I'm an inmate of a mental hospital. My keeper watches, never letting me out of his sight. There's a peephole in the door, that my keeper uses to spy on me. His eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me.
I've been in this hell hole for about two years; 797 days to be exact. When you're in a place like this, you have pretty much nothing to do but count the days that go by. I mean, I go to therapy and eat food, sometimes being able to go outside maybe once a week. If my keeper says that I've been good, it can be up to about four times a week. You're probably wondering how I ended up in this crappy place, am I right? Well, let's just say I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. My father and mother had been brutally murdered, not wanting to get into detail, and I was there unconscious with a knife lying in my hand with blood smeared all over me. You think it was I that killed them? Well, you are wrong. I mean, everyone believes it was me, but that's not the case. I got let out of my job, at the surf shack, about an hour earlier than what I was expected. They said that there was too many people working at the time, and figured that I worked long enough that day. There was no way I was gonna say no. I may be a great worker, but I hate working, it's way too tiring. I rather stay at home and play videogames with the music blasting through my eardrums, pretty much all day. But, you gotta work in order to make money. When I had got home, everything was scattered all over the floor. Broken lamps with glass lying everywhere, picture frames laying face down, torn clothing scattered in all different places. The one thing that really caught my eye was the the big blood streak leading into the kitchen. My heart was beating fast and furiously. So many things were running through my head, but I did nothing to answer any of my questions. I just stood there. A loud smash from upstairs broke me from my thoughts. Screams and thumps flooded my ears, all sounding like a woman's. Mother was the first thing to come to mind. I quickly took off towards the stairs, my mind set on running up them and saving my mother, but it was too late. Once I reached the bottom of the stairs, my mother was rolling down them, bones snapping and screams screeching in the air. She landed right in front of me, head twisted in a different way, a knife plunged in her side, and her legs all blooded up. My heart broke in two as I looked down at my dead mother. There was nothing I could do. She was already gone. Tears began to flood my eyes, making my sight blurry. Noises of footsteps began from the stairs, making me look up. There walked a person all dressed up in black with a black mask on, making it very difficult to figure out who it is. I did the first thing that came to mind after someone had killed someone you loved and they are standing right in front of you. I took two steps at a time and ran towards the unknown man, ready for the kill. I threw a punch towards him, making contact with his nose, feeling the bones breaking beneath my knuckles. He quickly grabbed his face, holding it in pain, then looked at me from under his black mask. Before I even had the chance to blink, I felt his hands on my chest, putting force on me, to where I lost my balance and fell backwards down the stairs. Every hit was painful, but not as painful as my heart was feeling at the moment. Once I finished falling, having a headache would be an understatement. I lightly lifted my head to see the man staring straight down at me. The last thing I heard was Have fun in prison, before seeing his gun swing my way, and a sharp pain came to my head. Then, the last thing I remember is my eyes slowly closing and darkness taking over me. My name is Isaac, and I'm 'supposedly' a murderer. Well, murderer is where you're wrong.
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Jody had been on fire for the last three days, and it really didn’t bother her. Every since Jody had found out that this was something that would never go away, that this was who she was now, she learned to accept it. With her being new with this whole immortal thing, she has only been able to extinguish herself a total of five times the past three days. Sadly, it was only a short five minutes before she burst into flames. She wasn’t able to touch anything either, unless she wanted to have a charred couch.
