Sept 23, 2016

Dear Diary,

Hello, I guess. Jesus, this is stupid.

I always felt that writing in a diary was pretty much the most self-absorbed, idiotic thing anyone could do, and even more ridiculous to address it as “Diary," but here we are.

Iʼm not sure what Iʼm supposed to put in this thing. I don't know what the weather is like outside.

I smell like a 14-year-old boy whoʼs wearing Brute and forgot to shower this year.

I like puppies and long walks on the beach.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I love no one

Hell, whatever. At least I have something to do now.

I guess if Iʼm going to sit here and scribble with a crayon, I might as well use the opportunity to its capacity.

So, Diary, my name is James. I live in this chickʼs basement now, unfortunately, and she gave you to me and told me to use you to "think about what I've done and explore myself."

Her name is Amy. I'm pretty sure sheʼs going to read this, so let me emphasize to you now that sheʼs just a swell person. It also just dawned on me that Iʼm writing with a crayon, which means I canʼt edit or erase. I hope she can understand that Iʼm not very good at this diary thing and forgive my frustrations.

I hear her coming. Be right back.

Okay, back. Yep. Sheʼs going to read you everyday and counsel me through my issues because sheʼs a wonderful, caring woman with my best interest at heart, and she knows I need her help.

First assignment is apparently to explain why Iʼm here and "how our actions result in consequences." Due tomorrow night at 6 p.m.

Gonna sleep now, Diary. This should be fun.

• • •

September 24, 2016

Dear Darla,

Diary, I've decided to change your name to Darla because why not. Itʼs better than Diary, and you're hot pink, so I thought Darla would suit you.

"Why Iʼm Here and How Our Actions Result in Consequences"

I am here because Amy thinks Iʼm dangerous. Amy told me that she knew I was going to rape and murder her and dump her body in an empty field somewhere, so Iʼm here to learn to keep my hands to myself.

I need to show Amy that this was not my intention at all. I tried to tell Amy that I think sheʼs an amazing cellist, and that listening to her play at The Vine was one of the most intriguing experiences of my life. I told her she was beautiful, and I meant that. I told her that I wasnʼt stalking her. I swear. I was working up the courage to ask her out.

I told her I was sorry for following her to work and watching her on the bus, but I promise I never meant to scare her.

But she didnʼt believe me, Darla. I understand why, but I need her to realize that I wonʼt hurt her. She doesnʼt have to use the gun when she brings me food. She can stay and talk to me if she wants. Iʼm not going to try to leave. Iʼm not going to harm her in anyway.

Darla, sheʼs a counselor, so I know she'll see that Iʼm not bad. She can read people. Sheʼs obviously a brilliant lady.

Talk tomorrow,

James

• • •

September 25, 2016

All right, then. She doesnʼt like your name, so you no longer have one. Sorry about that.

She also doesnʼt like the fact that I tried to use you to con her, and I can appreciate that. She said I should direct questions or comments meant for her, to her. I didnʼt mean it as a con. I do hope she knows that I was being honest. It doesnʼt help to share with someone if they wonʼt listen to a word you say. Thatʼs why I wrote it here. I thought maybe if she read it, it would be easier for her to hear. I know I scared her. Itʼs hard to listen when you're afraid.

So I have to write feelings in here. And I have to answer the consequences question. I forgot about that yesterday, so I'll do it first.

The only understanding I can share concerning consequences is that when we do something, something else happens to balance the action. If you do a bad thing, bad things happen. If you do a good thing, good things happen. I have no idea how to put it into better words. Thatʼs going to have to be okay.

As far as feelings are concerned,

I feel sorry for what I did.

I feel hungry.

I feel tired.

I feel like Amy misunderstood me.

I feel like I wish I hadnʼt followed her.

I still think sheʼs beautiful.

Good night, hot pink book.

