August 18th, 2008
Writing Stories
Yeah, I tend to write a lot of stories in my off time (I used to have a comic book but I just don't have the energy anymore.) so I figured, thsi would be a good place to put up a story so I'll start with this one. It is one that I wrote in a couple hours after listening to a wondreful song by Say Anything so here it is in all it's glory. (Please, if you read this tell me what you think. I need some feedback since I might be entering it in a contest.)
What is it exactly that you do?
Why, I kill little girls, of course.
Well, they aren’t exactly little girls; technically they’re ‘young adults’.
‘Middle schoolers’ is another term.
I just think that ‘little girls’ fits better. Don’t you?
Well, we all have our opinions; it’s what makes us different.
So anyway, I kill little girls.
Why would someone like you do that?
Well, it’s not simple to explain.
Actually, there are two answers to that question.
The first, the one that almost everyone who doesn’t understand believes, is that I’m crazy. I won’t deny it. According to the great state of North Carolina I’m a certifiable loony. Me, a loony?! Isn’t that the most idiotic thing you’ve ever heard? Well, you don’t know me well enough to make that kind of judgment yet. I’m really not crazy-maybe just a little … different, that’s all.
When they put me in the large house with white walls I tried to explain that to the people in the sterile white coats but they just put on their cardboard smiles and pretended to agree in that high-pitched voice people use with babies.
Or, as the case may be, with people who are insane.
I didn’t much like the house with white walls or the people there, so I left.
And I only had to kill two people.
My God.
Why does that shock you? I already admitted to being a killer. I mean, if it really bothers you look at it this way: with each breath you take thousands are breathing their last. With every second that passes hundreds die, so what’s two more added to that?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
If you just look at it in the way of statistics and numbers it’s not that bad at all.
What about ethics?
What about them?
Screw ethics.
Well ... what’s the second reason?
Well, the second reason my reason for what I do. It too relies on statistics and numbers.
Let me explain, by the time a girl reaches her mid-twenties chances are high that she’ll get pregnant from someone who never intended to be a father, marry some guy who gives girls black eyes, be sexually assaulted, or something even more unspeakable.
I get to them before that can happen.
I’m an angel.
I run mercy’s errand.
Do you consider yourself an "angel of death" like the papers call you?
An angel of death?
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Do you ever feel like what you’re doing is wrong?
No, I can’t say that I do.
I mean, I don’t particularly enjoy it. The killing of girls, I mean. I’m not sick or twisted like that. I’m not a guy who gives girls black eyes.
Then why do you do it?
Someone’s got to.
Okay look, I’ll try to explain this to you as best I can…
I got it.
Alright, I was going to this middle school, in a town called Burbank or something like that. It was several months ago but-
Yes, I know.
You’ve heard of it?
Ah yes, I do remember it being in the news.
But they only told part of the story, not the whole thing, as the news generally does.
Anyway, I was at this middle school-
Excuse me but why do you only target middle schools?
Simple.
Think about it, where else can you find so many potentials in one place.
Potentials are what I call the middle school girls who I’m pretty sure will have the problems I mentioned later in life. I’m very systematic and logical about who I select to receive my mercy. I analyze as many of them as I can for a couple of weeks, then I kill the ones who will have the problems.
How do you know?
I’ve been doing it for so long that I simply know. It’s natural to me.
Could you be wrong?
Of course not, what kind of question is that?
Anyway, the second reason why I target middle schools is simply because I blend in there.
So back to the story, I was at this school in Burbank watching all the potentials there. I felt so sorry for those girls. I probably should’ve given more of them mercy. They all seemed to be doomed to a problematic future. In fact, I may go back there in a few months to grant more mercy.
Anyway, there was this one potential there, her name was Eliza … no, Alyssa … no, that isn’t right … Alicia. Yes that’s it. Her name was Alicia and she caught my eye very early on. She was your classic thirteen/fourteen year old girl: long golden hair, blue eyes … no … azure eyes yes that’s a better term, pale flawless skin, you know, the works. She was such a sweet girl, nice to me from day one. Still, I felt the profound feeling that she was more damned than the others, so I kept a close eye on her.
