Hello Readers! Or Picketers, especially if you have signs in your hands.

Well, first off, I have decided I am horribly awful. Not only have I not updated It's Not That Simple in almost two months, I also haven't written any on it. At all. If you guys have given up on me by now, it's only my own fault. *sigh* This story is really very dramatic, and I'd be surprised if you haven't rolled your eyes at several parts in every chapter, and slammed your fist down on your computer or gone at it with a baseball bat. All because of INTS. (Hm...not very catchy). This will need a SERIOUS re-write eventually. 

So, if you're reading this, not forced against your will (maybe Phillip's threatening you? *rolls eyes*) I am completely shocked and utterly grateful. If you're still reading this note and have realized the only sense of humor I have is extremely dry and un-funny, then you're smart. My sincerest of apologies for delaying the INTS process. ;)

THANK YOU! 

~HomeschoolGirl (aka TheNonPosterOfPosters. And a ninja/zombie/cat/warrior. But only by night, obviously. :P)

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"What are you doing?" I demanded stupidly. Brandon looked over at me with a horrified expression.

"Are you dense, Ellie?" Phillip sneered. He lowered the gun, only a fraction of an inch. "'What are you doing,'" He said, mocking my voice shrilly. "Of course I'm here to kill you. What else would I be doing here, standing with a completely loaded gun." 

My eyes widened. My jaw might've dropped, too, but I couldn't be sure. "W-what do you mean?" 

Brandon made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "I won't say I trusted you, because I didn't, but I didn't expect you to sink so low, Phillip." 

"I sunk low a long time ago," the meanacing man before us retorted. "Obviously. Why do you think Marion ended up in jail? Why Nana died suddenly? Overdosed? Psssh!" 

At that moment he reminded me of a teenage girl. I couldn't help it. I think I needed some comic relief, especially since it hadn't sunk in that I was going to die yet. Stupid, stupid me. So I imagined Phillip with high heels, and makeup, and long blonde hair.

I laughed.

"Is it funny?" He yelled abruptly, coming up and pushing me. I staggared on my feet for a moment before falling and hitting the dirt roughtly. Brandon bent over, helping me up quickly, eyes on Phillip the whole while.

"You're disgusting!" I spat, aiming a kick at him. I missed, mostly because Brandon jerked me back at the last minute. Phillip's face had gone up a shade of red. It was the reddest, ugliest thing I had ever seen. I was glad I hadn't married him.

My mind was reeling, my stomach heaving, and I had gone feverish. I leaned over and aimed, vomiting right on Phillip's shoes. He brought his gun down on top of my head, and I fell back down, as the world went back and my chin crunched against the firm ground.

Brandon screamed a word I'd best not repeat, for Nana would roll in her grave if I said it. And she'd send lightning down from heaven to strike me dead, I'm sure. 

Phillip had other things in mine, far worse than a bolt of electricity. He began kicking me ruthlessly. I felt it, blinded as I was. I managed to roll over, avoiding one of his kicks to my stomach. Instead a fist pounded down on my cheek, and I groaned.

There was a scuffling sound, and the blackness got lighter, fading into a soft gray, before I could see sunlight again. A few feet from where I stood, Brandon and Phillip were wrestling on the ground. I got to my feet, anxiety rising in my throat and taking the air from my lungs. It was obvious Phillip was stronger than Brandon. Much, much stronger.

I watched as he punched my best friend down, over and over, much worse than he had done to me. With each fist plunged into Brandon's body, sore spots throbbed sympathetically on mine. We weren't dealing with an average, mad human here.

He was an animal.

A few fet from where they stood, locked in combat, Phillip's gun glinted in the sunlight. I had never used a gun before, much less touched one. They had intimidated me. Now, it seemed like a lifesaver. I ran and grabbed it up. I wasn't sure what to do after that.

"I'll kill you," Phillip was saying, as he pushed Brandon down. "And then Eleanor will be next. Quite easy if you ask me. I'll leave town--they'll never find me." 

I raised the gun with shaking hands, aiming it right at Phillip. They still seemed unaware that I even possesed it, focused on one another as they were. Brandon struggled under his captor's grasp. I hated seeing him so helpless. I had to end it.

I pulled the trigger.

A sound echoed and sent me flying back, from the impact of the shot, and I fell down for the third time. Smoke filled the clearing. The gun dropped to my side, and I curled up and began to cry. Hopefully it was over, hopefully...

Slowly, the smoke cleared. I let out a horrified shriek as I saw Phillip standing there, perfectly fine, holding the limp Brandon up by his shirt. He must've pulled him up at the last second, making the boy take the bullet for him. 

I had killed my friend.

"You're an idiot, Ellie," Phillip said, dropping Brandon's lifeless body to the ground. "You literally just did my work for me. Why don't you just pick up the gun and take care of yourself? Now it's murder on your hands, not mine." He snickered, as if this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"I hate you," I said, my voice wavering. "Really, truly, hate you. If I die now, someone will take care of you later. There will always be people." 

"Ellie, sweetheart," Phillip said in a patronizing tone. "They're more than me. This whole process is much bigger than me. There are others, like myself, who thirst for blood. Some don't like to wait, others do." He winked. "I don't like waiting." 

"Are they all creeps who try to marry sixteen year olds." 

"Aw, darling!" He said with mock enthusiam, stepping forward to touch my cheek. I withdrew from his hand with a shiver. "That's just me. Sixteen year olds are so niiave. Much easier to take care of. Younger children generally are." 

"Who are you?" I demanded, standing up and crossing my arms.

He smiled. "I'm Phillip Dames."

The last name rang a bell. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

"That's right," He said happily, joyfully. He bent over and picked up his gun. "I'm Randall's son. I'm the son of your parent's killer."

Slowly, he aimed the gun at me. "And you're next."