a couple o' miles up the road; should shave a couple o' hours off your journey."

Uncle Jim opened his mouth to answer the man, but I interrupted him before he could. I already knew what Jim's reply would be.

"Please Jim," I pleaded, knowing that if I couldn't persuade him, Jim would likely decline any further directions.

My uncle looked around at me lopsidedly, as if he was planning, despite my plea, to take the long route anyway.

"Seriously Jim, I don't know how much more of this I can take."

He still didn't look convinced. Fuck. What have I got to do to convince him to take the damn shortcut? But then the thought had hit me.

"Jim, I swear, if you don't take the shortcut, I will make sure that I throw up all over this damn car."

Jim just stared at me with his mouth open. That had certainly caught his attention. My aunt raised an eyebrow and looked at me disapprovingly, but she didn't say anything. It was the attendant's reaction though, that caught everyone's attention. He let out a laugh that was almost cackle-like, making everyone turn back to look at him.

"Jus' in case you do wanna take the shortcut, it's a left at the dirt road jus' after an ol' fence at the side o' the road."

"Looks like I will be taking it if I want my car to stay in this condition," Jim answered ruefully after a while.

The gas station attendant gave another chuckle. And I couldn't help but notice that there was very little actual humour in it.

"Thanks for the directions," Jim finished with a nod, as he started the car's engine.

As we started to drive away, I heard the man shout after us, "Remember, take the dirt road after the ol' fence."

I waited until the man was out of sight before I started, "Well."

And after a significant pause, I finished, "He was sufficiently weird, don't you think?"

Aunt Vanessa rolled her eyes as she turned back around to me and answered, "Honestly Becky, I don't see why you can't just accept a person for who they are. Yes, he may have been a little... strange; but he was nice. He gave us directions for a quicker route to California, didn't he?"

"Well yeah... but Vanessa, what was with that laugh? It was just creepy."

"I'll give you that," my aunt replied with a small smile.

If only we'd considered that nagging little thought a little more. Then we might not have ended up turning down that dirt road, or trusting that stupid son of a bitch. But we did. And we travelled down that road for about ten minutes, my aunt and uncle singing another cheesy car song while I tried to zone them out with a bit of Evanescence. It was as normal as things could seem to be since the crash.

But after those ten minutes, that's when everything changed. That was when I stopped really knowing what was going on. Because in one moment, everything was normal, and the next, something happened with at least one of the car's tyres and Jim lost control. I remember feeling the seatbelt tug me down as the car impacted with a rock. After that I blacked out.

I woke up with something hot and sticky trickling down my forehead. My hand went up to touch it and I opened my eyes to see the red liquid covering my fingertips. Blood. What happened? I had thought. I turned my head and saw that I must have hit the broken window beside me.

With a groan, I unplugged myself from the belt that had pretty much protected me from injury. Because, aside from my head and a few aching bones, I was fine. My dark jeans had a long rip in one of the legs and my black shirt was ripped in a couple of places. But I was fine.

As it turned out though, I was the only one that was. My deep red hair had been pulled free of the ties I'd held it up in and I had to push it back with shaky hands as I peered over to the front seats of the car to see my aunt, unconscious in her seat.

At least, I'd thought she was unconscious. Until, that was, I saw how pale she was. And until I saw the long shard of glass protruding from her chest. I stared at her for a while, not knowing what to do, not even being able to cry.

A crash had taken my aunt from me, just as one had taken my parents. This was wrong. How could one thing like a crash follow me so much as it did? How could it work to destroy everything I loved one by one? How could my aunt be dead? Especially so soon after my parents were gone.

A few tears escaped my eyes, running down my cheeks and taking trails of black eyeliner with them. Eventually, I turned to look at Jim, expecting the worst since I'd heard no movement. But he wasn't there. I blinked as I stared through the crack in the slightly ajar open car door. He was gone.

Reluctantly, I left my aunt in the car and opened the door to my left. I almost fell out of the battered vehicle onto the dusty, hot earth outside. My legs were unsteady, and I felt like I was about to throw up again. And I really could have done as I stared at the scene before me.

Jim was dead. Though I don't think he'd been killed when we crashed as my aunt had. There were blood-red handprints streaked down the side of the white car and patches of the floor were soaked in the stuff. The bloody shoe about three feet in front of me wasn't what had held me frozen to the spot. It was the leg without a body that still remained attached to the shoe that had done that.

But even that hadn't made me throw up again, though I was surely feeling the sickest I had ever been. Because my eyes trailed the line of blood leading off from that separated limb until they rested on the rest of Jim's mutilated body and, moreover, the man holding it.

How had I not noticed him before? As I'd stared at him, taking in the warped features of the strange and blood-spattered man before me, he just stared back for a moment with cold blue eyes that pierced through me. And then he laughed. Something that sounded as cruel as he had meant it to be.

And then I started running. I don't know where I thought that I was going. Just anywhere. Anywhere away from whatever that man was, and whatever he'd done to my uncle. I couldn't stop running. There was nothing I could do for either my aunt or my uncle, but something in me almost wanted to turn back and stop that... that thing from doing anything further to their bodies.

The memory of those cold blue eyes, that sun-leathered skin, and that deformed cleft lip curled into an evil smile kept my feet running as fast as they ever had though. And I was sure that I wasn't going to stop or turn back for anyone.

I didn't stop; at least on purpose anyway. I tripped over a rock or a dead shrub or something and it sent me tumbling to the hard ground. I'd hit my head again, but it didn't stop me from blurrily scrambling to my feet again and running even further. I had no idea what the fuck was going on. If anyone was following me. I still didn't know that answer.

And I'm still running away. But I suppose I should say walking. I hadn't the energy to run anymore. I needed water; shade; rest; my family. My family's what I needed the most. And they were the only thing that I would never be able to get back. They were all dead. I was alone. And... And I might as well be dead too.

In fact, I pretty much knew that I was going to die from the moment I saw Jim's dead body. It was just how I died that I'd decided. That thing that I'd run from... At least I knew that he couldn't do anything to me now. There was no way that he could catch up with me now... Or so I hoped.

I sank to the ground with that small victory in mind, my palms and knees burning at the contact with the hot ground. At least I'll get to see my family again, I thought, as I tried to convince myself that giving up now was the only thing left to do. There's nothing left here now. All there is here is death.

I'd almost convinced myself of it when I saw the shadow pass in front of me. I looked up instantly, and, in the same moment, wished that I hadn't. It was him. It. The man that had, I believed, killed Jim. He was staring down at me, his deformed lips curled into that disfigured, cruel grin once again.

I barely even noticed the long strip of spikes hanging over his shoulder; but I did notice it. And I noticed the gun in his hand. So I guessed that I'd failed. Even in taking my death into my own hands. Fuck, I thought grimly. How had I let him catch me?

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice croaky and weaker than it usually was.

"Can't you just let me die in peace?"

He tilted his head to the side and continued to stare at me with that cold glare of his.

"In fact, why don't you just kill me and get it over with? I've got fuck all to live for," I finished, staring him down.

I saw him bring the butt of the gun down against my head and felt the thud. I hit the hot ground at his feet and my eyes closed.

But I was still barely conscious as I heard him say in a loud voice, "Not today."

And with that, I felt myself lifted over the shoulder of this murdering disfigured man, being taken off to God only knows where. I could only hope, when we arrived to wherever this fucker was taking me, that I'd be unconscious as he killed me. Or did whatever the fuck else he had planned for me.

As he carried me away from where he'd found me, I could only pray for a welcome death to come and find me.

If only I were so lucky.