And she kept a close eye on me.
Why is that?
I’m still not sure why. Maybe it was because she knew about me, maybe she felt something strange whenever she was around me, maybe she had a premonition with me in it, maybe it was just a simple teenage crush. I’ll never know for sure.
Within a day or two we became good friends.
Yes, even people like me can have friends.
Mostly I prefer to stay away from relationships… they interfere with things, you know? I try to gauge things from a distance but she was so damn persistent in trying to be my friend that I just gave in.
It was nice.
We hung out and did things together all the time. We were nearly inseparable.
I can see why ‘normal’ people would want to have friends.
But in my heart I knew it was too good to be true.
For now, let’s just say that she was my first … and my last real friend.
You see, she had this boyfriend who I could tell from the start was a guy who gave girls black eyes. He just had that look, you know? He was a massive brute of a football player a good head taller and twice as wide as me. Yeah, he was big. He had sledgehammer hands and a mean face with a thick veiny brow that always seemed to be glaring at you. His smile was a sneer and his laugh was a snicker.
I honestly don’t know how Alicia ended up with the bruiser but I do know one thing:
I didn’t like him. I didn’t like him one bit.
And he didn’t like me.
One day he grabbed me and dragged me into the boys’ restroom where he proceeded to kick my ass. I’m not too proud to admit it; I stood absolutely no chance against the guy … in a fair fight at least.
After he had finished making my face bleed he knocked me against the wall and told me that I had better not be screwing around with his girl or he’d kick my ass again. When he asked if I understood I just grinned and started laughing, spraying blood from my busted lip all over his face. He called me a sick faggot, or something like that, and he threw me down and stormed out, wiping the blood off his face with his sledgehammer hands.
His girl-breaking hands.
At that moment I was sure Alicia would have problems.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.
I just didn’t know how soon.
Hang on a second, this gets hard to tell.
… … … …
Are you crying?
Yes, I’m crying, you’d cry too if you’d have been there.
If you’d known her.
Did you have feelings for this … Alicia?
Feelings for her?
…I guess I did.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
Where was I?
The next day, a Friday if I remember correctly, Alicia asked me to come to her place and see a movie with her, or something like that.
I asked if it would be okay with her bruiser.
She laughed and told me that he didn’t control her and that she could do whatever she wanted with whoever she wanted.
Did you say yes?
Did I say yes? What kind of question is that?
Of course I said yes. I had ‘feelings’ for her, remember?
She told me to show up at seven that night.
…I showed up at seven exactly and … I will never forget what I saw that night.
Not in a million lifetimes.
Give me a minute.
This part hurts … it hurts a lot.
… … … …
Okay … yeah, I’ll be fine. I … showed up at seven, like she said, and … she was there like she said she’d be.
But not like she said she’d be.
She was lying on the couch and she was covered … oh God … she was covered in … in blood and bruises. Her eyes … both of her beautiful azure eyes … were swelled shut and turning black. Her mouth and nose … were a bloody mess. One of her ears … one of her ears was … it was lying on the ground … torn completely off. Her chest … was … caved in … I could see … I could see white … poking out … of her skin … her perfect skin. And her hair … her golden hair … wasn’t golden anymore … it was red.
She was … broken.
I went over to her … and asked her what happened.
…She told me.
She told me everything.
Through her foamy red voice … she told me.
The brute had found out about me coming over … and he … he didn’t like it. He got there before I did … and he was mad … real mad … real crazy. He … he … he raped her. And when she tried to stop him … he … hit her. Over and over and over again … he beat her with his sledgehammer hands. With his girl-breaking hands. He bludgeoned her into a … pulp.
He turned her … he turned that beautiful creature … into … into a …
He broke her.
She asked me to help her.
I told her the truth … I didn’t know any first aid. I still don’t.
I told her I’d call the paramedics.
She didn’t want that.
She shook her head slowly … so slowly, and said she didn’t want that … she said she … she didn’t want to feel any pain … any more pain. She said she … she said she …
She didn’t want to … to live anymore.