Rolling her neck, her head moving from one side to the other as small bubbles crack in her neck, Jody stands beneath the shower head as water pours down her back and splashing to the floor of the shower. Jody has come to find out that the only thing that seemed to really control her power was the enemy: water. Seems silly, right? Every superhero has a weakness though. A small clang came from the bathroom window making Jody jump in her spot. Quickly, she turned the shower knob to off and reach her hand beyond the curtain, grabbing a towel hanging on the hook by the shower. Wrapping the towel around her body, she secured it tight and slowly pushed the curtain to the side. She peeked her head around the edge of the curtain and saw nobody in the bathroom with her. Another clang came from the window, her eyes going directly over to where the noise came from. Stepping over the edge of the tub she made her way over to the window. With her being on the second floor, she figured there would be no one directly in front of the window. She let out a small scream when another rock hit the glass window. The action made her take a couple steps back, but she quickly recovered and closed back into the window. She flicked the lock and pushed on the glass, the hinges creaking a bit as it slowly opened. A small breeze made its way in, the hairs on her arm standing to attention. Slowly she peeked her head out the opening and peered down at the grass. A boy stood down below, staring straight back at her. “Who are you?,” Jody was quick to ask as she has never seen this boy in her entire life. He looked to be around the age of a young adult: 20-24. A smile crept onto his lips and what he said next made Jody freeze in place with shock, “I know what you are… and I believe I can help you.” With the lights of the city behind her, she knew freedom was at hand. All her life this is what she dreamed of: getting out of the spot light. Ever since she was younger, her mother had been shoving her into rooms with big famous directors that were ready to hire her for their commercial, or to guest star on their show. It wasn’t until she was 12 when they started to buzz her with movie requests and what role she should play. It was fun at first when all you had to remember was a simple line and shove a product toward the camera yelling, “It’s the best!” Then once she started to excel, it was like someone was yelling at her every day. Whether it was the director telling her she did it wrong a fourth time, or her mother yelling at her for being late or saying no to a part. Then there’s the paparazzi, constantly trying to publicize every move she made: camping out in front of her yard for a simple shot of her walking to the bus. She was ready to move on and become the girl she always wanted to be: a simple teenager. She wanted to be able to go to a public school and have regular friends that didn’t friend her just for her being famous. She wanted to be able to step foot into a shop and not get attacked by flashes and autographs. She wanted to be able to look at her phone and have a couple messages from her friends and family instead of a few hundred begging her to be on their talk show or their movie. Lifting her hand, she threw up her thumb towards an oncoming pickup truck, hoping they would stop as they made their way out of the city and out into the country. The pickup passed by her, only to start slowly down feet away from her. She jogged up to the side, her backpack making noises as it bounced behind her. The window rolled down to show a young woman, looking to be around her age or a few years older. She didn’t look to be any harm, but there was always a chance. “Where are you heading?” the girl asked as she put one hand on the wheel and the other to rest on the window seal. She didn’t have a clue of where to go, but anywhere but here sounded great to her. “Wherever you take me to I guess,” She replied back with a simple shrug up her shoulders. The girl did a simple nod of her head indicating to hop in. She quickly jogged to the other side and swung the door open and hopped in, almost afraid she was going to change her mind and drive off. She tossed her bag into the back seat and quickly buckled her seat belt. She looked over to her new taxi driver and gave her a smile. “I greatly appreciate this. I don’t believe I caught your name.” The girl breathed out a small chuckle, “It’s because you didn’t.” The girl stuck her hand out and continued, “The name is Caitlyn. Caitlyn Hoolans. And you?” She happily took her hand and shook it. “Mary. Mary Devine.” I wasn’t brave enough to speak to you in person about this situation. I hate to have waited so long before telling you this. You were mourning at the time and I felt that you didn’t need more thrown on top of that; so I waited. Probably wasn’t the best idea because now it will only be worse, but that’s why I’m telling you now. And I know that if I waited any longer I probably wouldn’t have written this letter to you at all.
