Young Writers Society

The Boy Next Door



Dear Nick,

You destroyed my life--
almost literally.

Mid-June. It's been nearly a month since an unspeakable tragedy befell Lemming High School; a shooting and suicide committed by Nicholas Bell. Six students and two teachers were murdered. Ten more people were injured, three of whom were staff members. Bell's reasons for his act are unclear to some and obvious to few others. You are someone who has been affected by the shooting. Maybe you are a distant family member who attends one of the deceased student's funerals. You might be a detective who has taken part in investigating the case. There is a chance that you're one of Bell's close friends. You may have even been involved in the shooting itself.

Regardless of who you are, this tragedy has impacted you in one way or another--and you are ready to confess your thoughts about what really happened on the morning of May 15th.

Before he killed himself, Bell was enrolled at Lemming as a senior. He was co-captain of the soccer team, played drums in the school band, was smart as a whip, and was adored by many. From the outside, he was the Boy Next Door; popular and athletic; almost movie-typical.

But who was he really?

That's for you to know, and for me to find out.

This is an epistolary storybook and is to be written in second person only. You are writing in the form of letters. Who they are addressed to is your choice, as is the reason you are writing. You may be writing to release emotions pent up from baggage, to keep in touch, to convey a specific message, or for some other reason. You could be writing to other characters. You could be writing to your own mother.

Your choice.

Rules: The purpose of this storybook is to write about a past event (in this case, the shooting) or occurrences surrounding said event. You don't have to concentrate entirely on the shooting. But the idea is that eventually, we will be able piece together the characters' personal accounts of what happened, and build a story around the facts.

Again, keep in mind that you are mostly writing about past events. Therefore you will be developing your characters by describing previous interactions in your letters. The SB's progression will be largely based on your characters' thoughts and feelings regarding what's already occurred. Your characters already have history and complicated relationships with one another. It's up to you to determine those relationships via your character's narrative voice.

It's okay to write in the present. Just not too much. Remember that you are not writing in first person. You are writing someone a letter. Adapt your style accordingly.

Note: One letter per post. All of your letters do not have to be addressed to the same person.

Character Profile:

Code: Select all

[b]Full Name:[/b]

[b]Age:[/b]

[b]Appearance:[/b]

[b]Personality:[/b]

Note2: Please include anything else you feel is necessary. I didn't include a few of the frequently-used CP attributes (history, for example) because I expect that you (as the creator of your character) will take care to develop those aspects in the construction of your posts. Direct characterization is great, but my hope is that this storybook takes a closer look at indirect characterization.

Most of all, just make sure to step into the shoes of your character and have fun.

Dear Maisie,

I've been shot, so: no. I'm not okay. I wish I could see you, but this is probably safer for both of us. So, here's the rundown:

The bullet cut through my intestines and damaged my left kidney. Even though I've had time to recover, I am still in constant pain. Doctor Philips tells me I'm lucky to have been asleep the first three weeks. But I don't feel so lucky. I feel confused, unfocused, chaotic, and highly choleric: I yelled at the nurse for dropping my fork (and immediately apologized after). I tore the first version of this letter because of a spelling error. I bit my own tongue by accident because my mouth closed as a reflex to my gunshot pain. Being stuck in this bed is torture.

But it'll pass. Rob said he'd get me some meds to calm me down. His mother's a pharmacist, so he knows what he's doing. In the meantime, I'm not allowed to go out or talk to anyone from the media. The perks of being the chief's son.

I really wish you were here. But this is for the best. By the way, I never properly thanked you. You got in trouble for me. I never asked you to do that, but you did it anyway. So, thanks. If Jax finds out, I'll be keeping the bench warm for life.

…Not that I could be playing soccer any time soon. I won't even be able to walk for a while, given that I spontaneously bleed onto myself four times a day. It went clean through, or so they tell me. Now I have two holes inside me, but at least they didn't have to pull out any small fragments. Rob said it's a good thing, and his mom's a pharmacist, so he knows what he's talking about. Wait, I said this already. But I won't tear the letter this time. Nope. Fight the crankiness.

Sorry that you're still grounded. But even after you get your phone back, it's probably not a good idea to text me or call me or anything like that. Letters are safer, for now. Just give it to Rob and he'll bring it over to me.

