I was normal... depending on your definition of normal. Do you think a normal person would kill someone? No? I thought so. So I'm obviously not normal. I've killed, for revenge, but it was still murder. • My mother convinced me to leave the house one night, and go to the winter formal. I didn't let her in on the fact I was a social pariah at school. She'd even bought me a dress. It was pretty... pretty short. She REALLY wanted me gone for awhile. I wouldn't blame her, I sulked around the house every day. So I paired the dress with breakneck heels and allowed mom to drive me to the school. It was deserted outside, while the music pulsated from the in of the gym. The icicles quivered with each note blasted from the speakers inside. Stepping carefully, I crunched through the snow towards the gym entrance. I tentatively opened the door, and was greeted by awkward stares and disrespectful (drunken? somebody obviously spiked the punch) leers. Nobody really expected me to come here. I was never seen at the school's social events. I never went so I could avoid her[i/] Portia Edwards. Not the most popular girl in school, but it didn't matter. She was popular with the guys for a lot of disgusting reasons. So that made the other girls hate her. And for some reason, she'd take it out on me. She would push me in the hallways, throw drinks on me in lunch, and when I had the courage to shove her back, she'd accuse me of feeling her up. So now some people think I'm a lesbian. And I saw her in the gym, with a drink in one hand, and some random guy's hand in the other. She saw me too, and after an agonizing minute of witnessing her shove her tongue down his throat, she pushed him away, and walked towards me. "Can't get enough of me in school, huh?" "Shut up, Portia. You wish." "Why would I want a loser like you?" "Why not? You've hooked up with almost all the guys in school." I muttered. Portia narrowed her eyes and shoved me out the door. She followed, and closed the door behind her. She didn't notice the block of wood keeping the door ajar was pushed across the floor. But I did. We were locked outside. Portia downed her drink and clenched the partially empty glass. Wiping her mouth of some sort of alcoholic drink, she glared at me. "Are you trying to say I'm a whore?" "That would be stating the obvious." Portia struck me across the face. I recoiled and raised my hand to my burning cheek. She stuck a pointed finger in my face. "Listen. I know what I've done. And I'll keep doing it. But I don't need some prude telling me what to do." "I'm not a prude." "Yes you are. AND you're a pathetic little loser, a freaking dyke, an ugly àss bìtch, a nerd, and you're friendless, everyone hates you, and you should just go kill yourself." I opened my mouth a bit, and blinked back tears. Nobody has said something so insensitive to me before. Portia cruelly smiled, and threw her glass up in the air. Towards the icicles on the overhang. With a crack, the glass collided with the ice and sent the falling to earth, and straight towards Portia. She looked up, and before she could run away, an icicle pierced through her leg, sending her to the ground. Portia screamed, slurred because she was drunk. She clutched at her leg and turned towards me. "Rose, get help!" she wailed. And that night, something inside me snapped. I was tired of being the helpless one, being pushed around and tortured on a daily basis. Now I was the one with the power. I walked over to her, a droplet of a tear rolling down my cheek. "Oh... you mean me?" I smiled while more tears traveled down my face. What was I feeling? It certainly wasn't sadness. I was just… numb. "Yes you, Rose! Get help!" "So after you hurt me all those times, did you get me help?" "Rose"- "Or when you shoved me down the stairs, and I broke my ankle, did you get me some fuckìng help?" I strode to where Portia laid. There was a blood stain on her dress where she'd been stabbed by the icicle. "Well, no, but"- "Right. The answer is no." I turned to the icicle fragment on the floor. I picked it up and studied it in my hand. Nobody was outside. There weren't any windows. If Portia screamed the music would be too loud for them to hear. I grinned and looked to Portia. She went pale white. The tears were flowing freely now. How was I crying? I wasn't in the mood for crying. That made me laugh. Portia whimpered out of fear. "This is for everything you've done to me." I whispered. Portia's eyes widened. "What're you doing?!" "I'm doing everyone a favor." I rose the icicle above my head, and drove it into Portia's heart. She cried out, and her hands went straight to the icicle protruding from her chest. I giggled, then started to laugh. She was making it easier for me. If the police got here before the icicles melted, her prints would be on them. Not mine. Blood soaked Portia's dress and a small pool formed at my feet. A stream of blood trickled from her mouth and it dyed the snow a crimson red. The shine slowly disappeared from her eyes. She was dead. I took Portia's hand and used it to grab her drink glass. It still had some of the drink in it now. People would know she was drunk, think she passed out, and the vibrations from the fall caused the icicles to break and impale her. The police would deem it as a tragic accident caused by teenage drinking. Putting on a false scared expression, I walked to the door, and started screaming. I kicked and pounded at the door, until somebody opened up. "Get a teacher! There was an accident!" I screamed. The guy looked past me to see Portia on the ground. He shouted and ran to a teacher, causing the DJ to stop playing. The students were in a panic as soon as they all saw Portia. The principal called an ambulance. I smiled, knowing they were too late.
Longest thing I've ever posted Anyways, this is a new story. Should I continue? And about Invisible, that WILL be continued, as soon as I can think of more to the story. So I'm working on this for now.
