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I mustered up the courage to do what I had to do. It wasn’t totally illegal, but some serious assault charges could be pulled on me if the victim- my victim- found the need to. As I walked to the crime scene, I drank a 16 ounce cup of coffee, heaven knows I needed the energy. Once there, I saw the criminal. I jumped the person from behind, grabbed them from behind, and hitched them upon a nail in the door frame- a nail I had placed there for this purpose. I tore down the criminals hoodie, it was a man this time, and slapped him in the face. It was time to start my interrogation.


Marrisa was watching the news when her live-in boyfriend came home. He didn’t even say hi, but that wasn’t new. He usually didn’t.
“Live from the news room: Breaking News! Jessica Marche was found dead tonight. She had 93 puncture wounds. The carnage is so graphic, we decided not to share it”.

“What jerk would do that?” she asked, rhetorically.

She didn’t see the recently cleaned knife he tucked into the top drawer of the desk in his office. She never did.

I felt so vulnerable. You sat staring at me, my gaunt body, my sunken eyes. I must have looked like a ghost to you, my previously caramel colored skin now barely recognizable as having any sort of pigmentation.

“So, where exactly did you say you were all this time?” you asked, clearly wondering if I were a figment of your imagination. I couldn’t be real. I had long been dead to you. I told you someone had hidden me far away. You shook your head in disbelief.

“You’re not real. I’m finally cracking up,” you said as you walked away, thinking that if you drank more I would disappear. But I continued my story until you were inclined to ask the question that must of been nagging you this entire time.

“Who did it?” as you spoke the words, you seemed to know the answer. There was no other possible answer.


You wouldn’t understand how tragic the tragedy I saw occur was to me. Sure, suicide is bad and sad and all, but have you ever see it happen in person as you beg someone not to do it, as you say you care, have you ever seen someone blow their head off as you say I love you? Tragedy can wreak havoc upon your state of mind, your physical health. When you see a bullet rip through the flesh of the only person you’ve ever loved, ending their life, it can literally throw you across the room, causing you to weep until you have no more tears. When you know that there was nothing you could have done to save someone, to know that someone didn’t love you enough to choose the life ultimatum, it destroys your self-esteem. Your heart busts, it implodes, and you feel as if you are going to bleed out on the inside until you join the person who you are clutching, dead, in your feeble arms, as your salty tears splat against their barely warm lips. The next time you have to be dragged across the room from a supposed “crime scene” and left in the corner as you lay heaving in air and trying to dry your face so you can see your true love being hauled away from you on a blue gurney and popped into an ambulance to be taken to the morgue, talk to me. But until then, let me enjoy my slow death by broken heart. It’s the only thing I have left.

How do you want to be remembered? As the one I couldn’t bear to look at? As the one I was disgusted with? You don’t have many options at this point. I trusted you. You were my rock. You were supposed to care for me! Is that what you would call what you did? Because I certainly wouldn’t.

“Jump! Higher!” Gina screamed as we all did our toe touches. Her face was had that constant angry look, her perfectly plucked eyebrows constantly making her face look as if she were considering homicide.
“No!” she screamed at Daniella, and I knew we were all in for it. She slapped her across the face with each condescending word, trying to prove her point.
“100 crunches! All of you! 200 for you, Damnella,” she glared as she used the horrible name, but I could see the smirk hiding behind the evil glare she was wearing.
As I came up for my final crunch, I could feel the sweat dripping down my face, ever closer to my mouth, but I continued on, not daring brush it away. Who knows what would have happened then?