Boston Brains

Chapter 1

The average human brain weighs approximately three pounds. It is an organ that is 60 percent fat and 75 percent water. It is 60 percent gray matter, a.k.a. neurons, and 40 percent white matter, a.k.a. dendrites and axons. The brain contains 100 billion neurons with over a thousand synapses per neuron, which process our thoughts and control our every move. The human brain is arguably the most complex thing in the universe, more complex than the network of galaxies and stars and planets that actually populate our galaxy. Brains are amazing. 

And I'm currently staring at one spilling out of my best friend's head onto our dormitory floor. It sort of reminds me of pink cauliflower. Slimy cauliflower. No, maybe a mass of worms. This scene ought to be some Art Deco painting in a museum. This is not what I'm staring at right now. Not at all. 

I hurriedly stumble to my feet, moving away from my dead best friend's body, trying to process what I'm seeing. This can't be real. This couldn't possibly be real. I shakily stumble away from her body, into our lavatory, which is splashed with dark shadows and illuminated only by a vein of silver moonlight, and take huge, heaving gasps in an attempt to catch my breath. I can't. I'm currently incapable. I lurch violently to face the mirror, only to catch sight of my face splattered in specs of red blood, as though my mouth is actually a gaping wound slashed across my face. My hair is a tangled mess of brown curls slicked with sweat. And my eyes look frenzied. They have also, inexplicably, turned white. My eyes are bloody white. Tendrils of grey are still in my irises, but they are now white instead of brown. My roommate is dead on the floor behind me. 

Keen, stunned observation number three: I'm standing. I'm standing on wildly wobbly weak legs. Which wouldn't be a big deal if my wheelchair weren't currently folded up next to my bed.

Sudden ability to stand, suddenly white irises in my eyes, coupled with a dead friend laying in a puddle of her own blood that looks like dark spilled ink in the moonlight with her skull bashed in spells some sort of horror picture scenario. I'm not allowed to panic. Not allowed to bloody panic right now. I need to...wash off the blood. Wash the blood off of your hands and face and out of your hair and go get in bed and start screaming bloody murder.

I use my elbows to turn on the sink, and quickly rinse the blood off of my hands and wipe it off of my face. I slick back my hair with water and stare at myself in the mirror. I'm most certainly shaking. That doesn't bode well.

I know that Karen owns trick contacts for Halloween. Digging through her dresser, I pull them out in a frenzy and pop them into my eyes. They're hazel; she wanted brown to hide her blue eyes. Blue eyes that are now unseeing. I'm almost certain I've killed my best friend. Which shouldn't be possible, because I can't stand, let alone walk.

Oh gosh. Karen is dead. Dead. Murdered. Never going to speak or laugh or smile or text during Literature again. And I'm going to pretend that I didn't kill her. I couldn't have killed her, not if I woke up on the ground with no memory of her death. I didn't kill her.

I crawl into bed, wrap the sheets around myself, let my legs go limp again. And I start screaming bloody murder. Quite apt in this situation.

The first person to run in is Marissa. Her pajamas are askew, a bun in her hair falling out. Her eyes look around the room for several seconds before landing on Karen's body. She starts screaming too. Lucille follows her, and Sophie, and a breathless Trevor Notting, down from the boy's floor, appears in the doorway. Sophie brought a phone; she starts dialing the police. Trevor sees Karen, and runs down the hall to presumably get a teacher or someone. I just keep screaming. Sophie sounds hysterical as she talks to the police. Marissa is sobbing; Lucille runs in and hysterically starts shaking Karen's lifeless body. More girls and a smattering of boys are gathering outside of my dormitory door, a noisy symphony of grief. Multiple people have gathered around Karen, so many that I can no longer see her. It's as if no one has ever watched a /show about coppers before. You're not supposed to touch the body. The police are supposed to canvass the scene and search for evidence and there is no sense right now prevailing and whatever evidence there is is being destroyed. And I am just feeling guiltier and guiltier.