Only thirteen … and already wishing she was dead.
He had taken the life from her.
Forever.
She asked me to do it … she begged me.
Did you do it?
Of course I did. I was her friend and I couldn’t … I couldn’t see her … like that.
I took my knife … the knife that has given so many mercy … and I did all that she wanted of me.
I granted her one final mercy.
I grabbed her hand … her warm … broken … hand.
And I … I killed her … as painlessly as possible.
I slit her throat.
No, I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to at all.
I was her friend and that … that was her last wish.
So I did it.
That’s what friends do.
I held her warm hand as she … as she gasped her last breath. I kept holding it until it went cold.
I stood slowly and closed my eyes.
My rage opened them.
Yes, I was angry.
I was furious.
That bastard had done this to her.
And I hadn’t been able to save her in time.
I tracked the guy who gave girls black eyes down.
How?
It wasn’t that hard.
It was a simple matter of looking at her cell phone and finding out his last name and home number. Then I compared the number to all the people with the same last name in the phonebook until they matched and I found his address.
What was this boy’s name?
His name?
Why in God’s name would you want to know that?
As far as I’m concerned he didn’t have a name.
He was just another guy who gave girls black eyes.
I went to a gas station to ask directions to his street. It’s amazing the information people will give you if you ask nice enough.
I showed up at the bastard’s doorstep later that night.
Or windowsill, if you want to be particular.
I pried it open with the blade of my knife, pulled it up, and stepped inside.
The place was silent, as most places will be at two in the morning.
Oh yeah, he was there. Sound asleep too.
After beating up a girl.
I couldn’t take it.
I lost control.
I sent my knife straight into one of his eyes.
It was the least I could do to someone who gave a girl a black eye.
He woke up, screaming.
That only made me scream too.
What did you scream about?
I screamed about what he had done, I screamed about what should happen to him, I screamed about where he was going to go, I screamed about how Alicia, beautiful Alicia, would never breathe again, but most of all
I just screamed.
All the time I was stabbing him over and over again until he wasn’t recognizable and his room was painted red.
Then the sirens came.
Did they find you?
No, I didn’t get caught, or else I wouldn’t be here right now.
I can’t let another girl go through that.
I’ve got to get there first before any of that can happen to them.
Why don’t you just take out the guys who give girls black eyes instead of the girls?
Well, I sort of do, if I can figure out who the problems are.
They are much harder to figure out.
Most of them aren’t stereotypical like the guy I just told you about. Most are just like you or me, so they’re hard to find.
If I do find them I take care of them.
How?
Well, I take things away depending.
No, I don’t kill them. They don’t deserve my mercy. He was just a one time deal.
I just cut things off.
What do you cut off?
Well, it depends.
Depends on what?
What kind of problems they are likely to be.
If I know he’ll be a guy that gives girls black eyes I’ll chop his hands off.
If I know he’ll rape a girl … well, I cut that off too.
How many "problems" have you done this to?
About five.
And how many girls?
I’ve saved about fifty.
Don’t get all surprised on me. It’s just simple mathematics.
I kill about two girls every two weeks.
That’s four.
In a month, it’s eight.
I’ve been doing it for almost a year now so the grand total is about forty-eight.
Give or take a few, of course.
Really? But there aren’t nearly that many reported cases of your … "mercy."
What about the reported cases?
According to police files there are only ten.
They only have ten on record?
Oh, that’s because I normally bury the girls afterwords … if I have time.
I’ll even perform a nice little ceremony for them.
Those ten were when I was rushed for some reason or another.
But let me tell you this:
I went to all their funerals.
Like I said, I don’t enjoy it but someone’s got to do it.
Why don’t you stop?
If I stopped, think of how many girls would end up like Alicia.
I’m saving them from that fate.
I won’t stop, I can’t stop now.
I think there are only two reasons why I’d stop.
The first is if the cops kill me.
No they won’t put me in jail; they’ll kill me on the spot.
They think I’m psychotic, remember?
The only way they’ll take me is in a body bag.
The other reason?
Oh, that’s if I get too old and I’m still alive. Then I’ll ‘retire’ or something like that, you know. I mean I can’t keep doing this forever and I know that.
