'I didn't mean to,' I think to myself. Who would believe that? Yeah, sure, the girl who has blood splattered all over her didn't mean to kill her best friend. I was going to go to jail, and I don't even have an alibi that they would believe. 'They told me to,' I can hear myself saying, my voice tear-choked, vocal chords straining from all the wailing.

The large house was silent, but I could still hear the screams echoing around. The wind blew ferociously outside, the moon barely visible from the leaves of a tree that somehow was taller than the house. I walk to her -my friend's- bathroom. Make-up was left carelessly around the foundation-stained sink. I rummage around the cabinets and spot some black hair dye. I grab it and put it into my backpack. 'New clothes, Saffron,' The voice in my head says calmly. I almost trip over her strewn-about clothes while walking back to her pink, childish bedroom. She was never an organised person, you could tell just by looking at her. If her room was slightly tidier, it would look like one of those display rooms in Ikea. A pastel pink, fluffy chair at a white desk next to a pastel pink bed with a mountain of pillows and plushies. I look at her lifeless body, bleeding out a large puddle. I poke my head into the small closet and stuff some of her clothes into my bag. Luckily, we were around the same height.

I hear a door opening downstairs. Her parents. They came back sooner than expected.

I get out through the window. When I was little, I was the 'tree-climber' kid. Those skills come in handy when your older, because I only fell a couple of feet. 'Guess I need to practice more,' I internally nod to myself, dusting myself off. I still had my grey sweatpants and black shirt on, except now the sweatpants had red dots all over them. My sneakers seemed to be louder than ever when tumbled over the side gate and to my car. I heard a scream as I slammed the door of the boxy black hatchback. I took a quick look at myself in the mirror. I wouldn't look like a murderer if it wasn't for the bags under my sad grey eyes and my messy blondish-brown hair. I sighed and drove off.

Her parents knew who I was, they knew I was the one who murdered their daughter. The cops were going to chase after me. They didn't know that I had come in a car, though, so I had that going for me. I drive to the highway. There weren't a ton of cars, but there were still too much for me to actually speed. My eyes begin to droop, but I force myself to concentrate on the road. Even still, I yawn, feeling drained even though my heart was racing. My emotions are weird like that. I turn to park because I know that I need rest. I sit there for a bit, listening to the cars swishing past me, the drivers obviously not caring about the suspicious car by the side of the road. I slowly slump in my seat and go to sleep.

I jump up, hitting my head on the roof of the small car. I curse and rub the back of my head. What a great start. I look at the time on my phone, and immediately remember about tracking devices. The police would know where I am. I get out of the car for some fresh air, the cold wind whipping around me. I drop my phone and step on it until it's in pieces. I could feel the eyes of the other drivers burning into the back of my neck. I brush my teeth and spit towards the dying bushes. The minty toothpaste and cold yet sweet water wakes me up and I dump some water into my hands to wash my face. I grab some chips that I had left in the car and crunch them. Salt and vinegar chips, the unhealthiest breakfast known to mankind. I put the bloodied knife into my backpack.

I catch a glimpse of a police car, trying to be stealthy. They must have tracked me. Starting the car, I speed off, dust flying behind the car. The police car starts speeding after me, the sirens blaring in my ears. My heart's pounding so loudly compared to the engine and the wind, but I keep a firm grip on the steering wheel as I weave in and out of traffic. I see a kid's worried face in a car that I pass, and I slow down for just a second. She looks like my friend.

I shake my head and speed, gritting my teeth, my eyes determined. Then a car turns onto the road that I was on. I scream as the two cars collide and I get flung into the steering wheel and through the windscreen. I land in a heap, bleeding and head aching. I stay there for a bit until I realise that the cops are parked next to the crash. My whole body protested as I got up, shaking, and ran into the woods next to us.

I wander around for hours, at least, that's what they seem like to me. I was bleeding badly, but I had packed a first-aid kit in my backpack. My backpack that I still had on my back. I lean on a huge tree, feeling the bark on my back. I grab out the first-aid kit and treat my wounds. The smaller scratches would heal by themselves, but there were some deep cuts all over me, which I had to put band-aids on. I stare into the forest for a bit before grabbing the box dye from the bag.

I found a small river and started applying the black dye to my hair. I leave it there for a while and close my eyes, lying down on the harsh ground. The sounds of birds chirping relaxes me, especially with the river flowing over the shiny rocks. It would've been so pristine if it weren't for the strange looking person in the middle of it, ruining the whole image. I wash off the hair dye in the clear river and dry it using my shirt. I get changed into a dark blue shirt and black jeans. I only had one more 'outfit' before I would have to actually start to buy stuff.

I walk around for a bit, hoping for and dreading the sight of civilisation. Was I lost? Yes. But this would probably help me, not being around people, I mean. The sun starts setting and I start getting some leaves for the night. I grab my knife out from my bag and lay down on the dead leaves. There probably weren't people out here, but I wasn't taking chances.

As if on cue, I hear voices drawing nearer.  I gasp and grab my stuff, and they obviously heard that. 'Dang it, Saffron,' I scream at myself internally. I start running. I'm not athletic, but the adrenaline kept me going.

I run onto a secluded road, with only a couple of cars parked. I crouch behind one of them, a sleek, deep blue one and try not to make a sound. The people, who I see now was a group of officers, about five, look around and start walking to the main road. I let out a sigh of relief as the officers leave, not checking the area thoroughly.

A couple of months fly by. I manage to scrape up enough money to afford a plane ticket to another state. The search for me died down, and no one really gave me a second glance. I didn't look like the photos they put up of me. I now had a cleaner, but more scarred face and black hair with brown splotches in it from where I couldn't dye it.

I walk into the airport. I look smart and fresh. The white blouse I was wearing glowed against my tanned skin and my black jeans covered up my long, scratched legs. I get processed through each thing. I had managed to give myself a fake identity. It's amazing what you can do with the right people. I give my fake passport to the lady and she smiles at me. Then I see someone that I shouldn't have ever seen.

Her parents.

They look back at me and her mother recognises me. She calls out to me and points, her eyes wide. I didn't cover up my nervousness well enough. She starts running through the crowd towards me, yelling, her husband following behind her. I basically throw myself onto the plane, watching them with horrified eyes as they draw closer. The lady stops them, I can see them through my window as they argue and points. I sigh in relief as security guards lead them away, and the plane slowly starts moving onto the runway.

'Well done, Saffron,' I smile to myself.