Revenge? Justice? Sure.
I found something for you kiddies to read if you're bored..
I wrote it the last week of 9th grade.
Jane Doe Gets No Happily-Ever-Afters
May 2006
The hard, metal bar hit the ground hard then an unheard echo repeated through the night in the alleyway. After a few moments of chaos, panic, it all died away with the faraway footsteps. All that remained was the still, sticky-hot air, the small gray metal bar, still warm from the lively, murderous hands that held it seconds ago, the electric excitement of the struggle still in the thick air, and the corpse, quickly growing cold.
The victim, near fifteen at first guess, female, now stilled forever on the dusty ground, was young for such a fate, lost and caught up in the rockstar- rebel’s life. She lay near the garbage can under an apartment window, bruised and scrawny legs protruding from the shadows. Her face was blank, sterile, frozen with open fish eyes, but only the darkness of the alley could tell. Ratted hair, chipped nails, short black skirt. She probably just got what she was looking for, alright. Everyone that saw her, everyone that once knew her realized she’d get to the dark allies somehow. Well there she was.
Jane Doe’s grave was shallow; the young one was very much exposed. It wouldn’t take long for a six year old walking to school to find her, but as for the rest of the story, no justice will be served, for she was just a nameless soul with nothing to look back on... Plus, bad guys just a block away escape everyday.
Crimescene. Police-lines... Do not cross. The shadows ran away for the time being, chased by the unforgiving heat of the day, the sticky-hot air. Two legs stretched awkwardly from behind a trashcan. Two eyes- widened, blank. Fish eyes. No name, no home, no blame to be pointed and set. A bloody, hard metal bar laying in the dust feet away. Footprints.
The killer, James Johnson, was a middle-aged carpet salesman that lived on the third floor of his apartment. Nothing about him was unusual or maniacal. He was simply a hard-working, civil American with good morals and a good background. Everyday he’d go off to work, come home, watch the news, and then take a walk to the park to sit and reflect. He didn’t have a wife or a family; James just kept to himself, kept life simple.
He first saw Alice (the Jane Doe lying in the alleyway) a few months before the incident in the park. She was nothing unusual, either, except that she was America’s youth, faded chunks of pink hair dye woven through her chestnut-almond hair, dark black makeup encircling her eyes. James watched as she streamed through the park, eyes dripping and pouring a black-tinted river down her cheeks. She wore a dirty black skirt, and her hair was a genuine mess. Her sobs filled the darkening, empty park. She was a pitiful creature.
His fascination wasn’t supposed to have such purpose, it should have been a one-time thing, one strange afternoon out of the rest. But he saw her the next day, and the next. She kept returning to his spot in the park. She kept near him as if she wanted something, wearing her short promiscuous black skirt, fishnets here and there, dirty, futureless, America’s youth.
James couldn’t stop thinking about her. He thought about her when he was home after seeing her in the park, he thought of her at work, and sometimes, he dreamed about her, ill, dysfunctional, irrational dreams. Murderous dreams. She was the future, she was America... His America. She was ruining everything! What was happening, why was this country turning to ash before his eyes? He had to do something for his endangered nation. Why did people like Alice exist?
It was a breezy evening in the park when James first spoke to Alice. He’d thought about it a lot and it made sense... He had to do something. She wore the same costume, had the same reckless posture, but her voice was soft and tentative as she told him a little about her... Age, name, where she was from. She ran away from her hometown a few weeks ago. She would stay with random kids she could find that were nice enough to let her crash for a night, and if she couldn’t find a place for the night, she had a squat in the basement of an empty house near the Cornerstone Apartments on Sixth Street. She was open, trusting, lonely, and easy to manipulate.
It was easier than he’d thought. She agreed to stay with him since she hadn’t found a place for the night.
“Can we just go back to get something?” she asked.
They got to Fifth Street and James parked his black ’78 Toyota. Before his door closed he grabbed something and slipped it into the jacket he wore, despite the humid heat that blanketed the night. Then they began their walk to her squat.
The rest of the night was a flash of rage- no... it was justice. James’s heart didn’t stop pounding until he was driving away from the deed. Some Tom Petty song seeped out of his stereo, but it all grazed past his ears. His mind was at work again- he’d give himself a week... A week to get his things, wash away his near invisible trace of existence, and leave the city. Another state, another third-story apartment, another simple job that helped to lay low. Another Alice.