• • •

September 26, 2016

Amy says if I donʼt expose my true intentions, I will never leave. She says she doesnʼt like my thoughts on consequences, and she thinks my understanding of them is probably why I've gotten myself into this situation.

Itʼs been eight days in this basement, and I feel like Iʼm losing my mind. I donʼt even know what time it is. Thereʼs usually a window or something in a cellar, but I donʼt see one. I canʼt search around because of the chain.

Iʼm scared now. Amy isnʼt frightening, but I am afraid I donʼt have the right answers for her. I've tried to explain myself so many times, but I feel like maybe sheʼs still afraid. She doesnʼt have to be.

The casserole she brought me last night was good. It really was. I know I should hate her, but sheʼs a great cook and sheʼs taking the best care of me she can in this situation.

Last night I yelled at her, and I feel sorry for that. Sheʼs not a bitch. My eyes still burn from the mace, and I understand that I deserved it. I shouldnʼt have jumped at her. I shouldnʼt have screamed. I was stupid.

I just need her to believe me. I need her to understand that I mean what I say when I say it. I wasnʼt going to rape her. I wasnʼt going to kill her or torture her or dump her anywhere. I really only wanted to get to know her.

I guess I got what I wanted. I shouldnʼt have been so shy.

• • •

September 27, 2016

Nothing I say hasnʼt any impact on her, Diary. Nothing. She doesnʼt believe me. She says Iʼm in denial. She says Iʼm creating an identity to justify my actions, and I need to look harder.

She says I need to dive deep into my psyche and fish out the demons.

Maybe sheʼs right. Maybe there was part of me that wanted to hurt her. Maybe I did plan to rape her. I would never have killed her, but maybe she was just so out of my league I couldnʼt have asked her out, and it would have been easier just to force myself on her.

Maybe Iʼm sick? I think I did need her help after all.

I wish sheʼd leave the gun upstairs. I wish she wouldnʼt pour cold water on me in the mornings. I wish sheʼd loosen these shackles.

I feel afraid.

I feel pain.

I miss my dog.

I feel disappointed in myself for being a monster.

I feel grateful for Amyʼs help.

• • •

September 28, 2016

Dear Diary,

She wants to know my intentions. I told her. She doesnʼt care.

She wants to know how I got here. She put me here. Thatʼs how I fucking got here.

She thinks Iʼm in denial? Maybe sheʼs in denial. I wonder if sheʼs ever considered that, diary.

If I could just kill myself now and get this over with, I would.

I feel hopeless.

I feel alone.

I feel like I can say or do nothing right.

• • •

Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.

Fuck you.

• • •

September 30, 2016

Dear Amy,

You know what? You want to know my intentions? You want me to expel my devils onto this ridiculous notebook?

You were right, bitch. I was going to rape you. I followed you into that alley with the sole purpose of slamming your head into the brick wall until you passed out.

I followed you for two weeks, Amy, but Iʼm sure you are aware of that. I knew where you were each second of every day. I watched you undress through your bedroom window. I watched you feed that dumbass cat. I watched you check your mailbox at 5:30 every morning.

I saw it all. I know everything about you. No boyfriend. Dead mom. Runaway father. Pathetic job at the high school. Iʼm sure theyʼd love to know they have a deranged slut chit-chatting with their behaviorally challenged students.

I parked my van around the corner behind the school. I was going to shove you through the back doors and take you for a long ride, you psychotic cunt.

I have this nice little cabin outside the city, and was going to take you there for vacation. Show you a good time. Then when I was done, I was going to cut you up into tiny pieces and feed you to my dogs.

Is that what you want to hear? Huh?

Why?

I donʼt know. Because you looked weak playing your cello. You looked like you needed me. You looked soft. You looked like youʼd been alive for way too long. You're disgusting. Whore.

You want to know what I understand about consequences?

I understand that I should've done it sooner. I should've killed you the first night I saw you.

Your soup last night tasted like horse piss. It made me vomit.

