I watched the way his head fell apart. The pieces reminded me of those from a puzzle, but sharper. The shards of skull pressed themselves into the cold mud around his face, blood trickling into the small trenches in earth. As I watched the back of the man's head distort and fall apart like a Crushed Jack O' lantern, I wondered how I had gotten to a place like this. I'm not a bad guy. I haven't done drugs or mouthed off to teachers. I think I can narrow my downfall to the day I met Helena. Helena was one of those girls that makes you do crazy things for reasons you cant explain. The first time I lay my eyes upon her was junior year.
The presence she had made was remarkable. As she entered the room, it felt like all of the air was being sucked out, making it impossible for me to breath. Her auburn hair flowed down to her shoulders like a waterfall of liquid copper, bright enough make the sun blush. Her eyes glowed a bright blue, like the reflection of the sky in a creek that has yet to be discovered. A smile stretched like a crescent moon from dimple to freckled dimple, lighting up her silky white skin. She was small, maybe 5 feet tops. The perfect size to hug, if the opportunity arose. She reminded me very much of a mouse. Not like a filthy rodent, but an adorable creature that you could hold in the palm of your hand. Something so small, so fragile, that it depended on strangers to protect it.
She had just transferred from a school somewhere in the boonies. Throughout junior year and half of senior year I spent my days in serenity. I altered my schedule so that I was in all of her classes. I started making a habit out of walking behind her in the hallways during the time between classes. I would try to sit by her when the bell would ring, but not close enough so that she knew my name, or talked to me. I became her anonymous watchman.
When I first met her I had these weird doubts that I was being creepy, but as the days wore on, I started justifying it to myself. All I do is help her out, and protect her. There was nothing wrong with watching and protecting. After all, no one ever got on Police's case about watching over the city. I decided I had to be a more vigilant protector. No one would ever hurt her, not while I was around. So on a cold December night, I took the next step. I snuck out at 2am and drove to her house. I had found her address in the phone book a few weeks prior. I parked a block away, so her family members wouldn't wake due to the sound of my engine. I walked to her house, and looked up at the falling snow. It seemed to have stopped midair, like a higher power had paused time itself. For that night, I walked free of time's grasp.
I stood outside of her frost lined window. Her bed was directly on the other side of the windowpane. She looked so peaceful. She lay spread in what (to any normal person) would have been an awkward position, with one leg sticking out of the duvet and the other entangled in it. Her face was so beautiful. I ran my hand down the window pane, trying to keep my breath from fogging up the window. I stood there that night for hours, almost until the sun broke over the horizon.
The next morning I was a wreck. I hadn't showered or shaved, and It was obvious I hadn't slept. My headache pounded slowly but painfully in the bottom of my head. I closed my eyes, hoping that the lack of light would soothe my eyes. I realized my mistake quickly, but decided against resisting. I fell into a warm slumber on my desk. I dreamed of nasty things, of which I wont record in this tale, but I can say that I was slightly peeved when I was poked into consciousness. I opened one eye, and saw a beautiful blue one staring back."Hello there!" I almost fell out of my chair in astonishment. She was talking to me! She had never even looked at me! I opened my mouth to say "hi" back, but nothing came out. she giggled, and I started to blush. "You're welcome, sleepy child!" I mumbled a halfhearted "thank you" in reply. she smiled and walked back up the rows of desks and sat in her spot.
Needless to say, my breath was taken.
I looked down at my binder. A few doodles here and there was the only ornamentation on it. I heard a door open and close, and the teacher started giving some stupid introduction for a new student that obviously didn't want it. I blinked. Once-Twice, And again. The teacher had finally stopped telling us about johnny whoevers life, and he had taken a seat. I looked back up at Helena. what I saw hurt. It hurt bad. That new prick had sat down next to her and was laughing, and talking to her. She was bent over with laughter, with one hand on his knee. I stared for maybe 5 minutes without blinking. My body tensed up. It hurt. It hurt bad. I could barely move. It took a second for me to realize my pencil tip was being pushed into my flesh. I bit my tongue. I bled. It didn't hurt, but I felt the pressure. I tasted the salt in my blood. I tasted the pain. It tasted warm.
After class I followed the prick. I followed him throughout the entire school day. I followed him while he walked to the school buses, and I even followed the school bus in my car. I saw which stop he got off at, and where his house was. I knew him well. I felt like I knew him better then he did. He never thought about what school bus he rode home. He never thought about where he put his keys down when he got inside. But oh, I did. I noticed everything he did. I saw him ignore his dog, which was jumping up happily, knowing his master was home. The prick didn't even know his own dog as well as I did. I saw how its tail folded between its legs and as it lay down, obviously affected by the neglect.
In the weeks following, I repeated the process. I learned all I possibly could about the prick. Every day was devoted to learning about him, and building my hatred and rage. Every day I waited for that perfect opportunity, the perfect time to strike. Luckily for me, that time decided to come earlier then I had thought. It was a warm day in April. Rain was falling, not pouring. Just enough to make you feel warmer, and not colder. Humidity was at an all time high, but I was okay with it. I lay in wait outside of the pricks house. Had I been feeling more sneaky, I may have hid in the bushes, or some other stereotypical 'stakeout' place. But alas, I wanted to stay in the safety of my vehicle. The rain was starting to pick up. The drum on the roof of my car increased to that of a tap dance studio. The sound of 5000 tiny liquid gavels slamming resonated through my car. I stared through the windshield at his front door,and as if I my eyes had spoken the magic words, the door opened and out he came.