But that day’s a long way away.
I mean, I’m only thirteen.
A Guy Who Gives Girls Black Eyes
What is it exactly that you do?
Why, I kill little girls, of course.
Well, they aren’t exactly little girls; technically they’re ‘young adults’.
‘Middle schoolers’ is another term.
I just think that ‘little girls’ fits better. Don’t you?
Well, we all have our opinions; it’s what makes us different.
So anyway, I kill little girls.
Why would someone like you do that?
Well, it’s not simple to explain.
Actually, there are two answers to that question.
The first, the one that almost everyone who doesn’t understand believes, is that I’m crazy. I won’t deny it. According to the great state of North Carolina I’m a certifiable loony. Me, a loony?! Isn’t that the most idiotic thing you’ve ever heard? Well, you don’t know me well enough to make that kind of judgment yet. I’m really not crazy-maybe just a little … different, that’s all.
When they put me in the large house with white walls I tried to explain that to the people in the sterile white coats but they just put on their cardboard smiles and pretended to agree in that high-pitched voice people use with babies.
Or, as the case may be, with people who are insane.
I didn’t much like the house with white walls or the people there, so I left.
And I only had to kill two people.
My God.
Why does that shock you? I already admitted to being a killer. I mean, if it really bothers you look at it this way: with each breath you take thousands are breathing their last. With every second that passes hundreds die, so what’s two more added to that?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
If you just look at it in the way of statistics and numbers it’s not that bad at all.
What about ethics?
What about them?
Screw ethics.
Well ... what’s the second reason?
Well, the second reason my reason for what I do. It too relies on statistics and numbers.
Let me explain, by the time a girl reaches her mid-twenties chances are high that she’ll get pregnant from someone who never intended to be a father, marry some guy who gives girls black eyes, be sexually assaulted, or something even more unspeakable.
I get to them before that can happen.
I’m an angel.
I run mercy’s errand.
Do you consider yourself an "angel of death" like the papers call you?
An angel of death?
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Do you ever feel like what you’re doing is wrong?
No, I can’t say that I do.
I mean, I don’t particularly enjoy it. The killing of girls, I mean. I’m not sick or twisted like that. I’m not a guy who gives girls black eyes.
Then why do you do it?
Someone’s got to.
Okay look, I’ll try to explain this to you as best I can…
I got it.
Alright, I was going to this middle school, in a town called Burbank or something like that. It was several months ago but-
Yes, I know.
You’ve heard of it?
Ah yes, I do remember it being in the news.
But they only told part of the story, not the whole thing, as the news generally does.
Anyway, I was at this middle school-
Excuse me but why do you only target middle schools?
Simple.
Think about it, where else can you find so many potentials in one place.
Potentials are what I call the middle school girls who I’m pretty sure will have the problems I mentioned later in life. I’m very systematic and logical about who I select to receive my mercy. I analyze as many of them as I can for a couple of weeks, then I kill the ones who will have the problems.
How do you know?
I’ve been doing it for so long that I simply know. It’s natural to me.
Could you be wrong?
Of course not, what kind of question is that?
Anyway, the second reason why I target middle schools is simply because I blend in there.
So back to the story, I was at this school in Burbank watching all the potentials there. I felt so sorry for those girls. I probably should’ve given more of them mercy. They all seemed to be doomed to a problematic future. In fact, I may go back there in a few months to grant more mercy.
Anyway, there was this one potential there, her name was Eliza … no, Alyssa … no, that isn’t right … Alicia. Yes that’s it. Her name was Alicia and she caught my eye very early on. She was your classic thirteen/fourteen year old girl: long golden hair, blue eyes … no … azure eyes yes that’s a better term, pale flawless skin, you know, the works. She was such a sweet girl, nice to me from day one. Still, I felt the profound feeling that she was more damned than the others, so I kept a close eye on her.
And she kept a close eye on me.
Why is that?
I’m still not sure why. Maybe it was because she knew about me, maybe she felt something strange whenever she was around me, maybe she had a premonition with me in it, maybe it was just a simple teenage crush. I’ll never know for sure.