I still have no idea what happened. I remember Nick saying something, but I don't remember what it was. He seemed normal, or maybe that's because I didn't look for anything out of the ordinary. But after that it's a blank. They say he shot up the school, but I don't remember. They say it's shock, and that it'll come back to me as time goes on. Not sure if I'll like knowing, but one thing's for certain: I want to find out. I'll write you again when I know more.

Yours truly,
Brad Fletcher

Hi Jax.

You know you're only failing because you pissed Mrs Stevens off. Maybe if you apologised for last year, she'd cut you some slack?

Well I'm not dying. Some people are just hard to get rid of, am I right?

But I understand. I'm right here in the hospital and I still haven't gone to see the others. There's this feeling I get, like if I go and see them, everything will suddenly become real. This way I feel like I just have some kind of infection, or some extreme version of the flu, and everything will be great once I'm allowed to go home. This quarantine is helping me just as much as it's killing me.

Your neighbor Rob Stark visits me pretty often. He wheels me around the hospital, and yesterday we passed Ms. Kelley's room. We were laughing about something - I think it was this sign on the vending machine that read: "This machine takes your money and gives you nothing in return, just like my ex." - when we saw her door was open. She was lying there, unconscious, her eyes closed, her glossy brown hair spread over the pillow. There was a white tube sticking out of her mouth, and even though she didn't appear to be breathing, we could hear the beeping of the heart monitor from the inside. After that he just wheeled me back. We didn't talk at all the entire way, but I could tell we were thinking the same thing: it could have been any one of us lying there in her place.

I won't be able to walk for a while, so I'm pretty sure I'm out for the season. Not that it would make any difference to the team. We both know I'm only on it because you stuck up for me.

But you - you're on it because you're good. You're more than good: you're the best we've got. And I know it seems like a huge responsibility, but you can do it. I know it. The team knows it. And you do too. That being said, you might want to try out the new guy, Rodger, for free kicks. I know he's a CB, but his left foot is something else.

A memorial!? Are you fucking kidding me? Is he a fucking hero now or something? Hell, I should be a school shooter.

What was even going through his mind? I wonder that all the time. Why did he do it? He looked like a happy kid. He had it all: the brains, the charms, the looks. All the girls have chased after him at some point. His family was intact. He got along with his parents. He had a lot of friends and everybody loved him. What could cause a person to snap like that?

Don't tell anyone, Jax, but Rob's coming over in about an hour. There's this exit no one covers that we discovered on one of our strolls. I'll convince him to roll me out. Then I'm going back to my place so I can sift through my dad's laptop. I know his password and his police system account. I tried getting in this one time for fun, and there are infinite attempts allowed, so I was able to guess it after about a hundred tries.

I need to know what happened. I need to understand. I'll tell you more when I know more.

In the meantime, how are things for you? How's Maisie? Is she still grounded or what?



Brad Fletcher

Hey Lo,

By now I expect you've heard the news. Local teen missing, her BMW abandoned near the woods outside of town. By now the cops have probably talked to all my "known associates" to see if they know what happened to me. But they'd never suspect you, the perfect popular cheerleader, to be friends with this bad girl, which is why I'm writing you and not anyone else.

You see, Lo, a few months ago I got a message from the first boy I ever loved. It broke my little middle-school heart moving away from him, but my dad got that awesome job here and I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Anyway, we started talking, and we were planning to get together after graduation. We were going to take a road trip all across the country, just the two of us. But it didn't work out that way.

You remember that shooting that happened a month ago in Lemming? My old stomping ground? Well that was him. They say he killed those people and shot himself. But he wouldn't do that. Not my Nicky. I've heard they're having a memorial service. I had to go, to mourn him, maybe tell the cops the truth about who he is. But I knew my parents wouldn't get it, so I left. Grant crashed the car for me to throw the cops off and I took a Greyhound bus back home. I have some cash from my dad's wallet so I should be okay for a while.

