Crazy Yet Calm

Prologue

             June twelfth, 2007, six a.m. It was cold, freezing even. A startling 33 degrees, with a 90 mile per hour wind blowing. I was five then, it was my birthday. I wasn't the perfect child. Just the average little kid. With a head full of red hair, grey orbs called eyes, and freckles. I hadn't know at the time what was going on. I was only five. My dad was an artist, a well know one at that. No one could notice it, but nearly all of his paintings were of me and my mom. We could be abstract, or just plain normal. That was strange. Most things in my life are strange. I woke up, went to my parents' room. They were strangely missing. I found them downstairs, the TV was on. I thought they were watching it. I shook them, they didn't respond when I called. Their bodies fell limp on the floor. I was their faces. Hit to death with an ax. Multiple hits, not leaving them recognizable. I screamed, and ran into my room. I rocked back and forth, on my bed. I shivered, sitting there wide awake until morning. I didn't sleep. I couldn't. I couldn't leave my room. My parents were dead out there. I starved, soon getting angry. I cut up all of my toys with scissors. I massacred my clothes, my hair, myself. I was crying so loudly for an entire week. A neighbor heard, and screamed at the first sight of the bodies. Her name was Mrs. Gold, Heather Gold. She started yelling my name. She looked so relieved when she saw me in my room. I was in their for six months, and I don't why I wouldn't just die. Mrs. Gold called the police, and I had to live with my third aunt, Sara. I didn't like Sara.

               June twelfth, 2008, five a.m. It had been a hot month. I slept in a t-shirt. I woke up when there was a loud scream. I went down stairs. Sara, her husband, and her six cousins were dead on the floor. Another ax murder. I screamed, running and hiding in the basement. Another six months starving, the corpses rotted, and were disgusting. Hunger was the only thing to drive me out. I covered up the bodies with a sheet. And threw up the last of what was in my stomach. I ransacked the kitchen. Standing on my tippy toes to reach the cereal. I ate a sandwich, ate six raw eggs, had an entire pack of raw bacon, and ate all of the cereal. I avoided any area near the living room. I took all of the food up to the attic with me. Inside there was a cot, some dresses, and a wooden doll. Sara's husband Blake was into woodshop, he probably made it. I stayed up here until someone finally wondered why we were all missing. Her name was Ms. Elizabeth. She screamed for an hour before finding me. Ms. Elizabeth called the police, and they kept me for questioning for days. The same officer that talked to me last time was there, he was the one who questioned me. ''Sweetie, are you sure you saw no one?? Now even a shadow??'' I shook my head, my tears wetting my shirt. I shivered. I was cold. Officer Lark sighed,''I mean this in a good way, I do not want to see you here with another situation like this again. Ever.'' Funny how you wish things, and they never come true.

                  Twelve more people I had lived with be fore my next birthday. Twelve people. All of them were dead. Killed with an ax. I was living with my grandmother, on my dad's side, and I found her body in the kitchen. She was dead, with my grandpa. I was crying for about three hours, and I was exhausted. Hungry, tired, and exhausted. A voice said my name, and I slowly looked up. Officer Lark apparently was off today, just in jeans and a shirt. ''Oh no, it is you. Why are you out here alone??'' ''M-my grandma is dead. I didn't know where else to go...The house has no hiding places,''I muttered, sniffling,''Are you going to take me to the police station??'' ''Oh sweetie, again?? Huh, yes we're going to the police station. I started to cry again. I didn't like the police station. Even though I had been there so many times. ''I don't like the police station!!!'' He hugged me, patting my head. Lark didn't ever have any kids, he always had wanted a kid. Some bell rang in my ear, or loudly. Lark looked behind me, smiled kind of. ''Do you like ice cream??'' I nodded, still crying. He got up, and came back with a vanilla and sprinkles cone. I sat in the park with him, we sat and talked for a while. Then, Lark had to take me to the police station.

                    I was out of family members. My only others were unreachable in Europe. I was a foster kid now. A complete foster kid. I as I heard talk of where I would be placed. With some widowed guy, who lived in a great neighbor hood. I was still crying. And none of the police men could stop me. We drove to my new foster home, my first one. It was a nice house. And Lark was outside of it. He looked really happy. I frowned. Why was he here?? ''Officer Lark...huh??'' ''I'm your foster parent. You're going to be living with me now.'' I smiled, hugging him tightly. I liked Lark. A lot. He was nice. We went inside, and he showed me my room. It was simple. A bed, a lamp, a closet, some toys. I didn't sleep in my room. I slept in Lark's room. He didn't go missing for months. I stayed with him for three years. I was nine when I found him acid burned in the bathroom June twelfth, 2011, seven a.m. A nice 50 degrees. A small winds blowing into the house. Lark was killed too.

                    My name is Pretty, last name Polite. I have red hair, grey orbs for eyes, and a very skinny body. I'm seventeen now. Surprising speaking in 2019. I was born June twelfth 2002, twelve a.m. It was 30 degrees when I was born. I am the ultimate foster child, I haven't stayed with anyone over a year since Lark. They all end up dead. No matter what I do. No matter where I am. Anyone I come into contact with dies. A grueling painful death. It's horrible. But I am seventeen, and I am a murderer. A complete, and total murderer. I'm not proud. No, I'm the opposite. I'm remorseful. I regret each person I kill. With that same damned weapon. I'm sorry, to everyone I've killed. And to their family, friends, and acquaintances. I truly am. I'm crazy, insane, the definition of maniac. It's not my fault, that I had to bow to insanity. My name is Pretty Polite, and I'm crazy yet incredibly calm.