Within a day or two we became good friends.
Yes, even people like me can have friends.
Mostly I prefer to stay away from relationships… they interfere with things, you know? I try to gauge things from a distance but she was so damn persistent in trying to be my friend that I just gave in.
It was nice.
We hung out and did things together all the time. We were nearly inseparable.
I can see why ‘normal’ people would want to have friends.
But in my heart I knew it was too good to be true.
For now, let’s just say that she was my first … and my last real friend.
You see, she had this boyfriend who I could tell from the start was a guy who gave girls black eyes. He just had that look, you know? He was a massive brute of a football player a good head taller and twice as wide as me. Yeah, he was big. He had sledgehammer hands and a mean face with a thick veiny brow that always seemed to be glaring at you. His smile was a sneer and his laugh was a snicker.
I honestly don’t know how Alicia ended up with the bruiser but I do know one thing:
I didn’t like him. I didn’t like him one bit.
And he didn’t like me.
One day he grabbed me and dragged me into the boys’ restroom where he proceeded to kick my ass. I’m not too proud to admit it; I stood absolutely no chance against the guy … in a fair fight at least.
After he had finished making my face bleed he knocked me against the wall and told me that I had better not be screwing around with his girl or he’d kick my ass again. When he asked if I understood I just grinned and started laughing, spraying blood from my busted lip all over his face. He called me a sick faggot, or something like that, and he threw me down and stormed out, wiping the blood off his face with his sledgehammer hands.
His girl-breaking hands.
At that moment I was sure Alicia would have problems.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.
I just didn’t know how soon.
Hang on a second, this gets hard to tell.
… … … …
Are you crying?
Yes, I’m crying, you’d cry too if you’d have been there.
If you’d known her.
Did you have feelings for this … Alicia?
Feelings for her?
…I guess I did.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
Where was I?
The next day, a Friday if I remember correctly, Alicia asked me to come to her place and see a movie with her, or something like that.
I asked if it would be okay with her bruiser.
She laughed and told me that he didn’t control her and that she could do whatever she wanted with whoever she wanted.
Did you say yes?
Did I say yes? What kind of question is that?
Of course I said yes. I had ‘feelings’ for her, remember?
She told me to show up at seven that night.
…I showed up at seven exactly and … I will never forget what I saw that night.
Not in a million lifetimes.
Give me a minute.
This part hurts … it hurts a lot.
… … … …
Okay … yeah, I’ll be fine. I … showed up at seven, like she said, and … she was there like she said she’d be.
But not like she said she’d be.
She was lying on the couch and she was covered … oh God … she was covered in … in blood and bruises. Her eyes … both of her beautiful azure eyes … were swelled shut and turning black. Her mouth and nose … were a bloody mess. One of her ears … one of her ears was … it was lying on the ground … torn completely off. Her chest … was … caved in … I could see … I could see white … poking out … of her skin … her perfect skin. And her hair … her golden hair … wasn’t golden anymore … it was red.
She was … broken.
I went over to her … and asked her what happened.
…She told me.
She told me everything.
Through her foamy red voice … she told me.
The brute had found out about me coming over … and he … he didn’t like it. He got there before I did … and he was mad … real mad … real crazy. He … he … he raped her. And when she tried to stop him … he … hit her. Over and over and over again … he beat her with his sledgehammer hands. With his girl-breaking hands. He bludgeoned her into a … pulp.
He turned her … he turned that beautiful creature … into … into a …
He broke her.
She asked me to help her.
I told her the truth … I didn’t know any first aid. I still don’t.
I told her I’d call the paramedics.
She didn’t want that.
She shook her head slowly … so slowly, and said she didn’t want that … she said she … she didn’t want to feel any pain … any more pain. She said she … she said she …
She didn’t want to … to live anymore.
Only thirteen … and already wishing she was dead.
He had taken the life from her.
Forever.
She asked me to do it … she begged me.
Did you do it?
Of course I did. I was her friend and I couldn’t … I couldn’t see her … like that.
