Trio Freedom
I like to write so that’s what I do! All feedback welcome! I read each and every comment :)
Trio Freedom
I like to write so that’s what I do! All feedback welcome! I read each and every comment :)
I like to write so that’s what I do! All feedback welcome! I read each and every comment :)
I like to write so that’s what I do! All feedback welcome! I read each and every comment :)
The party was on Sunday.
And the rumors started on Monday.
“I heard she told him no because she thinks she’s better than him.”
“Well, I heard that she came onto him and he said no.”
“I’ll do you one better, she drugged him by putting something in his drink, and even stole his phone.”
“Yeah, rumor has it, the phone is in her backpack right now.”
I felt the straps of my backpack snap before I was drug backward and knocked to the ground. “Let’s see if it’s true!” An ominous voice coming from the school jock, Bradley sent a shiver down my spine.
After all, he was the reason that I was almost—
No.
I don’t believe it.
I don’t believe myself.
There’s no way that he tried to—
My stomach lurches and bile rises in my throat.
I’m gonna be sick.
Leaving my backpack, I duck into the bathroom and spew whatever was left inside of me into the toilet.
By Tuesday, the rumors still swirl.
This time, I’m pregnant and don’t know who the father is. I can’t say I can give them any points for creativity, the pregnancy rumor goes around St. John’s every sunrise.
No one talks to me in the halls, they all just whisper, and look at me with those eyes.
Some pitying, others condemning, but all of them kill me a little every day.
Wednesday comes and goes, the teachers have gotten a hold of the rumor by now, and they all give me parental pity. “You okay, Chelsea?” “Administration is here for you.”
Tell a trusted adult praddle that never means anything.
Thursday is horrible.
He finds me in the stairwell alone, pushes me against a wall and threatens to kill me if I tell anyone.
I haven’t because no one’s asked me, and if they did, they wouldn’t believe me.
Then, the principal tells me my presence is becoming a distraction and I’m slapped with a three day suspension.
Way to victim blame, very saintly of you.
My dad downs a bottle of beer when I tell him and hits me, my mom watches.
That night, I find his 22-caliber pistol and fire one round into my head, ending it all right there.
A blow hits my shoulder from Daniel, Chelsea’s old best friend. “Dude, that’s not what the rumors say!”
I ignore how perfectly he can recall that Sunday night party, and how he laughs when he gets to the part about Chelsea’s suicide.
This ravenous rumor has been roaming the halls of St. John’s for a year now.
But no one ever learns.
I let them call me by my new name, Cassie, and listen to them talk about me—I mean—Chelsea.
“Hey, I double dog dare you to steal that vodka, jump on the table, and chug as much as you can.”
It all started with a whisper. I was on a blind date, hating every second of it, and with one look you knew I was just like you.
A daredevil.
I turned to look at you, your hazel eyes twinkled mischievously, and a smile enraptured my face.
“What do I get in return?”
You smiled and answered with overconfidence.
“A date with the baddest man in town.”
I rolled my eyes so hard at you, I swear I saw my brain, but I do it.
And that night, you held my hair back as I threw up on the street.
Now—back to the present.
“I double dog dare you to sneak over to that cop car and sing, ‘Can’t take my eyes off of you.’” I whisper as we walk down the street, still buzzing from our date at the gallery.
You meet my eyes and wink at me, those pearly whites lighting up my irises.
“You’re on, baby. What do I get?”
I tap my chin in exaggerated thought, as if I haven’t planned this far ahead.
“You get to dare me and I can’t say no.”
Your eyes narrow as you sprint over to the cop car, calling, “You’re on!” over your shoulder.
Shortly that evening, you make good on the dare I owe you, and I’m running down an alley carrying a vase we’ve just stolen from the gallery.
The cops are none the wiser, they think we’ve gone the other way.
Breathlessly, I turn to you, chest heaving and lactic acid building up. Tilting my head I peck your cheek and slip the vase into your hand, “Double dog dare you that you can’t sneak this back into the building before the cops notice.”
You let out a breathless laugh and pull down your mask.
“You owe me one.”
“I know.”
I just didn’t think the next dare I’d complete would be signing a confession for a murder that I didn’t commit.
So, what’d I do?
I take your murder charge, I double dog dare you to break me out.
A viscous cycle with only three words.
Double. Dog. Dare.
Today, he told me he loved me.
Love, an emotion that makes you feel free.
It caught him by surprise, slowly but surely.
It twisted his will rather obscurely.
That overpowering emotion.
Seeping deep into his bones.
What a rather funny notion!
It crept through his veins.
His rationale, his reasoning, even his mind.
None of it remains.
Love has twisted inside him.
Taking hold of him.
