The Book About Murder

A Black Rose

Murder One

Every day's the same, for a person like me. Someone who has been cast aside from the rest of society and into a land where the sun never shines through, and darkness is the only thing you have by your side. Someone who only had their own conscious to talk to, since no one else would listen to the unique and strange thoughts. Someone who others fear to talk to, and either keep away from or try to destroy. Yes, someone like that never lives a day that contrasts from others. It's the same boring, lonely and painful cycle, from when the sun rises to when the moon sets, over and over again.

This cycle is similar what most people's would be. Wake up, go to school, go home, go to bed; it's that simple. Maybe though, because it's so simple, maybe that's what make's it different. It's almost a perfect match to the cycle of everyone else, aside from the fact there is no human contact or communication. You never plan things with friends, never gossip about who's dating who, and you never go on dates or get asked out. You're completely alone, or the few people that will talk to you will only mock and ridicule you. The only people who will touch you, they only shove at you or push you to the ground.

I guess you could say that I was a black rose in a field of sun flowers. No one will bother to see the black rose, and if it crosses their path, they won't even look where they are going and stomp right across it. Some might even do it purposely. Something strange and unique can't exist in a normal world.

Well, here I was, Alex Violetta, freshman in high school, going through the unordinary cycle once again, as every other day. The last bell of school just rang, and I was quickly walking through the insanely crowded hallway to get to my locker, a couple textbooks in hand. As I walked, I could see people grouped together with friends, either laughing or whispering quietly into each other's ears, most likely about something that didn't have anything to do with them at all. That was something I hated about society, how they have to place themselves into everyone else's business, just so they can find the opportunity to center it towards themselves. No one care's about each other, only about their own lives.

Eventually, after a short walk that was full of negativity towards the world, I had made it to the small locker that held my things for school. It only took a couple seconds to unlock the padlock, and once I did, I opened the blue metallic door and shoved my books in carelessly. After that, I turned to the small mirror that was on the underside of the door and noticed one of my blonde pigtails were somewhat loosened. I adjusted it quickly, not being too careful, since it was the end of the day, and was about to close the locker when I heard a voice from the other side of it.

"Hey, you should seriously come over to my house tonight!" spoke the overly high pitched voice from behind the locker door. A voice I have hated for quite some time, and a voice that has caused me pain over and over again. The voice that if the main reason behind the hurt I have to put up with each day, the voice of Annabelle Reed.

Annabelle has done a lot to hurt me. Saying she's done a lot to me directly was wrong, she often doesn't even speak to me. Although, when she does, her words are anything but sweet. Once in a while, I'll accidentally run into her, or get in her way for a moment. When that does happen, she would often mutter "freak" or "disgusting weirdo" under her breath, just barely loud enough so that I'll hear it. Still, even that doesn't happen too often. What she has done to me is a lot more personal.

Thing's haven't always been this way. All my life, I've been bad with making friends, and that's the way it's always been. I did at one point have a friend, a best friend, someone who was the same as I was. We'd both contrasted from the rest of the world, which was why we could get along so well. However, at the end of fifth grade, that was when I lost everything.