The Murder of the Boy I (don’t) Know

Date: 10/26/2018

I was lying on a mattress, and next to me was this boy who goes to my high school. Not someone I ever talk to or think about, but he was there, being very sweet... and we were kissing passionately. No big deal, we were kind of giggling and looking at each other. Everything felt very clean and white and content, and I felt totally at ease. Everything shifted in a second. The light literally changed to red in a moment, and I felt a rising uneasiness, like the kind I get during my panic attacks. I pulled away harshly, and glared at his still smiling face. I was angry. In my ears it sounded like a thousand instruments were all blaring in one big, chaotic cacophony. My eyes were burning, I could feel my heartbeat. This boy was still giggling flirtatiously at me. And I hated it. At this moment, a knife had appeared tangled up in the sheets a few feet away from me. *This is where it gets graphic folks* I remember viciously grabbing it and slashing it across his throat. His face blurred, he became a blank, pale, lifeless body, but for some reason I was still furious. I was stabbing him angrily, crying and screaming, hot tears burning my cheeks. There was blood on my hands, warm, it was staining the sheets black. It just went on and on... until it didn’t. Soon all emotion was gone, my face relaxed, the noise subsided, and I tossed the knife aside. His face was covered by the sheets, in fact all of his limbs and most of his body was tangled in a red and white mass of fabric and blood. It was probably for the best that I couldn’t see most of what I’d done. The guilt and confusion began to settle. Why had I done this? What would this boy’s parents think? Where had the knife come from? Why had my anger come and go so quickly? I suppose I’ll never know. Soon after I wiped my bloody hands on my clothes, I lay down next to the mound that was the boy and promptly woke up in a cold sweat.