Monday, 5 September 2011
03:17:29 AM (GMT)
I'm not a murderer.
There's nothing cold or dark inside me, no absence of Soul or Heart or Conscience. I
am fully human, wholly sane in every respect. My heart is the same as yours, it
pumps warm red blood, I'm not full of icy black decay like you all think. I've felt
empathy and love, I've felt fear and regret.
You have to believe me. Murder is not in my nature, nor shall I adopt it as my
identity now. But isn't it known that by some intrinsic human instinct, the
conscience can be temporarily silenced, in situations of desperation, when a person
must cross the normal boundaries in order to survive?
No onlooker would assume that my situation was one of desperation, or that I was
overcome with animalistic instinct, I know, of coarse. No, you all think that I
killed him for fun, don't you?
And all the psychologists and psychoanalysts are simply dying to know what was going
through my mind that night.
Mrs. [Name Removed] keeps suggesting that I never learned to properly express my
sexual impulses; like I was afraid to admit to myself that I wanted to have sex with
him, so I translated that into bloodlust, instead of just lust. But she's wrong. I
never had any sexual desire for him at all. In fact, having sex with him is a very
Is it because sex is so intimate? And I'm afraid of anything so close and personal
and deep? And I desired him, for him to be mine, but sex wasn't enough, I had to
kill him? No! No. But you're all so desperate to explain it all away! To check me
off the list as a "case solved", to have an explanation for the "boy's poor parents".
He was older than me, you know. Taller, stronger. Granted he was unconscious for
the first hour or so, and weak and anemic with blood loss for the rest of it, but
really, shouldn't he have at least tried to get away, to fight me?
I was on the news, they said I had a "unique, haunting face" that would be
"remembered, seen in nightmares", that my name would be "forever spoken in hushed
tones". That's such a joke. I'm sure I'm already the subject matter of countless
jokes and pranks and rumors. Kids are immature, you know. But it wasn't about fame
or face value, either.
I never had any emotional desire for him. I didn't want love or affection. I admit,
I wanted his fear. But I was scared too! And not for for my own safety! But scared
of myself. But it was too sweet.
If you had only seen the hope in his eyes simmering, burning up, vanishing, could you
understand? If you had only tasted his blood, that sweetness melting over my tongue,
so faintly metallic, coating my mouth, dripping down my throat. It was so
indescribably beautiful, the way his skin parted so gently, delicately beneath my
My mom left my dad and I when I was three, and my dad lost me for drug abuse a year
later, so I've been in foster care all my life. My mom hadn't contacted my dad or me
at all but she made sure the news people left her name out of everything. My dad
hasn't come to see me. I'm still on suicide watch, they thought I was trying to kill
myself, how stupid, that's not what I was doing.
Some people must think it had something to do with that boy raping me. That I hate
boys now or something so I killed one. But that's not even it. It's not.
I loved his eyes, they were big, his skin was pale. I loved the angle of his jaw and
the shape of his nose, I loved the way he walked and the way he sat, I loved his
facial expressions (my favorite was the thoughtful, distant, distracted one), his
fingernails, his bony frame and everything. But not his personality. Not his voice.
He was cruel sometimes, his laugh was icy and dark.
I guess I preferred to keep him perfect in my mind, to know just what I could see and
feel of him.
My cell is padded, how stupid. That's so cliche! I hate it all.
I'm sorry. I should have let it all remain a fantasy! But I couldn't, okay? I just
wanted it all to be about me, just for once!
He was bleeding for me.
I know the world must hate me. But so what! How could they ever understand?
I heard them talking, some crazy kids sent me fanmail. They're crazy! Not me! I
wanted to read the letters, just for a laugh, but they wouldn't let me. They think I
don't deserve to laugh, I laughed really loud and they must have heard me, I hope
They're making me finish before I'm ready, I could write more. But I have to go back
now. My trial is in a year. You might hear from me more then. But just remember,
anything I say then will be tainted, and confused with the insanity they're forcing
upon me by keeping me locked up here! They want everyone to think I'm so crazy
because it's comforting, it's too unnerving for the people to think that a sane girl
could do such a thing! I'm not insane but I will be by then!
Last edited: 5 September 2011