Why donʼt you just go ahead and get rid of me now? Because I promise you when I get free, you're going to regret ever being alive.

I feel NOTHING.

• • •

October 1, 2016

Dear James,

Good job. When you can open a line to your true feelings and understand your intentions, only then will you begin to grow.

I knew about the van, James. I didnʼt know about the cabin, but thank you for being honest with me. I agree with you that the cat is stupid.

I understand that you're angry and frustrated, so I will forgive your rude comment about my soup.

I really think we're getting somewhere, James. Iʼm proud of you.

Your next assignment will be a series, and unit one is:

"Letting Go of the Ego: Who are You?”

See you this evening, James.

Best Wishes,

Amy

- I look at you.

This gun leaves me paralyzed,

I shed a tear and

I try to breathe.

I am trapped by

the invisible ghost of my mind,

I love you - I swear.

It's so violent and hard

yet beautiful to look

you in the eyes.

I am chasing old ideas,

the cracks of my lies,

the edges of my mistakes,

and my ten thousand tries.

You dragged me here,

I whisper to the gun.

Make me want

to fall in love again.

The nudity of my feelings

flew with your holy doves,

I cry for my mistakes

and my ten thousand loves.

I do not want to die within you.

but I am a lover and like all lovers,

I am not afraid to die.

“Sit still,” I whisper. She can’t hear me of course. My leg is bleeding, dripping on the leaves beneath me. It should hide among the red and gold even come morning. I wish I could hold the brush. Touch her chestnut hair. One hundred strokes takes so little time. She’s already moving off her chair towards the lamp. I lean forward, tense my thighs and spring. My hands catch the next branch, but I swing too wide and slam my shoulder hard into the chimney. I freeze and take a deep breath, listening hard for a creak, a door. Nothing. Then I’m climbing.

Cherise’s eyes are closed, but she’s not asleep yet. My huge frame blocks the moonlight coming in from the window. I’m surprised she left it open. The autumn air is cold and the curtains are flapping behind me. Her face is mostly in shadow, but I know those peach lips so well. I could draw them with my eyes closed. And her legs…so thin and pale. A groan escapes my mouth as I think about it. I’ve touched her before, but only when she was definitely out. For now, it’s best to wait. I rub my dirty hands on my jeans. Then I sit back on my haunches, knees tucked in at the armpits and think about what comes next. I notice I’m bleeding on her pink carpet. Damn.

Her soft snores are the signal and I use the windowsill to pull myself all the way upright. Both knees pop as I rise. I’m 6’9” if I’m not hunching, but I’m always hunching. I’m too much of a loser to play basketball, my voice is too deep to sound normal and the guidance counselor seems to think I’m just shy of retarded. Cherise though, she’s always been perfect. Petite with delicate feet and hands, a button nose, large green eyes. I stare down at her now, leaning against the wall opposite the lamp, my fingers restless at my zipper. Wanting her. I make myself wait a minute longer just to be sure.

I can’t talk to her. Even though I grew up next door, I stopped being able to have a normal conversation with her around ten. Her mother invited me to her thirteenth birthday party (a pity invite for sure) and we played spin the bottle. I wanted to kiss her so much, but when it was my turn, she pulled me into the mudroom and put her finger up to her lips. “Shhh,” was all she said. I stood there an inch from her face, breathing her warm breath, looking at her new breasts and suddenly I had to try. She was looking down, a blush rising to the tips of her ears. I grabbed her around the waist, pushing her back against the dryer. I’m not sure what I was hoping for, but she screamed and I was tossed out on my ass. Thus began the hostile stares from her friends and hushed conversations between our parents.

Now that we’re 17, it hasn’t gotten any better and in fact, I think she might be afraid of me now. I’ve done some bad things. I know that. Her dad told my mom last month after the locker room incident that he was considering selling the house. But really, isn’t this normal stuff? Normal teenager stuff? I have a crush on her. That’s all. A crush and 140 pictures of her on my phone. Cherise eating, Cherise changing, Cherise playing soccer, Cherise touching herself (my personal favorite). They’re all good really.

