Trent's hands shook as he pushed through the tall stalks of the weeds, doing his best to ignore the red smears he left behind on the green leaves. If he could, he would just say that this was all just a dream. But the warm blood which soaked his palms when he picked up Brooke's already cold body. The sight of her usually bright blue eyes dim and empty as they stared up at him. The way her limbs were limp and floppy when he had carried her to bury her. It made him know for sure it wasn't a dream. Sure, Trent's mind was fucked up. But not so fucked up as to imagine someone's intestines pouring out of a bleeding gash in such detail.

As the image flashed through his eyes, Trent had to force himself not to throw up again. He paused, closing his eyes and taking a breath as he tried to force it out of his mind, to regain control of his trembling body.

Trent was the star quarterback of Dewton University. The pride and joy of Little Pine. The oldest brother of the Tanner family. He's supposed to be strong. A little bit of gore and blood shouldn't get to him. But oh fuck if it did.

All he did was leave to get some more firewood. If anything, it should have been him who died. He was the one who was alone in the woods. Not Brooke who was with everyone else back by the fire. Or at least... she was supposed to be. The trashed camp was completely empty by the time he had gotten back and followed the blood trail to the tent and found out happened.

"Fuck..." Trent muttered, resisting the urge to rake his hands through his hair. It wasn't his fault right? Going camping had been his idea, but it's not like he knew there would be a killer in the woods? And it wasn't his fault Brooke was dead. Maybe if the others were paying attention to their surroundings... or maybe if they weren't so gullible as to let some stranger get close to them...

Trent falls to the ground, crouching as he puts his face in his arms.

"What do I do?" He muttered to himself.

Trent was utterly lost, in a shitty field of tall weeds. And then there was the