Hello. My name is Kara Kase. I just turned 17 not too long ago. Funny, I don't feel any older than how I was when I was 16. Oh well. That's got to be good, right?

I don't know why I'm talking to myself. At least I'm not talking outloud. God, they would put my ass in an institution quicker than a stray in the pound.

Why do I talk to myself, you may ask? I talk to myself because I have no-one else to talk to but me, myself and I.

Plus, I've heard that it makes you smarter. Maybe if I started talking to myself earlier, maybe I wouldn't be in this situation.

I guess you could say that I have trust issues. I'll have to agree with you on that one. Who wouldn't after they witnessed the death of their parents just days before their 17 birthday, leaving them an orphan with no living relatives? Who wouldn't have trust issues after that? I know that I certainly do.

I haven't had any real human interaction in weeks now. I couldn't being myself to talk to anyone. The pain was still there. That ever constant, gut wrenching pain. It follows me around like a little puppy.

A puppy that's made out of depression and anger, wrapped in a blanket of pain.

What a fucked up dog that would be.

What in the hell am I doing talking about dogs? Where was I? Oh yes, that's right: pain and suffering.

Pain that there was no-one left to love me, to hold me, to comfort me in my time of need. Pain that I had survived and my beloved parents did not. Pain that would be forever buried in my mind just at the mere thought of my mother's smile.

The suffering of this new life. Of loneliness itself. That feeling of emptiness that was now my life. I will never be the same. Ever.

My whole life changed in two short weeks. First my parents were acting weird for some reason. I came home after hanging out with some friends that day to my parents acting all jittery.

I can remember sitting down on a stool in the kitchen, facing them. And that's when it happened. That's when I heard his voice. The voice of the man, the monster, that took my parents away from me forever.

"Sing for me and make it a glorious song."

I was able to turn around and see his face before it morphed into that of a monster's. His mouth seemed to unhinge like a snake's and a gluttoral growl climbed out from his chest. I was frozen to the spot. My father pushed me out of the way. My head hit the counter as I went down, blacking me out.

I came around to he smell of blood and the voices of two men.

"I don't know about this, Sammy. Those two were hunters."

"I know, Dean. They had a daughter too."

"How the hell do you know that?"

"There's a family photo on the mantel. She looks around 16 or 17."

"If they have a daughter, where is she?"

"I don't know, Dean."

I tried to move from where I was laying on the floor behind the counter. A sharp pain in my head and my arm made me pause. I looked down at my arm and saw the imprint of teeth. My eyes widened as I watched blood trickle down my arm and form a puddle on the kitchen floor. I could hear the men crouch on the floor near where I was laying.

I got on my hands and knees, disregarding the pain in my arm. I chanced a glance around the counter and I wish I hadn't. I saw blood. Endless it seemed. My body shaked as my eyes raked over the bodies of my mother and father. What was left of them anyways.

Their arms were detached from their torsos, legs bent at unnatural angles. I fought down the urge to scream. If I did, the men would've heard me.

The tall one, almost a moose, was crouched near my mother, guilt clear on his face.

"They would still be alive if we got here sooner, Dean."

"Nothing we can do for them now. All we can do is give them a hunter's farewell." The shorter one replied.

I took that as my cue to leave. Ignoring the pain in my body, I crawled out of the kitchen, avoiding the creaky boards.

I climbed up the stairs to my bedroom, my arm hurting like hell. I grabbed my duffle and some bandages from the adjoining bathroom. My duffle was already packed. I was planning on going out on a girl's trip this weekend. I made sure to grab my other duffle before I left my room.

If there's one thing my mother and father taught me, it was that I should never leave the house without a rock salt shotgun, plenty of salt and holy water, and to never ever trust other hunters.