"Tragedy at a school dance tonight, a student named Portia Edwards has died." A hint of a smile crept to my lips. I gripped the remote and turned up the volume to the television. The reporter walked to the gym entrance. It was blocked off with yellow tape and police officers, but it looked the same. The blood was still on the ground. "Outside here, Portia passed out from drinking too much of a spiked drink from a dance earlier tonight. Portia fell to the ground, causing icicles overhead to break, and impale her in the leg, and chest. Classmate Rose Fursetino immediately got help, but dispatchers were too late. Portia was pronounced dead at the scene. Glen?" the reporter finished. The screen returned to the anchorman, and he resumed talking. "Thank you Trish. Police are fully aware the alcohol consumption was intentional, and they're sure she had a substantial amount of alcohol in her system. The chief of police will meet with school superintendents and principals all over the district to discuss underage drinking. Also, while the police don't suspect foul play, we have word that Rose Fursetino will still be questioned." I clicked the television off, and the room was shrouded in darkness. I just sat there and drummed my fingers on the chair's arm. The leather beneath my fingers didn't help me think. I practiced different scenarios and questions the police might've asked. Answers that would give me an alibi, an appropriate timeframe for where I was. How I could evade hidden questions disguised as others. The lights flashed on. I didn't blink, but my mother squinted against the light. She walked over. "Honey, why are you sitting alone in here? It was pitch black." "I'm just..." I searched my mind for an acceptable answer. "You're upset. You went through a lot tonight. I'd understand why you'd want to be alone." I just nodded and burst into fake tears, pressing my face into my mother's shoulder. She patted my back. "You should get some rest. Go sleep." Mom kissed the top of my head before getting up, and trudging up the stairs. The robe she was wearing was completely dry, despite me trying to force tears from my eyes. She didn't notice, and I stayed in place until I heard the soft click of her bedroom door. I darted up the stairs, and into my room, closing the door until a sliver of light escaped from the corner. I pushed aside the coarkboard on the wall, and snatched the key safely attatched to it. I needed to keep a journal. If I kept all of this information in my head without an outlet, I would snap. Well, more than I already had. I then retreived my old diary from my bookshelf, unlocked it, and put the lock on the desk. Grabbing and old dictionary, and my Swiss Army Knife, I proceeded to hollow out a section of the huge dictionary, about halfway through, and throwing the papers in my trashbin. I took out the corkscrew attachment of the knife, and after I found my small notebook, I twisted two perfect holes in the notebook: one in the front cover and one in the back cover. I took a pen and wrote "I can't believe I did it. I killed someone... I won't do it again." I paused, and continued writing. "I will do it again. But only the people who deserve it. The scum society would do much better without. Starting with school." I wrote Portia's name on the back cover page. Cleaning ink off the pen, I pressed it against my finger until it drew blood. I wiped it next to her name with a flourish. A checkmark. I fit the lock on the notebook, and put the notebook inside the dictionary. The dictionary was a place nobody would look. Nobody would use a dictionary today anyways, they were obsolete. I put the dictionary on the bottom shelf of the bookshelf, and strode to my bed. Feeling satisfied, I went to sleep. I needed my rest anyways. I had an interrogation tomorrow.
The fluorescent lights in the tiny interrogation room were too bright. They buzzed continuously, and that bothered me on a fundamental level. Under the table, I tightly clenched my fingers around the chair. The door swung open, revealing a young guy with a notepad and coffee walk in. The id hanging from his neck said "Matthew Anderson". He wasn't much older than me, and I was a senior. He must've been in college. He had black hair to match my own, and piercing blue eyes. The muscles wrapped around his arms flexed just from setting the coffee on the table. He was hot. Nevertheless, I had to stay focused. Or I'd say something to send me straight to an execution. He looked up at me, and smiled. "Alright Rose, I only have a few questions, it won't take long." "Ok." I said calmly. "How did you and Portia end up outside?" "She sent me out there." "Sent you?" confusion flashed Matthew's face. "She wasn't really making sense. I was sort of worried for her, so I went outside." "Alright. How did the icicles fall onto Portia?" "She passed out, and her glass clipped the edge of one. When she landed it sent most of them down." I lied. "And what did you do after that?" "I ran to get help." Matthew wrote our entire conversation down with lightning speed. I could tell he was good at what he did. But I was better. "One last question. How was your relationship with Portia?" "...my relationship?" Dammit. He got me. I needed to think of something before I started to look suspicious. I decided to cry, and let tears run down my face. Matthew looked surprised, and he suddenly leaned over and wiped a tear away. There was a flash of heat where his hand had been. "You need to tell me, Rose." he murmured. "S-she hated me." I blurted. "What?" "I was convinced she wanted to make fun of me when we were outside." "Rose, how could anyone in their right mind hate you?" "Ask the student body in my school." I bitterly spat. I started to cry more, and the tears were real. What I said was true. Matthew got me to say something I shouldn't have. I never wanted him to know anything about my relationships with people in school. They were all the same. They. All. Hated. Me. "Okay Rose, we're done here." he said sympathetically. I simply nodded and wiped my eyes. Matthew reached into his pocket and handed me a card. It had his name and number on it. I took the card and looked at him in awe. "If you need to talk, or if you have more info, just call me." "I... alright." I stood up to leave. Matthew held the door open for me, and led me to the main hallway of the police station. His hand was on the small of my back, and it sent tingles up my spine. "Rose, if you're feeling up to it, would you want to have coffee with me sometime?" I glanced at Matthew. In a way, he was dangerous. He was in college. And he was investigating the Portia Edwards case. He could put me away forever if I slipped up around him. Before I could stop myself, I parted my lips to speak. "Why not?" I murmured.