Secrets

Prelude

What word could describe this darkness? This torture. The essence of this emotion trailed its icy tendrils along the innocence of my heart until I succumb to its bitter seol. My heart rate palpitates with an unhealthy, unbalanced rhythm. Cold sweat gathers above my upper lip and eyebrows. Fear. That's what this is, fear. I've never been so afraid in my life. Not when I was in 4th grade and the teacher made me recite my poetry in front of the class. Not when I was 10 and I fell out of the orange tree in our backyard and broke my arm. Not even when I was the puny 13 year old getting beat up for lunch money by the school bully, Agatha. This fear was different. This fear was an ice cold bucket of water on the coldest day of the year in the middle of Antarctica. It was primal. This fear was darkened by the reality of what I had just done. A crime. I was in fact a criminal. Oh my goodness. What am I going to tell my mother? I could feel what I could only describe as panic bubbling beneath my heart. My body ran hot at the thought of what I had just been forced to do. Hot, then cold. Oh Lord. Oh no no no no no. This isn't real. A sharp pinch in the arm confirmed that this, in fact was reality and I had just murdered someone. Not just anyone. No, it couldn't have been some random person in the street. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those people that dreams of death and destruction. Up until a few days ago I was just a senior in high school trying to figure out what grades I needed to graduate and still be able to slack off. I'm lazy. I don't have the energy to plan a murder much less actually go through with one. Plus im squeamish. Really, really squeamish. In fact, I had thrown up my meager lunch the moment I realized what I had done. Hot tears blinded me and threatened to spill down my bruised cheeks. I shakily stepped backwards, careful not to step in my vomit until the back of my knees bumped against harsh wood. I sat on the tree stump and put my head in my hands inhaling and exhaling slowly in order to calm my rising panic. What do I do? Who do I tell? I'm a horrible liar. When the police come around questioning the family, what will I tell them? I'll be tossed in jail faster than anything. I was too young to go to jail! They would eat me alive. My slight frame would make me an easy target. No no no no no. I can't go to jail. Suddenly, the panic in my gut subsided as resolution ran through my veins. The fear that had encircled my chest calmed. This was survival of the fittest. I had stared evil in the face and won. I had survived. My eyes involuntarily glanced at the body no more than 15 feet from me and I shuddered. The hardest part was over. I had killed him. I may not have been a very good liar before but that was all about to change. Cue act one. I was about to put on the best performance of my life.