Delilah
June 9, 2014

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I rested myself in front of the container filled with developer in the dark room during photography, waiting for my picture to emerge from the pearl white paper. I softly tilted the box back and forth, trying to get the picture developed. As I waited my eyes would wonder over to Harry's mop of curls as he exposed his picture onto his eight by ten piece of gloss paper for four seconds. I wonder how harry was doing, he insisted to come to school even when his mother tried to get him to stay home after losing a loved one, but he came anyways. Sophia didn’t show up, I haven’t talked to her since the funeral but when i tried she sounded mad and would hang up.

"Nice picture of ...dirt?" Mr. Smith said, knocking me from my gazing and pulling my attention to my now over developed picture. Fucking hell

"It was supposed to be a picture of a flower." I sighed before moving the picture into the stop bath for thirty seconds.

"Maybe you should pay attention." He said, pointing out the obvious. Mr. Smith then kept staring at my picture for a little while longer more before his eyes met mine "I think I can see the flower" He spoke with a smile. I kindly returned the gesture prior to opening my mouth to speak "Don’t bother trying," I told him "It's too overexposed."

"Well, this is the last assignment of the year, you know. You were supposed to take pictures of important things. Why just the flower?" He asked.

"I don’t know, Maybe I just wanted to take a picture of the flower." I said, getting a bit defensive.

He shrugged before pulling his sleeves up of his shirt, exposing a huge scar that ran from his wrist to half way down his forearm. "How did you get that?" I asked.

His eyes quickly shot down to his arm and pulled his sleeve down over it "J-Just something... The knife slipped."

"Knife?"

"It's nothing," Mr. Smith quickly shot back. I then kept my mouth shut as I saw him shuffle in his place "If you'll excuse me, I believe we need more developer for dark room number two" He said before quickly scurrying off.

"Well," another kid in my class said, Brian. He had dark hair and blue eyes. He also had a scar, but his was located at the top of his forehead. "He is a bit odd today."

I then let out a scoff, "More like every day."


Mr. Smith
June 9, 2014

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I carefully placed all my alphabetized papers in my brown, leather suit case before shutting it closed subsequent to an elongated day at work. “Bye, Mr. Smith.” I heard a young lady from my class mumble to me after the final bell rang.

“Farwell, Ms. Harbor.” I spoke before forcing myself to give her a quick smile as she disappeared into the long school hallway. When she was finally out of my sight and I nobody was left in my room I shook my head in disgust. This school was filled with young ladies wearing scant clothes to try to impress the girl hungry boys in this building. I always speculated to what happened to the generous looking women who didn’t want men drooling all over them because they looked like a prostitute.

As I gripped the handle on my suit case and walked straight for the exit of my room I wondered if this is what the future generation, that is going to be running this country, is going to be like. I cannot permit that to happen. I cannot let this pile of filthy, disappointing students ruin this country. People may not understand that what I am going to do is for the good of this country. We don’t need people similar to these students running around, ruining everything.

I hastily walked down the now approximately bare hallways, for the reason that these young adults couldn’t wait to arrive to their residence. As I turned the corner to exit the hallways and walk down the stairs I set my eyes on two of my student walking in the opposite direction of me, Delilah May and Harry Styles. “Good evening.” I greeted them with a pure smile, Since Delilah was one of the only girls who did not walk around with trashy make up and skimpy clothes.

“Hello, Mr. Smith.” Delilah replied as they came up from the stairwell.

“What are you two still doing here?” I questioned them as I noticed them both holding each other’s hand. I cringed at the thought of how young people start dating.

“We are just going to talk to my English teacher before us both head home.” Delilah uttered as she looked around the school.

‘Look at me when you are speaking to me’ I would like to demand her except I knew that would only give her an eerie idea of me. “Well have a nice day, the both of you.” I stated before I began to walk down the stairwell, already feeling dirty from the thought of why such an innocent girl like Delilah is doing with a guys like Harry.


