Double Sided Monsters

Chapter One

A long long time ago, in the city of Chicago, there was an ambitious young man who always dreamed of being a journalist. A journalist who would continuously write and write about the most attention-grabbing stories, attracting the audience like magnets, as they swarm about just to get a taste of his newest story. His name? Unidentified. But let's call him, the Journalist. At that time, he was about 27-years-old. His face was glowing with joy. His teeth flashed as he grinned. He had soft fluffy brown hair. His beautiful emerald green eyes were full of life, full of joy, full of hope. WERE.

One beautiful sunny day he discovered that there was a virus that was starting to slowly affecting the population. Slowly. He discovered that the virus would turn people, especially children into Lectifiyers. These so called Lectifyers were usually described as a two-headed human or a double-sided clob. Why? Because a Lectifyer was a person whose hair colour range from black to white. If their hair stays white, they are a good-natured person, since white is the colour of purity. If their hair turns or stays black, they've turned (or are) fully evil. Half-black and half-white means that the person is very unusual. Why does this matter? Because as randomly thrown in as it sounds, they have powers called Synapsis. While the hair is white you can use Synapsis to heal deep wounds, fix broken objects and create new things, but while the hair is black, you can use Synapsis, to kill, tear apart, make a storm, and destroy things in your way. He discovered it and decided to make that his first story, so he started writing away.

1 week after he published his first story, he discovered that there was a murder that happened at a high school. So he put on his best journalist uniform and hopped over to the school to interview some students. The police were there, searching for evidence and also interviewin-- no, interrogating them. While the Journalist was actually interviewing them. As he was, noticed a strange black-haired girl, standing near the building, hunched over, fidgeting over something. Her back was turned to him so he could only see her hair. She stopped fidgeting and glanced around anxiously. She then stood up, exhaled in apparently relief, then started walking over to the crowd of students that were being interviewed one by one. He quickly looked away from her before she noticed, but he felt like she almost knew he saw her. Probably why she looked around. She must've felt someone was watching her. After it all ended he wanted to continue to interview the school. So he did. Everyday. As the students entered the school and as the students exited the school. When the mysterious black-haired girl entered the school his eyes were fixed on her. He then called her out. "Miss!" He called. She swirled around quickly, hair bouncing to her shoulder. He walked up to her. As he did he got a quick glance at her eyes. They were black like her hair. But they were not welcoming eyes. He slightly flinched at how intimidating they were. She blinked, then smiled. A friendly one. "Hello, Mr Journalist sir, how may I help you?" Her voice rang in a sweet tone and a high pitch. He took a deep breath, held his notebook up and his pencil to the first clean lined page. He exchanged the smile and proceeded. "Hello miss I would like to ask a few questions if that's okay with you,"

"Make my day!"

He took another deep breath. He was nervous about this. He would only ask a few questions that would only take 60 seconds of her time. So why was he nervous? He knew he was wasting more of her time by being nervous and breathing weirdly. So he started. "How do you feel about the murder?"

"I think it's outrageous," the girl's sweet tone has disappeared and turned into a resentful tone. "How could somebody do such a horrible thing? That person's life must've meant a lot to other people, her friends and family. And now that life is being tossed away like scraps of a plate! Some people are just, evil, Mr Journalist," as she said the word evil the Journalist could have sworn the corner of her lips twitched upwards as if trying hide a smile. He felt a sudden chill run down his spine. Her answer took up 12 seconds of her time, but her answer would take an extra 6. That 18 seconds, as he furiously scribbled in his notebook. She giggled as she watched him. "My, you're really determined, aren't you?" She asked. He nodded. He then moved on to the next question.

"Why do you think someone would murder?"

She responded almost immediately. "There are many reasons. You can't really determine why. The killer might have actually been pushed to do it, " Coming from a 13-year-old, that was surprisingly logical, The others simply said "Because people are just a-holes," Her response sounded just perfect. So he scribbled it away. He gulped nervously when he knew, well, thought that his next question would make that smile she has fade. Pun un-intended.

After a painfully long day of interviewing he realised that he wasn't getting anywhere with this, and his friend told him that too. But the Journalist was too stubborn and kept on going, day, after day, but he found no answers. Yet.

One a simple day of interviewing students he noticed the black-haired girl's absence. Why? She could be late, yes, but it has been an hour since the students arrived, and she still wasn't here. The Journalist sighed. Everything was quiet. He was on his own. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing. He moved his green orbs to observe the place, not leaving a single area left unexplored. The building was average. Very average. The floor tiles, the school gate, it was actually pretty neat. Still average. But what do you expect from a school? There's nothing specia--

The Journalist snapped out of his daze and glanced around quickly. He heard a ruffle. Coming from the bush that was near the corner. To the right. He slowly turned his head there. "Hello?" He called out. The ruffling stopped. But the Journalist already knew someone was hiding there. He took slow and quiet steps forward. As he stared down at the bush, he saw that the person had ran away, but he saw a few strands of black hair, just a few. He noticed and kneeled to pick them up. "Hmm..." he tapped his chin. Who could this black hair belong to?

The next day of interviewing, he soon found out that another student was murdered. That's when the black-haired girl showed up.