Don't bother calling or texting me because I left my phone at my parent's house. It might be stupid for me to write this, but I didn't want the gang to worry. You can tell them I'm safe, but please don't tell them anything else. The fewer people who know, the better. In fact, you should burn this letter after you've read it so no one else can get their hands on it. Thanks in advance for being cool about this. I owe you one.

Hailey

Hey Maisie.

I wrote you a letter already but Rob couldn't find a way to give it to you, so he brought it back, and now I'm writing this to encompass everything.

First of all, I miss you so much. Yesterday I wanted to just wheel myself out and all the way to your place. I didn't care about being caught, about getting lost or about getting hit by a car along the way. And I probably should have cared, because I got caught. It was past visiting hours and there was nobody to blend in with, so the nurse was quick to notice and scold me. Luckily she said she wouldn't tell anyone. I just really miss you.

People change. Sometimes for the halo, sometimes for the horns. Everybody changes. And so have I.

Four days ago Rob brought me some Adderall. Don't worry, I didn't take much. It just helped me focus a bit. I needed to think. I needed to do something. I was more sick of this hospital bed than I was of my wounds. So I took a pill or two.

Anyway, I told him if he wheeled me out for some air, I'd give him my Xbox. He was pretty quick to agree, the greedy bastard. So I told him I wanted ice cream, and I convinced him to roll me to the parking lot where the ice-cream truck usually parks. Then I said I'd scream kidnapping if he didn't get me into his car and back to my place.

He almost turned back a couple times, but I assured him my parents wouldn't be at home. I know them; they wouldn't sit in an enpty house. They bury themselves in work when things get rough.

The neighbor from across the street saw me, but he and my dad don't speak, so I doubt he'll be telling him anything.

I got in and told Rob to help himself to my Xbox. Hey, I'm a man of my word, okay?

I grabbed a soda from the fridge and I went to my dad's computer. Password was "DetectiveFletcher70", from way back when he wasn't Chief.

I got into the case file and printed it out and put new paper in the printer. I realized they'd notice the missing soda, so I put the half-empty can back in the fridge. They'll just think it was left that way from before. Rob had unplugged the Xbox, so we drove back to the hospital. It all seems so trivial now, having possessions. Of what use is attaching yourself to an object when it can be easily broken or just traded for the service of those who don't see how trivial attachments to objects are? If I had died, people would miss me, or be affected by it in some way. But it would all be the same to an Xbox, whether I'm playing on it or Rob.

We went back to the hospital, and just in time too: Mr Hoerz came to visit me ten minutes after I'd settled back in my bed and made my would bleed again by stretching a bit too far to climb on.

He gave me a get-well card with the lamest joke ever: "what did the vegetables say at the party? Lettuce turnip the beet!" But I still laughed.

When Mr Hoerz left, I noticed that Rob had disappeared somewhere without a trace. So I took the case file and I started reading.

Ballistics indicates that the gun was an unregistered firearm with the serial numbers scraped off. But the bullets were easily IDed. The weird part was that they belong to the PD. They should have been in the armory, but they must have been stolen. Thing is only officers have access to the armory, and only a few of them have keys. It's still unknown how Nick got a hold of them.

Then there's this other thing. There were several shots fired in my direction, but only one hit me. Either I'm incredibly lucky he missed at such close range, or he was aiming at someone else. It says I had shielded an unknown individual who must have been behind me when it happened. They were likely ducking, based on bullet holes that would otherwise have hit them, so if it wasn't for my stomach, they could have been shot someplace worse.

The rest was details we already know from the media. But it also said they had a person of interest whose name was yet to be revealed. It said it was about the gun.

That's pretty much it. I nearly died because poor golden Nicky couldn't get a clear shot. If he was alive I would punch him. I'm running on one kidney, and I'm unable to run or even walk. And for what?

It's just all so pointless. He did what he did and the Sun still came up the next day. If I'd died, the Sun would still come up. If none of this had happened, it would be no different in the grand scheme of things. So, what the fuck did he think he would accomplish?

I just want to heal. But emotional or physical, this wound will leave a scar.

But how are you, Maisie? Are you feeling any better? I hear school's started again. How are you holding up? Are you going to his memorial? If your parents let you go there, and not to the hospital to visit me, that would probably hurt more than being shot. Not even exaggerating.

I really miss you,

Brad