I’ve been to all the court hearings, listening to everything that was said. You knew I was there, but never thought of it as anything else but a friend coming to comfort you. It was wrong and disrespectful, but I had to hear the things they were assuming about your daughter. They were all lies! Nothing the court said was true! They believed she was an angel that was innocent and couldn’t think of a reason she would be dead. They honestly didn’t know your daughter; you didn’t know your daughter. You believe she was stabbed by some random guy on the street after a night of hanging out with friends. You obviously believed the story I had planted on the scene. Reality? She never made it to her friends house that night; she made it to my house though. Every night she was ‘going out’ with her friends, she was really stopping by my house and sneaking into my son’s room. I would hear the noises that would echo throughout the house, but Jack would just say it was him getting up and moving about the house. Isn’t my son a great liar? Jack never lied to me before he started hanging out with your daughter. Jack never smoked or snorted before hanging out with your daughter neither. It sounds surprising, but like I said: You really don’t know your daughter. A week before her death, I had awoken to some noises. My clock had shown 1 am, so that’s how I knew something was up. I had gotten up and followed the sounds that seemed to be coming from Jack’s room. Why would he be up at an hour like this? When I opened that door, I found YOUR daughter and my son snorting some crack on one of his textbooks, completely high out of their minds! Yeah, I was surprised to see her here at such a late hour, but I rather have caught them screwing each other rather than sniffing up some blow! And I can tell you right now, there is no way it came from my child. Jack hadn’t ever done anything like that. He never acted like he does until Krista started coming around. I told her that if she was to ever come back with anything like that again, that she better have a shovel ready because my son will not be caught up in something like this. And what do you know? Not a week later, I caught her trying to climb up the side of the house and through his bedroom window. From there, it was pretty easy to get rid of her. All I had to do was throw a rock at her and she was falling to the ground. Nothing too bad had happened, only a broken foot. The funny thing about this is when I looked in her bag as she was lying on the ground in pain, she had “The Goods” just filled to the top of her bag. Bet you wouldn’t think that she would have shrooms, dope, cocaine, edibles, and some kind of pills, hiding away? From there, I easily dragged her to the outside shed. With her broken foot, she couldn’t really fight the best, so there was no struggle with pulling her to her death. She could beg though; I’ll tell you that. She wouldn’t stop begging me to spare her life. Why would I break my promise? Those kind of people are horrible people in this world; so I had to follow through with it. With her being wounded, it gave me enough time to go back into the house and get a feel supplies. When I returned: she was really begging then. I lifted the edges of her sleeves past her elbows only to find a few fresh holes on the inside of her elbow. Obviously she had been shooting up, but not fresh enough for them to have been from today. It was easy to find a vein, so I started by cutting open the skin a couple times. When she started to scream, I knew I had to do something quickly; so I shoved some old, oiled rags into her mouth so she would shut up. After that, I made a few cuts and bruises here and there. With a few more adjustments, I had a perfect murder that I could get away with. The lawyers and court had stated she was cut and stabbed in various places, along with possible rape from the bruising. They were declaring that she had been jumped and abused till the point of death, which is kind of what happened. She died, that’s for sure. Then, all I had to do was drop her off in some random alley, leave a bit of a mess to look like there was struggle, and you have yourself a perfect murder. The mess back at home was pretty easy to clean up: tarps were already covering the floor from me painting the inside of the shed. Maybe your next kid will learn not to mess with mine; keep it in mind. For the mean time, we are going to wait the case out, and then we’re moving out to someone warm. Maybe you can come visit us once we’re all settled into our new home! With our best wishes, Your Ex Best Friend So much pressure.
People can only take so much before they just… Break Some people cry, while some punch walls or doors. Some people scream, while some people just push it aside some more and keep adding to that hole they have created: to stash all of their problems. Less than 24 hours, Jake had learned that he was failing all of his class. He had learned that his one and only friend was diagnosed with brain cancer. He had learned that the one place he felt safe was being torn down only to have it replaced with a parking lot. He had learned that his brother was in a car accident. Starring below himself lied his brother; blood covered his arms, his legs, his face, his clothes. It was a horrifying scene, but it didn’t stop Jake from starring. He believed that his brother would just pop up and say Surprise! and to have been only joking. He rather be hating his brother for a few minutes rather than be sad and missing him for the rest of his life. His mother and father quickly burst out of their car after pulling up a small distance from the crash. His parents ignored his bleeding head and his cut up arms, kneeling next to their son that had no heart beat. The rest he blocked out: His mother's cries and his father’s shouts for his son to come back. He knew there was nothing they could do; there was nothing he could do. His brother was gone, along with all of his sanity. Standing to his feet, he slowly walked away. He heard his parent’s cries to come back, only blocking them out. His walk turned into a jog, then into a fast run. He wanted away from all of it; he wanted out of everything. All the pain he was feeling, he wanted it all to just disappear. I wanted to disappear. The therapist looked up from Jake’s journal with shock. For two months straight, he had gotten nowhere with Jake. He asked questions on top of questions trying to get a little details he could to try and understand him; even the slightest bit. Once Jake walked into his office, first thing he did was handed him a journal. Jake didn’t say a word, he just walked casually over to his usual spot on the couch and lied down. His therapist only read the first page, but it was enough to finally comprehend why Jake was really here. He had finally opened to him; he had been testing him. |