I’ll never be able to leave her alone. I mean, she gets that I think. She understands. I wrote her a note about it during Spanish. So old school, but texting is impossible because of the restraining order.

She’s out for sure now, her breaths coming long and slow, mouth wide. I bend down close. I want to put my finger in her mouth or maybe lick her lip. I’m calculating which when her eyes snap open and her hand appears from nowhere gripping a huge gun.

“Whoa!” My hands fly up automatically and I stumble back, knocking my head against her ceiling fan. Cherise flings back her comforter and swings her legs out fast. I notice she’s fully dressed.

“You freak,” she says, her voice hushed. “You just won’t effing stop, will you?”

“Where’d you get a gun Cherise?” I knew every nook and cranny of her house and her dad doesn’t own one.

“I bought it. So that you. Would. Stop. Bothering me!” she hush-screamed.

“Are you gonna kill me?” I’m not worried. Cherise refused to dissect the frog. I highly doubt she’s gonna murder my ass in her bedroom.

She rolled her eyes, more annoyed than angry I think and then noticed the blood on my sneaker. “What the hell?”

“Wanna see it?” I’m ever hopeful…

“No, but you might as well show me.”

I lift my pant leg. CHERISE is carved deep into my calf. I’m not sure why it’s still bleeding so much. Maybe I should have burned it after or something.

“Goddamnit Eric!! Why are you doing this?” Her shoulders shake a little (with revulsion I think, bummed) and the gun, which sagged when she bent over my leg, is pointed at me again.

I try to explain, again, for the hundredth time. “I want you Cherise. I want us to be together. I want to…”

The gun went off mid-sentence and I stop talking to look down at my chest. A huge hole appears dead center of my Chewie T-shirt.

I fall forward onto my knees and look up at her. I can’t believe she shot me, but I’m also weirdly proud of her.

“You wanted to have me? Here you go! Have me forever!” She screams and throws the gun down on the bed. She starts stripping off her clothes fast, wild. I’m coughing up blood now, but still trying to watch her as she rips her legs out of those tight black pants and pulls her T over her head. My vision is blurry, but she’s just about to unhook her bra and…

Staring down the steel barrel,

You are still my fixation.

Baited and trapped,

You are still my infatuation.

Even as you spit venom,

Hostility in a steady stream from your mouth,

I'm focused on your lips,

As you rave,

A perfect portrayal of madness,

Your eyes glossed and crazed,

Gun brandished in my face,

You are such a beautiful sight.

You rave of ruin and wreckage.

Your life has been shattered,

Those tattered and frayed seams ripped out.

And I am the agent of devastation,

The source of demolition.

"Why did you do this to me?!?"

You spit the words savagely.

Can you not see that, now, you are almost perfect?

Almost.

"You destroyed everything!"you scream, as you continue on your tirade.

"I have no friends! No wife! No job! All because of you! Why?!"

The silence is nearly deafening,

Your eyes glistening in shallow pools of instability,

As you await my explanation.

"When I first set eyes on you, months ago, you were a timid, pathetic excuse for a man. Head always down, you lacked spirit and backbone. And, yet, you were so beautiful, exotically beautiful. You were a tamed tiger, declawed and caged. Your wife was cheating on you with your best friend. And you knew! And, yet, you did nothing! You would go day to miserable day to your miserable job, despondent and discouraged. But, darling, I set you free. No more cheating wife. No more backstabbing friends. No more dismal job. No more cages. I leveled your life to give back your claws."

Your cerulean eyes seem to be swimming now,

A psychosis setting in.

"You are a fucking crazy bitch," you say,

Eyes locked with mine.

We are nearly there.

"You are never leaving this place."

Your words whispered with such conviction.