First, he stepped out timidly, like the wholesome girl who's not-so-wholesome friend had brought to a club. He held out a hand, felt the rain, and disappeared again. A minute or so later, he reappeared, holding his weapon of choice - an umbrella. Gallantly, he strode out into the rainfall, unaware of my hungry eyes. I stepped out of the car, adrenaline rising. I shut the door quietly, and followed the prick through the rain. with each stride the crowbar under my jacket scratched uncomfortably against my chest. I noticed I was walking to close to him, and slowed down to prevent being seen. He walked off of the main road and onto a gravel one. A huge grin crept slowly across my face. I knew where he was going, He was taking a quick route through a construction sight to get to the only bus station in town. I was curious as to why anyone would want to go to the bus station when suddenly it connected. "Thats right! the prick didn't have a car! He road the school bus. Of course he'd need to ride a city bus!"
I could have danced with glee.
Night had fallen, and the only thing illuminating the construction sight was a dying street lamp from the road behind us. Its orange glow lit up the construction sight like an abandoned theme park of horror, casting shadows that twisted and contorted into caricatures of your most hideous fears. Suddenly he stopped, and turned around. It showed on his face that he just realized I had been following him. He yelled, and I could hear the quivering in his voice. "Why are you following me?!" I didn't reply. There was no need to. I pushed my wet bangs out of my face, and slowly pulled out the crowbar. The pricks umbrella fell to the ground. He turned, and started to sprint away. Catching up to him wasn't hard, oh no. I used to run track, and needless to say he was a tad out of shape. The first blow hit him in the shin, fracturing it, and making a gruesome crunching sound. his swollen and mottled leg collapsed underneath him on his next stride and he fell. when he hit the ground he let out a scream. I kicked him in the face repeatedly, hoping to silence him. I stood over him as he lay in the gravel. A weeping, pitiful mess. I raised the crowbar, screamed words about Helena that I don't remember, and brought it down on the side of his head. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, Repeat. It seemed as though it could never end. The sound of his screaming was replaced by my manic laughter. Finally, it ended. And I stood, breathing heavily, watching the puzzle pieces fall apart.
Hours later, after I had crammed his body into a trash bag, and buried it in the construction site, I drove back home. The realization of what I had done started to sink in. I killed him. Nothing I could ever do can change what happened that night. There was no escaping that. Oh my god. What if someone found out? What If I went to jail? What if I could never see Helena again? I veered off the road, and started gasping for air. I felt nauseous. Cars driving by blared their horns at me. The blinding headlights shined through the windshield, illuminating every droplet of water running gracefully down it. I screamed Profanities at them, almost in tears. I pounded my head against the steering wheel. Every time my forehead hit the wheel, the horn went off. I had to call her, I had to talk to her, I had to hear the voice I had killed for. I punched the numbers into my phone, and got control over my tears while the phone rang. She picked up.
"Hello?"
It all spilled out. I was bawling. I even screamed at some points, specks of spit hitting the dashboard, creating a small pools on it. Her voice was shaking. She was scared, and she didn't know who I was or what I was talking about. she hung up on me.
When I got home, there was a police cruiser outside of my house. As soon as I opened the door, I was arrested.
The next day was a blur. I remember a small cold room with a cot, and a small room down the hall with a desk. The men yelled at me, trying to make me confess to things. At first I didn't, and they got angrier. Then they told me that Helena had told them about everything. I gave in, and told them everything I knew about the prick. His name, where he lived, etc. The men kept asking me where the body was, and I kept telling them. I just wanted to end all of this, and go to wherever they wanted me to. i just wanted to sleep. One of the men hit me a few times, yelling in my face that I was a liar. I told them that if they wanted they could search my car for the bloody, bent crowbar and trash bags. Later they told me that the crowbar was still in the back seat, completely clean. It seemed like they would never stop asking the same questions. But then, as quickly as it had started, it ended. I started talking with a new man, a nicer one. He helped me out with a lot of things. They dug up where I had buried the body, and it wasn't there. He told me that the prick I described didn't go to our school. In fact, the police had no record of him at all. No birth certificates were found, no school documents, and my teacher didn't have any new students in the class. So my name was cleared. I was given a new place to stay at the local hospital. It wasn't as comfortable as home, but it'd do. It does get cold in my room sometimes, but I can manage that. I get fed three meals a day, and sometimes my family can visit me and spend a half an hour talking to me. Sometimes I still Helena in people. I see them her in my families faces, and in the nurses face. I always see her. It could be 2 am, or 4 am, but I see those big beautiful eyes, staring at me through the cracks in my walls.
I have to leave!I have to be with her!
But I cant.
Hello, and welcome to Young Writer’s Society. 