26th November 2012
It has snowed inside a suburban house. The sofa, the armchairs and table, every surface is covered in a layer of snow. There is a murderer in the house with me. I listen but I can’t hear anything. It is still and quiet. I open the front door and there is a bicycle covered in fairy lights that looks so pretty against the dark blue sky. I look behind me and see that my footprints in the snow are small and round as if I am a fox or a deer. I realise the murderer will be able to follow my footprints. I turn around again and Ian McKellen with long grey hair and beard, is standing in the doorway. He is the murderer. I stab him in the eye with scissors and blood runs down his face and drips onto the snow.