"This construction site will be your burial ground. They are coming to pour the concrete tomorrow. You will never fuck with my life again."

As you step back and level the gun,

I smile,

Gazing at my feral creation,

Deranged and freed,

There is no going back now.

Go ahead and pull the trigger darling.

You are finally perfect.

Shhh! I may be considered a predator or a psychopath, but I take pride in being a harvester of humanity. You might say that I just nibble around the edges of lives. The profilers believe I’m a male because of the manner in which the bodies are mutilated. All of them are wrong. If you saw me walking down the street, you would think I was a beautiful young woman with my stiletto heels and my sexy blue dress which matches my cornflower blue eyes. My skin is so lush that you would be tempted to drink it, inhaling it into your body. I don’t have to wear makeup because of my natural creamy coloring and blushing cheeks. My dark lashed eyes seem to look into your soul. But make no mistake – there is no feeling inside me.

Every man I have ever met wants me, except for this one. He just doesn’t seem interested which makes him more intriguing. Since I always need to be in control, I am determined to watch him and follow him until I can fulfill my desires. I have never felt any empathy for any of my victims and he will not be any different. I know that I am more intelligent than he is and I will have my way. Usually, I kill them after a sexual assignation but I don’t think this will be the case with him. I have seen him with women so I know he is not gay. He is completely oblivious to me as I lurk in dark corners, waiting for him to be alone and unwary. It’s worth it to take my time in order to get what I want. Power is my aphrodisiac and I am excited and alert.

Tonight, I am outside watching his outline against the fluttering curtains in his bedroom. I linger on thoughts of sex with him but it would be all for my benefit since I give nothing in return. I haven’t perfected my plan yet but he will be mine. I observe his shadow leaving his bedroom and heading toward the kitchen which I can’t see fully. I know it is there, though, because I have been in his apartment, rifling through his drawers as I learn all about him. I like to be prepared for all contingencies. I figure that he must be getting a snack because he is taking a long time.

I hear a slight snap behind me and whirl around to see my prey holding a gun which he jams into my stomach. I am not afraid because this slow motion stalking needed to come to a head.

“Turn around and march straight forward to my apartment door,” he commands as he nudges me with his weapon.

I twirl around and do as he says. Why should I confront him now when everything is working out well, although not as I planned? He herds me into his bedroom and tells me to remove my clothes. His eyes move upward as I reveal my full lush breasts and wet my lips with my tongue. I have him exactly where I want him. I kick his gun out of his fist with my shapely legs and hurl my body over the weapon. I roll over with the gun in my hands and shoot him between the eyes. Now the fun will begin. I walk to the bedroom door to go to the kitchen to get some knives to complete my handiwork but I find the door is self-locking and of such sturdy construction that I am unable to kick it open. I race to the window and find bars over the panes. I panic for a moment as I realize I can’t get out. I have no weapons other than the gun and try to shoot out the door knob but it doesn’t budge. His apartment is isolated and there is no one around to call for help.

What is an entrapped psychopath to do? I am beginning to get hungry and thirsty and must come up with a plan for my survival. I claw at his body with my sharp nails until I have an opening in his femoral artery, lower my head and begin drinking my fill. When my thirst is quenched, I begin to tear chunks of his flesh with my teeth, chewing them until I am able to swallow them down. There is plenty here to sustain me for a while. It does bother me a little that when they find our skeletons, they will think he was the predator. I want them all to know that I deserve the credit for this. I dip my fingers in his blood and begin penning a note on his floor, telling the world that I want the fame and the glory to be attributed to me. I have satisfaction in knowing I will go down in history as the greatest female killer of all time.

“He must have forced her to write it,” the detectives said when they found the remains. “That poor innocent young woman."

Last night when I was young I saw a man looking at me.

Sometime before the blue dark oceans rose

our mouths hushed by water when we tried to speak.

I saw weeds accumulating in the backyard

and never thought to do anything.