As I entered my home I immediately set my suit case down on my desk and scurried to my master bathroom, wanting to get these germ off of me. I turned the water on to a lukewarm temperature and peeled my clothes off from my body. Before I got in I tested the water to see if it was hot enough for my liking, when it was perfect I jumped in and straight away felt liberation as I could feel all bacteria, virus’ washing down into the drain. I scrubbed my body with a small towel, making my skin red but I still didn’t feel satisfied. I knew the germs were still on me and I couldn’t stand it. I scrubbed harder and harder, until my skin was burning. Before I went hard enough I stopped myself. I couldn’t stand the sight of blood either.

I quickly stepped out of the shower and threw a crisp white towel over me. It hurt to move around in the towel as it scrapped against my bare skin but I knew all the germs were gone. All of them. But the people who created them were not.

It’s not like the school shooting was something I planned to do, but when I realized that this was my counties future, I had to do something about it. My plan was on June 26, 2014 I would take a large duffel bag that contained a Single Action Revolver, M9, M8 magnum and my favorite a G18. It also included tons of ammo. I would bring the duffel bag to school, telling people it was photo paper and chemicals for photography class and during fifth period I would help America’s Future.

My father was a typical all American dad, until my mother left him for one of his co-workers and he lost his job. I remember the days my mother and father would throw neighborhood barbeques and fourth of July parties at the house, but those days were quickly replaced with my mother showing up to contain her things, fighting, My father brining home skimpy women to his bedroom and cleaning the house all the time to keep my mind off of what was happening to my childhood. That’s the time I started to contain the fear of germs and the hatred for smutty women.

I always kept in mind the night my father came home from drinking his pay away at the bar. I remember the smell of alcohol that lingered off of him and the way he stumbled into the home. I remembered his reaction when he saw me. I have always been told I looked like my mother and I estimated that reason triggered something in him. I watched him creep into the kitchen and appear in the door way holding a shiny knife.

“Father,” I called out to him as he disappeared once again in the kitchen. This reminded me of the time we would play hide and seek on weekend night when mother was here. “I’ll find you!” I chimed as I scurried into the kitchen, happy that my father was acting like my father I loved.

Once I entered the kitchen I saw my father hunched over then kitchen counter “See, Daddy! I told you I would find you!” I giggled as I walked closer to him. He turned his head to face me and I noticed his eyes were puffy and red.

“Oh, Adam.” He spoke, “You remind me so much of your mother.”

“I know, grandma always tells me.” I smiled “Where is mother, what happened to her. I miss her.” I rambled. “Daddy,” I said before tugging his shirt “Is it a good thing that I look like mommy?”

“Not for you...” He replied before he launched after me making me hit my head against the hard tile floor. I cried out in pain before my father pinned my hands above my head and held them there with one hand. “Your mother is a filthy whore!” He yelled in my face. I could feel his spit landing on me as he continued “She doesn’t love us and she never did! Always remember that whores are people who shouldn’t be here, they just destroy everyone’s lives!” and with that he took the knife and slid it down my forearm.

“Daddy, Stop it!” I said as it digs deeper into my skin. Bright red blood emerged from the wound and covered the knife in it. “Please!” I begged.

After I felt the knife slide out my father just laughed at in my face “Pathetic. “ He spat at me.

When my father sobered up he dropped me off at the hospital, but quickly left. The next morning the police told me that my mother had been murdered by my father and he committed suicide shortly after. The next years of my life was filled with moving from foster homes to foster homes, but no one wanted me. When I reached the age of 18 I got a job and went to school. I decided to become a teacher to try to get a bit of something I lost, a childhood. I committed my first murder when I was 27 when I stopped at a red light and a skanky prostitute come to my window asking me if I ‘wanted to have some fun’. The only words that came to my mind were ‘Always remember that whores are people who shouldn’t be here, they just destroy everyone’s lives!’

Notes

Guysssss! I know I haven't updated in forever, but now i did and it made me cry. I actually felt bad for Mr. smith awe. but yeah. This story is actually almost over because I don't want it to drag on. But i wont rush it (, Jess.) Anyways, I promise to update more because its finally summer time and I have nothing else to do. Only if my little brother will let me use his computer. sigh.

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