Young Writers Society

Hi, thanks for reviewing this. It would be really helpful if you could tell me where you think i could make it a little shorter and where I can develop the main characters personality more. I could also use some help sounds like I know more about police. Would the detective do the interrogations? Thank you!

“C’mon missy, never dreamed ‘bout hurting someone? Playing God? Bever wanted ‘a punch that boss that made ya work overtime? Break the heart ‘a the boy that broke yours? Beat up that bully from when you were five? Huh? You really such a pure heart that ya wished nothing but health and happiness to them?” He looks at me with a childlike innocence, his eyes filled with curiosity, wonder, and perhaps a little mischeviousness. His face is covered in the scars of age.

“There’s a difference between dreaming and doing.” I say, staying stoic in appearance.

“I were you, I’d start doing something other than chatting with a felon, make a gal do strange things.” He had an irritating habit of talking in half formed sentences. He keeps eye contact too, and he’s never, not even once, scratched his head or moved his hands. He’s tougher than me, the bad cop detective interrogator; the strong independent woman.

His strange behavior throws me off. He’s not completely normal, no man charged with attacking multiple people can be wholly sane. Even so, he’s straightforward and makes more sense than most of my coworkers. He’d never said one rude thing to me, unlike most of the scum I dealt with. In fact, he’s confessed to every crime he was charged with no; “oh it wasn’t me,” or “I’ve been set up!” For once I have a clean, easy case. Of course, it wasn’t clean for the people he hurt in his mission for revenge.

After a 2-hour interrogation, it’s a relief to walk out of that small room, confined with just a criminal, a camera, and myself. Why did I even become a detective? I hated long interrogations, I fell asleep during stakeouts, and there was a lot more paperwork than you saw in the movies. The only good part is the power. When I find someone trying to hide, I feel like God. I’ve never admitted it to anyone, but I can’t hide the truth from myself. I’m such a failure, except for this case. I deduced the attacker, his motive, and his location within two days. It was so easy to understand this criminal. Maybe he was right. What if we’re the same, him and I? I like the power of looking down on broken criminals; he likes the power of looking down on his broken enemies.

In my head, I see three types of criminals. There are the stupid criminals; the ones who steal food, do drugs, drive fast, that sort. They’re easy for me. Then there are the “long game” criminals. They’re the gang leaders, scheming businessmen, and other people who are all wrapped up in criminal activity. They are the ones I have the trouble with. The third class is the crazy criminals. They’re the ones that do mass shootings, kill their family, and break the laws of humanity. They’re easy enough to deal with, even if their a little unpredictable. I don’t know where this guy fits in though. He’s too smart for stupid, too short for long game, and too sane for crazy. I recently had a long string of long game criminals, one after another, wearing me down in interrogation. I’d lose control and they’d start yelling, asking me questions, and interrogating me. All our psychologists agree that our current offender is not mentally deranged, but who trusts them? The human psyche is too complex for simple labels to classify it as broken, in my opinion. Maybe our little serial killer has unlocked the secret to evolution: An eye for an eye makes the whole world even. Maybe all of his revenge, though criminal, was just what humans do? My revenge is the same as his really. I ruin lives of those who break laws; he breaks those who ruin his life. What stupid thoughts, I sound crazier than the felon. Maybe I am.