I took my knife … the knife that has given so many mercy … and I did all that she wanted of me.
I granted her one final mercy.
I grabbed her hand … her warm … broken … hand.
And I … I killed her … as painlessly as possible.
I slit her throat.
No, I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to at all.
I was her friend and that … that was her last wish.
So I did it.
That’s what friends do.
I held her warm hand as she … as she gasped her last breath. I kept holding it until it went cold.
I stood slowly and closed my eyes.
My rage opened them.
Yes, I was angry.
I was furious.
That bastard had done this to her.
And I hadn’t been able to save her in time.
I tracked the guy who gave girls black eyes down.
How?
It wasn’t that hard.
It was a simple matter of looking at her cell phone and finding out his last name and home number. Then I compared the number to all the people with the same last name in the phonebook until they matched and I found his address.
What was this boy’s name?
His name?
Why in God’s name would you want to know that?
As far as I’m concerned he didn’t have a name.
He was just another guy who gave girls black eyes.
I went to a gas station to ask directions to his street. It’s amazing the information people will give you if you ask nice enough.
I showed up at the bastard’s doorstep later that night.
Or windowsill, if you want to be particular.
I pried it open with the blade of my knife, pulled it up, and stepped inside.
The place was silent, as most places will be at two in the morning.
Oh yeah, he was there. Sound asleep too.
After beating up a girl.
I couldn’t take it.
I lost control.
I sent my knife straight into one of his eyes.
It was the least I could do to someone who gave a girl a black eye.
He woke up, screaming.
That only made me scream too.
What did you scream about?
I screamed about what he had done, I screamed about what should happen to him, I screamed about where he was going to go, I screamed about how Alicia, beautiful Alicia, would never breathe again, but most of all
I just screamed.
All the time I was stabbing him over and over again until he wasn’t recognizable and his room was painted red.
Then the sirens came.
Did they find you?
No, I didn’t get caught, or else I wouldn’t be here right now.
I can’t let another girl go through that.
I’ve got to get there first before any of that can happen to them.
Why don’t you just take out the guys who give girls black eyes instead of the girls?
Well, I sort of do, if I can figure out who the problems are.
They are much harder to figure out.
Most of them aren’t stereotypical like the guy I just told you about. Most are just like you or me, so they’re hard to find.
If I do find them I take care of them.
How?
Well, I take things away depending.
No, I don’t kill them. They don’t deserve my mercy. He was just a one time deal.
I just cut things off.
What do you cut off?
Well, it depends.
Depends on what?
What kind of problems they are likely to be.
If I know he’ll be a guy that gives girls black eyes I’ll chop his hands off.
If I know he’ll rape a girl … well, I cut that off too.
How many "problems" have you done this to?
About five.
And how many girls?
I’ve saved about fifty.
Don’t get all surprised on me. It’s just simple mathematics.
I kill about two girls every two weeks.
That’s four.
In a month, it’s eight.
I’ve been doing it for almost a year now so the grand total is about forty-eight.
Give or take a few, of course.
Really? But there aren’t nearly that many reported cases of your … "mercy."
What about the reported cases?
According to police files there are only ten.
They only have ten on record?
Oh, that’s because I normally bury the girls afterwords … if I have time.
I’ll even perform a nice little ceremony for them.
Those ten were when I was rushed for some reason or another.
But let me tell you this:
I went to all their funerals.
Like I said, I don’t enjoy it but someone’s got to do it.
Why don’t you stop?
If I stopped, think of how many girls would end up like Alicia.
I’m saving them from that fate.
I won’t stop, I can’t stop now.
I think there are only two reasons why I’d stop.
The first is if the cops kill me.
No they won’t put me in jail; they’ll kill me on the spot.
They think I’m psychotic, remember?
The only way they’ll take me is in a body bag.
The other reason?
Oh, that’s if I get too old and I’m still alive. Then I’ll ‘retire’ or something like that, you know. I mean I can’t keep doing this forever and I know that.
But that day’s a long way away.
I mean, I’m only thirteen.
Posted by FALLEN101 | Aug 18, 2008 6:44 PM | 7 comments