Dear Kristie,
Am I crazy? I think we both know the answer to that question. So tell me, what was the spark to this flame? What kindled my desire to kill? Why did I want you!?! Why did I need you? I blame you, you glorious creature! You innocent goddess! You made me this way. You stole my sanity. You asked too many questions and I gave not enough answers for you to get away. But here, my love are your answers, here is my story, from the beginning.
My mother was a vivacious woman with just enough charm to worm her way into a man’s bed, but not his heart. My father didn’t stay to see me born, he was packed up before the sun rose. (Of course, I don’t know that he was truly a pretentious git, but my mother always described him as if he was covered in furs and holding a scepter) She could only be described as, well, flighty… She jumped from painting to singing, sculpting to juggling. She never had enough time for me, for a family. But I didn’t care. I had enough fun on my own. I was always great with machines, which must have come from my dad because my mother couldn’t even fix a toaster (possibly due to her stupidity), let alone build a watch, which I happened to be quite good at.
But I didn’t have enough time away from her to avoid her rampages. The smallest things would spark her anger and off she would go, yelling and throwing things, leaving shattered glass and echoes in her wake. Then she would get the knives. I still have the scars today from when she would hold me down and pull on me those wickedly sharp knives.
But that did not go on for long, because when I was 10 I killed my mother. Soon after that I became a ward of the state. They sent me to a boys home called The Institute. The Institute wasn’t as bad as it sounds, it was worse. They sent you to classes where you have to learn how to be a proper gentleman. I learned to sit up straight, open the door for a woman, and never, ever, say no to an adult. That was the part I hated most of all, it was always “Respect your elders. Trust your elders. Listen to your elders.” Blah blah blah! I hated it! I would never respect someone just because of age, because age is just a number, a number that means nothing.
I graduated from The Institute at age 18 but I wanted to participate in a program called Real School Emersion. In this kids spent a year at a real high school and were allowed to participate in things like prom and graduation, things we didn’t have at the institute. I was placed Blackberry high in northern New York. The school was small, quaint I would say, and had white washed walls with ivy on the outside. It was everything the Institute was not. It was small, warm and tractable. The Institute was cold, hard, and firm. I loved Blackberry. That was where I met you. Your hair was red back then, not the black it is now. You’re skin was tanned by the summer sun, where now it glows like alabaster. But your eyes are the same; I would never take those from you. You will always keep those beautiful green eyes. You were assigned to me by the principal to show me around. Best decision ever (or as some may see it, worst).
From the moment you said hello I was in love with you. And I will always love you. That is why I killed you; to relive your pain. I remember that first night when I called you for no reason and we sat talking for hours. I miss the way we used to talk, but things are better for you, now that you’re dead. You are happier.
I remember when I shyly asked you to see a movie with me. You said no. I went home and cried for hours. Until the next day when you pressed me up against a locker and kissed me until we both ran out of breath. After that we held hands, I opened doors for you, and you would, every now and then, give me a quick kiss is the shadows, like our love was a secret. But it wasn’t. Everyone knew and that tortured me inside. The fact that I had to share you with hundreds of prying eyes was so hard, but I dealt, because I knew that someday you would be all mine.
I remember that day when Theo cornered you near the girl’s bathroom. He slapped you a few times. I remember his words.
“Where’s your little boyfriend now Kristie? Where’s your boyfriend?”
