Submission

Red is in my eyes. My murky, green eyes. There will be blood tonight. Her blood will be on my hands. I know that. But I'm not the only one to blame. Every day I watch as she takes pictures of herself. A -Gah!- selfie. Every day I notice the social trends, the "fashion," the yoga pants. Every day I notice this. And then I notice her. The girl next to her. My real target. Doing exactly the same thing. And then the girl next to her. And the girl behind her. Really, it doesn't matter which one I choose. They're all the same. Copy and paste. And paste. And paste. And they all laugh and smile and talk and -Ugh!- hashtag. Blegh! I should slit my throat for speaking the disdainful words of society. And that is why this must happen. That is why she has to die. Before I was weak, but that weak little boy is gone. Now I am alone. Now I can do what I have to do. Now I have the strength.

What's come over me? It's like I can do the things I always thought about doing. But I never really intended to do those things. It was always something I said to get attention, to get people to think I was sick. I thought I was done with that though. I thought I'd beaten myself into stopping that. No, this is different. It's as if these thoughts are reality. As if they can happen.

Finally, after months of watching in agonizing bitterness, I can finally do something to hurt that population of society. Finally, someone will see the wrongness of the world. Will they cry for her? Oh I hope they do. And I hope they hashtag her funeral, and I hope they take selfies with her dismembered body. And then I hope the rest of the world will see the true evil. Not me, yoga pants. Ha. It sounds comical. That this simple article of clothing has driven me to insanity.

No. I can't do that stuff. I'm not like that. I don't want anyone to die... Well... No! No, I don't. Not on my hands. Who is this? Is this really me? Have I really gone insane?

Come on, we are the same. But I am the braver, stronger part of you. It's time. You know where she goes after this class. Follow her to the parking lot, out to her car. Follow her and take her.

What? I didn't follow her, you did. I don't know where she's going.

I told you. We are the same. I am you. You are me, just weaker.

Submission. The girl is dead.