| abstract
| - It was another normal day, and I was walking to my first class. I had just left the library (my morning sanctuary) and was now on my way to gym, thinking, whatever idiot decided to force people to run two miles at 7:30 in the morning needs to die slowly. I know, a brutally vicious thought, but it made me about 3% happier. I walked into the locker room, and changed and walked back out (no details here). I walked to the upstairs gym and felt as if I was being followed. I'm usually the last person, so this freaked me out quite a bit. I shrugged it off and continued upstairs to find my gym class doing push-ups. I decided that being a minute late wouldn't do me any harm, but my coach saw me and, trying not to get suspended in this godforsaken school, I obediently walked towards him. The feeling of being followed came back and I whirled around, only to see a shadow disappearing around the corner. I was, naturally, terrified at the idea of being followed and felt like I was going to vomit. My coach saw this and excused me to the nurse's. I threw up the second I arrived, only barely making it to the toilet. I was taken out of class and sent home. I decided that my mom wouldn't need me home for a while, nor would she be expecting me. I set her voicemail to "hello?" so it sounded like she knew I was gone. Eventually, it became dark, and I started back to my house. I came to a fork between the road, and saw that I had two choices- either I could take the streets, which were usually filled with the nearby gangs, or I could take the path that led into the woods, where all of society's rejects lived. I decided that the forest path was probably my best bet, because it was shorter, and gangs definitely had guns. Rejects might, but I was willing to take that chance. I took a few steps into the woods, and the feeling from earlier returned. Suddenly I heard a voice so quiet, I could have mistaken it for a branch breaking 20 yards away. "I don't talk a lot." I spun around to catch the stalker red-handed, but nobody was there. I turned around again and saw a small girl, wearing a torn dress that was a faded and stained sky blue. Her shoulder length, jet black hair was splayed all over her face, and I couldn't tell who she was. She took a step towards me, uttering the words so silently that I strained to hear them. "I don't get noticed at all, and I don't think it's very fair. So listen- I could have you killed in a matter of minutes, or I could take your place. I've been watching you for a while now, and I know everything there is to know about you. I know a few plastic surgeons who would be willing to help me. Feeling helpless and lost, I mutter, "What happens to me, or the real me?" "Well," she replied thoughtfully. "I suppose I could make you look like me..." Suddenly a terrible thought came to me, and I knew that, no matter what I did, I would never be able to live as an invisible girl. So I screamed NO as loud as I possibly could, and the last thing I ever saw was the silver glint of her dagger as it tore through me skin, stabbing me right in the heart. The next paragraph has an alternate ending. I closed my eyes and took a step cautiously, looking both ways over and over. I immediately began to cross the street, hurrying as much as I dared in these dark nights. Suddenly I heard the sound of tire wheels scratching, and knew that no matter what happened, this wasn't going to be good. I was right. Two cars came full speed at each other, and it took me a precious second to realize that I was in the middle. I dived out of the way, just in time as the two cars exploded in a ball of flame. I began shaking uncontrollably, because the thought that I hadn't taken 5 steps and that I had already nearly died brought my spirits crashing to the ground. A boy sprinted out on light feet, and lifted me up. I gazed into his soft, hazel eyes, and said nervously, "Well, that seemed fun," which was answered with an evil grin. I didn't think much of it, as I was staring into the endless pools of honey. His smile widened and he said demonically, "Cute girl, ugly judgement." It was then that I noticed the tattoo of a half-moon attacking a half-sun, and realized he was a part of the most notorious gangs in existence. He smiled and brought a knife to my eyes, and to my horror, I realized that it was covered in blood. I looked down to see that he had stabbed himself in the heart, and slowly I could feel his strength lessening. I laid him down on the road, and as I crouched down to help him, I noticed another pool of blood, but not coming from him; it was coming from me. So there you go- in both stories, the quiet person is the killer (although, I guess you could argue this point with story ending number 2, because I never actually said that he didn't talk a lot). And in both endings, I die. The thing is, if you look at a bunch of past murderers. The killer is always the kid who was quiet at school, and never really participated in anything. Coincidence? I think not. So it's decided- quiet people can be either a.)extremely successful b.)completely normal or c.)horrendous killers. So really, nothing is decided.
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