My house was only a 5 minute walk from the school, so it should be only a minute if I sprinted. However, part of me knew that it wouldn't be that easy. As my eyes fell upon the world around me, I saw true horror. Those who were once kind, little old ladies were now scratching people's eyes out. Tiny toddlers who were playing with toy aeroplanes were now stabbing their legs with the nose of the plane. Shocked beyond belief, it took me a few moments to calm myself ever so slightly and start running for my house.

Not everyone was psychotic and murderous though, I ran past various people who were just on the floor staring into space and shaking uncontrollably.

Maybe they're like me. Maybe they're just normal.

In the effort to get home as quickly as possible, I just convinced myself that they were fine, and there was nothing I could do to help them. Whether or not that was true, was another story.

Dodging, jumping and skidding down roads, I reached my quaint little street in a record time. On my journey I couldn't help but notice the many cars on fire, piled up, or abandoned in the middle of roads.

My mum was a child minder, so she would definitely be at home, and I was unsure whether or not my dad would be home, he only visits on occasion. I was an only child, which might explain why am I constantly playing computer games and programming my own all night.

The closer I got to my home, the quieter the mania was. By the time I reached my front door and leapt over the miniature brick wall, there was only one other person roaming the streets. They were smashing windows and kicking cars, despite have glass stuck in their arm, and blood dripping down them like a waterfall.

Shit.

Breathing became heavier and my thoughts became scattered. I had known my fair share panic attacks, but none were like this one.

Trying to gather up my scrambled thoughts, I came remembered what my therapist had told me to do in this situation (not an apocalypse of course; a panic attack). Close my eyes, take a deep breath in and deep breath out. Calm yourself and try not to worry. This technique allowed me enough sanity to work out what to do next.

My mum was most likely home, but what if she was crazy too? I couldn't risk provoking her. Then I thought of a plan in my head. If I was in a cartoon then a lightbulb would have almost definitely popped up above my head.

The side gate. Down the side of my house was a large iron gate followed by a crappy little wooden one. The iron gate would be easy. Being tall gives you certain advantages, for example being able to stand on my brick wall and clamber over an iron gate. The wooden gate, however, would be more challenging believe it or not. Climbing over it was out of the question, as my dad had put nails through the top to stop burglars, and of course there was a lock on the other side. I just prayed to god there wasn't also a brick on the other side which we put there when it was particularly windy.

Preparing myself for a run up, I took as many steps back as I could before I backed into the iron gate. I threw my weak, feeble body at the wooden gate and unsurprisingly, nothing happened. Quickly scanning my brain for another way in, I found nothing. So again, I attempted to break down the crooked gate. After 4 more attempts, the gate gave in and the lock on the other side was ripped off. Not so gracefully, I stumbled into my garden, which was overgrown and a mess.

Luckily for me, our back door was unlocked, which it usually was while mum was at home. I tried to be quiet and sneaky as I slid open the heavy glass door. I had to be careful. My mum might not be who she used to be.

Upon entering the kitchen, I took in a sharp, short breath. Anyone else would have assumed that a bomb had gone off, but I knew this destruction was done by my mother.

Cautiously, I took carefully placed steps through the kitchen, searching for a trace of hope.

Then, I heard a noise coming from the living room at the end of the hallway. I wasn't quite sure what the noise was like, but I could have sworn it was scratching.

Even more hesitantly then before, I made my way down the hallway and to the living room door. Slowly, I pushed It open which sounded it's usual eerie creak. There, sitting on the floor, with a knife in her hand, scratching the sofa was my mother. The cream carpet was stained, red. Lying on the sofa was none other than Cassidy, the irritating child that my mother has been childminding since I was 10. That was 6 years ago. Even from the doorway, I could tell that Cassidy was dead. The small child distracted me and I forgot that my psychotic mother was on the floor, and was probably about to kill me.

I stayed frozen, careful not to make any sudden movements, but she had already noticed my presence. However, she did not jump up from her pool of blood and shove her kitchen knife into my chest. Instead, she sat there looking at me with her big green eyes, murmuring. I couldn't quite make out what she was saying, as it was so faint. So I moved closer. Slowly, I took steady steps towards her trying not to spook her.

She has to recognise me! I'm her son for fucks sake!

My emotions welled up inside me and before I knew it, this tragic sight had caused my eyes to fill with water and start to overflow.

Then I heard it.

"Remember. Remember. Remember"

Those were the words she was saying.

Why? Remember what? What the fuck does that mean? Is she trying to remember me?

Trying desperately to wake her up from the trance, I spoke to her. "Hey mum, it's me Theo. Mum it's gonna be okay it's gonna be okay."

A single tear slid down my mother's face as she heard me speak those words. And then she replied.

"Th-Theo?"

"Yeah mum. It's me." For a second I believed she was okay, that she was back to normal, so I stretched out my shaking hand to her.

That was a regretful decision, for she sunk her knife into the palm of my hand in one sudden movement.

The pain was excruciating and blood oozed out of my hand like toothpaste out of a tube. Screaming in agony, I backed away from the woman who I could no longer call my mother. She was on the floor in a heap of tears screaming almost as much as I was. Then, she returned to murmuring her chant.

Remember. Remember.

I didn't have the time to stop and think about what the fuck she meant, so I bolted.

I couldn't go to a hospital, no they would be full of crazy people as well.

Am I the only fucking sane person round here?!

Clutching my hand I ran down my street in a desperate hope to find someone, or something.

My mother remembered me. She knew my name. And her eyes recognised me. I know they did. So why the fuck did she stab me?