I wrote it the last week of 9th grade.
Jane Doe Gets No Happily-Ever-Afters
May 2006
The hard, metal bar hit the ground hard then an unheard echo repeated through the night in the alleyway. After a few moments of chaos, panic, it all died away with the faraway footsteps. All that remained was the still, sticky-hot air, the small gray metal bar, still warm from the lively, murderous hands that held it seconds ago, the electric excitement of the struggle still in the thick air, and the corpse, quickly growing cold.
The victim, near fifteen at first guess, female, now stilled forever on the dusty ground, was young for such a fate, lost and caught up in the rockstar- rebel’s life. She lay near the garbage can under an apartment window, bruised and scrawny legs protruding from the shadows. Her face was blank, sterile, frozen with open fish eyes, but only the darkness of the alley could tell. Ratted hair, chipped nails, short black skirt. She probably just got what she was looking for, alright. Everyone that saw her, everyone that once knew her realized she’d get to the dark allies somehow. Well there she was.
Jane Doe’s grave was shallow; the young one was very much exposed. It wouldn’t take long for a six year old walking to school to find her, but as for the rest of the story, no justice will be served, for she was just a nameless soul with nothing to look back on... Plus, bad guys just a block away escape everyday.
Crimescene. Police-lines... Do not cross. The shadows ran away for the time being, chased by the unforgiving heat of the day, the sticky-hot air. Two legs stretched awkwardly from behind a trashcan. Two eyes- widened, blank. Fish eyes. No name, no home, no blame to be pointed and set. A bloody, hard metal bar laying in the dust feet away. Footprints.
The killer, James Johnson, was a middle-aged carpet salesman that lived on the third floor of his apartment. Nothing about him was unusual or maniacal. He was simply a hard-working, civil American with good morals and a good background. Everyday he’d go off to work, come home, watch the news, and then take a walk to the park to sit and reflect. He didn’t have a wife or a family; James just kept to himself, kept life simple.
He first saw Alice (the Jane Doe lying in the alleyway) a few months before the incident in the park. She was nothing unusual, either, except that she was America’s youth, faded chunks of pink hair dye woven through her chestnut-almond hair, dark black makeup encircling her eyes. James watched as she streamed through the park, eyes dripping and pouring a black-tinted river down her cheeks. She wore a dirty black skirt, and her hair was a genuine mess. Her sobs filled the darkening, empty park. She was a pitiful creature.
His fascination wasn’t supposed to have such purpose, it should have been a one-time thing, one strange afternoon out of the rest. But he saw her the next day, and the next. She kept returning to his spot in the park. She kept near him as if she wanted something, wearing her short promiscuous black skirt, fishnets here and there, dirty, futureless, America’s youth.
James couldn’t stop thinking about her. He thought about her when he was home after seeing her in the park, he thought of her at work, and sometimes, he dreamed about her, ill, dysfunctional, irrational dreams. Murderous dreams. She was the future, she was America... His America. She was ruining everything! What was happening, why was this country turning to ash before his eyes? He had to do something for his endangered nation. Why did people like Alice exist?
It was a breezy evening in the park when James first spoke to Alice. He’d thought about it a lot and it made sense... He had to do something. She wore the same costume, had the same reckless posture, but her voice was soft and tentative as she told him a little about her... Age, name, where she was from. She ran away from her hometown a few weeks ago. She would stay with random kids she could find that were nice enough to let her crash for a night, and if she couldn’t find a place for the night, she had a squat in the basement of an empty house near the Cornerstone Apartments on Sixth Street. She was open, trusting, lonely, and easy to manipulate.
It was easier than he’d thought. She agreed to stay with him since she hadn’t found a place for the night.
“Can we just go back to get something?” she asked.
They got to Fifth Street and James parked his black ’78 Toyota. Before his door closed he grabbed something and slipped it into the jacket he wore, despite the humid heat that blanketed the night. Then they began their walk to her squat.
The rest of the night was a flash of rage- no... it was justice. James’s heart didn’t stop pounding until he was driving away from the deed. Some Tom Petty song seeped out of his stereo, but it all grazed past his ears. His mind was at work again- he’d give himself a week... A week to get his things, wash away his near invisible trace of existence, and leave the city. Another state, another third-story apartment, another simple job that helped to lay low. Another Alice.