Prologue
“Thirteen dead and twenty injured do tell me how all this started,” the interrogator said to me, his blue eyes staring into the depths of me. I haven’t spoken in two days, I haven’t eaten in two days, I haven’t moved in two days, except for a few shifts to keep myself comfortable and I didn’t want to do either for a very long time. I don’t know what happened or even why, but I could remember how it started: people. I kept silent because I didn’t want to tell him but I also knew that they had “ways” of getting me to talk.
“People,” I said in a whisper causing the man, who was in his mid twenties, to lean onward to try to hear me properly.
He nodded, irately. He had been that way since I had arrived, always saying ‘thirteen dead and twenty injured’, ‘witnesses had gone mental’, and ‘teachers quitting their jobs’. I didn’t care anymore, none of the other students had tried to help me when I needed it, none of the teachers confronted me as my grades declined, and no one even asked why I had gotten thinner and lost all interest in life. “Yes, people were injured or killed in this case, and people are now asking for answers from you, Miss Fairchild, asking why their child was lying in a bloody heap with marks of a rabid dog!”
The pictures were flopped down right in front of me: a dead girl with long red hair (Rachel Ferns) had part of her throat missing; an injured boy with short black hair with his shirt missing (Kyle Cooper) had four claw marks down the length of his back. There were many others, but these were the top ones and I knew if I touched the others, they would be suspicious; too late anyway, so I picked up a few others.
Casey Wood, a perfect prep with the perfect face, had a claw mark down her face, her nose broken, claw marks across her cheek, and a couple of bruises. Tony Coldwell, athletic and full of malice towards everyone, had five holes in his chest, as if someone had tried to drive their hand through his chest; he was alive but he wouldn’t ever be able to compete. Ashley Rouse, the back stabbing, two faced bitch that had become my friend only to deceive me to let my secrets be known, lied dead on a stretcher with, once again, part of her throat missing and a bloody mess near her heart. She had died shortly after the ambulance had arrived when they tried fervently to regain her life back (the caption was right below the picture).
“Do you want to tell me what happened exactly?” the interrogator asked me with that abhorrence in his voice that I was beginning to odium. Oh, how I wanted to make him go through all that I had every single year of my elementary, middle, and high school years. Every morning, fear of what would come when I walked through those glass doors into the school to find that my friends were missing, again, and there was a group of people ready to mock me. Their mockery always cut deep and left a scar within me no matter how insignificant or how tactless they seemed to be towards me.
I looked at him, my eyes full of antagonism, horror, and downfall, trying to make him understand, “People,” I said again, “people and their egotism and their malice filled lives. People who think they are better than everyone, people who think that others are there to putdown because they do not join them. Its people and their arrogance towards the rest of the world!!” I yelled the words like a wolf growling at an inferior pack mate who had tried to become dominate. His face changed as he looked into my eyes, he was scared, I could smell it, I could feel it and it made me want to hunt it down and destroy it. |
Submission Name: Blood Prints (Part I)