Last night before I helped that man with a flat tire

I never thought to question.

I only gave him a bunch of money and no,

he didn’t have a gun.

Lucky, I guess.

Sometime, anytime, before blowing crack smoke

onto a crack-head’s dick.

When all the men in the world were looking at me.

When I’d feign shyness and lower my eyes coyly.

There’s another look too

that came later.

A locking gaze

pouted lips and all.

A lover, The Lover. Perhaps

where passion became Passion.

Shade, willow tree, a place to hide, hands grabbing

all hot afternoon.

How the sun never let up, never moved,

the way the sun never moves. We could learn

to imitate science, couldn’t we?

A peaceful black dog asleep on my feet,

her sigh rises and falls beneath her chest.

We could learn

how to build bridges that last forever

ish.

Tonight is my night 

     and I'll tell you why

When she's in sight, 

     when she's passing by

Quiet your step, 

     don't kill my surprise

A lifetime of prep, 

     of severing ties

I'm ready now, 

     she's ready too

I'll show you how 

     when she is in view

Be quiet and still, 

     I hear her sweet voice

It gives me a chill, 

     I've made my choice

It's time to move, 

     here she is now

Just be real smooth, 

     no sweat off the brow

Today is the day, 

     I'm taking her home

No more delay, 

     no more being alone

We'll just fall in step, 

     a little behind

Darkness will set, 

     she'll be rendered blind

She's taking a turn, 

     not her usual route

Can't help but yearn 

     for a new run about

This alley is new, 

     not been here before

Once we are through, 

     can't hide anymore

"So glad you're here, 

     now you can stop!"

Her voice loud & clear 

     made my heart hop.

"It's loaded and ready, 

     do as I say!"

"Now easy, be steady, 

     we'll do it your way."

"I've waited for this, 

     been watching you,

I just can't resist 

     and my love is true."

What did she say? 

     I must be confused.

What game does she play? 

     I'm not amused!

"I don't understand 

     the things I just heard,

I must demand, 

     you explain your word!"

"I'm not insane, 

     you'll think I am

Then you'll try to blame 

     me for this jam.

I have watched you, 

     I know who you are

I'll give you a clue, 

     just get in the car."

Too shocked to say no, 

     I do as she asks

Where will we go? 

     Do my best to relax

This day took a turn, 

     I can't deny that

Anxious to learn 

     whose next up to bat

"You won't leave my side, 

     soon you'll agree

You're here for the ride, 

     forever with me."

One hand on the wheel, 

     one on the gun

Her words make me reel, 

     think I have won

"You don't need a threat, 

     I won't run away

The gun makes me sweat, 

     I swear I won't stray."

She laughs like a loon, 

     speeding along

It's soon to be noon, 

     she plays me a song.

That night we were wed 

     in a very small church

She took me to bed, 

     my heart did a lurch

I'm hers there's no doubt, 

     how I want it to be

What life is about 

     having her next to me.

"You picked the wrong prick to stalk blue-eyes," his gravely voice tore through me with venom and pride he couldn't hide, balanced behind the weight of his .357 magnum revolver-- his six-shot problem solver. "I baited you like a hand-fed catfish, so-how-do-you-feel-now, bitch?" The twitch of his mouth with a smirking sneer made it even harder to hear.

"Catch 33," I replied with a hint of fear and a single tear.

"Excuse me?!" He scoffed, cocking the hammer, ready to pop a round off.

"I'd explain, but you'd think me insane.. might shoot me the way your finger lingers in the trigger guard-- then, getting an answer would be awfully hard," I prompted with a tremble which easily resembled the cautious uncertainty for what he intended to do with me, "You see, bait only works when the fish is hungry and I'm a starving fish in this country."

He looked confused and ready to abuse the power he was sure he had over me. Wordless grumbling and a point of the barrel like something feral, held back, to give me the slack to finish what I was saying.

"You may think I should be praying, but you're assuming I didn't intend to be here, meddling with every murderous gear you have,"I paused, watching him get split in halve; fighting between hearing me out and expending a bullet to end his own doubt, "Clout to calamity for trying to trick me-- but neither of us will be leaving, until we're done breathing this toxic air because I like to share..."

He didn't care enough to stop himself from shooting me in the shoulder, trying to prove he had colder blood than I, "Die slow blue-eyes, how's that for an unexpected surprise?" Another shot, this one to my gut with a look of doom in his loom over his prize amid my cries.

"You don't even realize," I laughed in pain as my blood began to pool on the floor, "the more I bleed the better chances I have to survive-- Tell me, how alive do you currently feel? How steely is your gaze? Or has the haze overtaken your ability to aim?"

He shamed himself taking the third shot, missing me completely, and unwittingly confirming how neatly it was all working. I watched him start jerking as the poison lurking in his blood, seized his body.

"Haughty handsome no-one, didn't know when to call it done," I taunted as I grew weak from the leak of my own life liquid, "livid and lame, you're all the same, Catch 33 to make you feel free, so you wouldn't see it was all meant to be."

He reached for me, fisting my shirt with a growling howl that lifted me off the ground, "What did you do?!" Too close to miss now, he put the business end of the barrel in my face to replace the dominance he'd already lost.

"Exhaust.." I whispered observing his waver as his own weight became too much to hold up, "a pup pulling the wool over the big-dog's eyes... you can't judge a danger by it's size."

His gaze devoid of the lies was full of shock and terror like no other. Smothered by a silent attack from his own Cadillac and my artful ingenuity to end his incongruity and raping promiscuity. Taking a part of me with him, in my own murderous sin, uncertain, if I'd ever take another breath in.

|| another_proser ||

It was mere innocence, which tempted her to touch the fire

The poor one didn't know; sometimes what seems beautiful, isn't actually real

And now she was trapped in an impasse with a gun pointed at her head

With knees on the ground and hands surrendering in the air 

Silence, heartbeats, numbness and regrets slowly drifting her breaths away. 

I never thought there would be anybody who would want to shoot me. Amber was the pretty one. With her statuesque height, thin frame, and naturally crimson hair, she was a photographer’s dream. While my dorm roommate had every girl’s ideal job, at least I was the one who had a car. This resulted in me driving her to a lot of fashion shoots. Every time I dropped her off I had a mini fantasy that one of the photographers would be struck by my beauty and want me to model for them. That never happened.

One morning, I drove Amber to a photo shoot and she didn’t come home that night. Or the next night. Worried, I went back to the photographer’s house. When I got out of my car, I decided to throw some trash into the garbage bin he had out. Before I closed the lid, I noticed that all of the outfits I’d help Amber carry were thrown away. I shuddered.

While I could think of reasons for this, I still felt uncomfortable. Peaking in a window, I saw the man leaving his house out a back door. I’m not sure what possessed me to follow him, but I did. Staying a good distance behind the man, I kept my steps light. Hesitantly, we continued into the woods. My sneakiness continued until I found Amber. Decked out in a fancy gown, sparkling bracelets on her wrists, with a noose around her neck. As I screamed, he laughed.

“I knew that you would be back for your friend,” the man told me as he pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at me.

“What do you want from me?” I managed to choke out in between rapid breaths.

“Walk that way,” he said pointing to my left, “If you try to run away, I’ll shoot you.”

Shaking, I began to walk. Eventually, I came to a clearing. There were lights and cameras set up. Following directions, I went and stood in the light.

“Amber photographed beautifully. You may think she’s gone now, but the images I took of her will last forever. There’s something enchanting about death. When I saw you, I knew that I needed to capture you in my images. You won’t be dead. My photographs will keep you alive.”

The man pointed his gun at me and pulled the trigger. I never thought there would be anybody who would want to shoot me.