Filling him up to the brim.
He can’t control it.
But it can control him.
So, I do.
I pull out the gun.
It was rather fun!
Load it just right.
Oh it was quite the sight!
My love would commit a murder tonight!
All because of one poison.
Unnoticed, unseen, but felt rather heavy.
But oh, that love!
It hit him like a Chevy.
BAM!
Love.
A funny thing.
Four letters long.
One syllable.
And he felt every single one.
But my fun.
Has just begun.
Inside to out.
I owned him.
Without a doubt.
Because, his love was rather devout.
They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes, and for 7 minutes you see your greatest hits.
As I lay on the grass, life draining out of me, it’s like I’ve lived my life over again.
I see my parents holding me after I won the 2nd grade spelling bee, I see my 7th grade crush; Donny McMaster kissing me on the playground. I see my first day of high school, and my last day too.
I see myself opening my acceptance letter from West Point, and I see the first time I met my future husband, Westley.
Then I graduate, join the army, and go through boot camp.
And I see myself going on this mission. Joking with Manny and Liz as we suited up, and finally, I see myself jumping between a civilian girl and taking the bullet meant for her.
Y’know, I didn’t think death could be so peaceful.
But, what disappoints me the most about this dying thing, is the fact that I don’t have any more memories. Sure, I’ve got milestones, but no memories. No real tear-jerkers or little moments, just items off of a dream checklist.
It’s just the end of the line.
No road ahead, turn back if you can.
Well I can’t.
And that sucks.
Suddenly I feel cold, and empty, but this feeling isn’t from the blood loss or the bullet that jumped around my insides.
It’s because I feel alone and lost.
Looking up at the sky, listening to the calm in the air.
I let out a wheezing scoff, “The end of the line, huh?”
The end of my line takes forever to come, and I feel trapped.
Stuck in this limbo between life and death.
The end of the line.
Staring at the board, I still couldn’t understand what the right tactic was.
Raising my hand, I asked, “Teacher? Could you maybe demonstrate the lesson?”
She smiled at me and picked up a knife, plucking an unsuspecting rat from the cadge at the front of the class.
“Certainly, Monica.”
The knife plunged just under the 4th rib of the rat, causing him to let out a squeak, and freeze in his tracks.
“Incapacitate with one jab, understand?”
I nodded as she strolled over and placed the knife on my desk, nudging me toward it with her gaze.
Picking it up, I stood and followed her orders. She explained to the class as I worked, killing the rat with one jab.
“See class, real-life practice will help you solidify what you’ve learned in Knifework 101 today!”
I have a confession.
A rather odd concession.
The other day, when the world was asleep.
I slipped into Lauren’s house without a peep.
The stairs weren’t too steep.
They didn’t let out anything, not even a creak.
The house did not stir.
The Roomba did not whir.
I slunk over to her bed.
My heart filled with dread.
Simply put, I wanted her dead.
So I picked up a pillow.
And this part, well, I went kind of slow.
Placed it over her face.
Careful not to leave any trace.
Her life was in my hand.
Just as I had foreplanned.
Then without a second thought.
I made her heart stop.
Leaving like a fog.
Barely breaking a jog!
The windows blow out as a spray of gunfire pierces the delicate glass. I grab my charge and drag us down to the ground, covering him with my body as I pull out my pistol to return fire.
The young business man beneath me looks at me, eyes wide and his chest heaving. “I’ve never met anyone like you before!” He screamed as I fired off shots and drug him to his feet, moving us into the kitchen.
“You should be very grateful for that.” I mumble as I push him into the kitchen and turn back toward the men currently trying to break the front door down.
“May I ask who you are and what you do?”
I found a pair of car keys in a dish on the counter and tossed them toward him. “No you may not, but you can start the car so we can escape—unless you want to have a conversation with the men trying to pump us full of lead!”
His face paled as he caught the keys and started the car remotely.
I checked my watch frustratedly as I emptied my clip on the masked men, I was supposed to be at Lauren’s career day today. I didn’t know what lie I would tell, maybe bodyguard, or maybe telecommunications expert. Nothing would really cover the title of ‘professional fixer’ quite right.
Once my pistol clicked to let me know I was out of bullets, I barreled toward the garage door and hopped inside the black Cadillac.
Throwing the car in drive, I tore the garage door open as we squealed out into the road. My charge, William Park, looked around dazed and confused. But surprisingly, he didn’t complain about his house’s newfound lack of a garage door.
Once we made it into the open road, I relaxed and allowed myself to breathe. I took a chance to actually look at William, and I found myself wondering why someone would want him dead. And why someone would want him alive so desperately, so much so, that they would hire me.
But, here I was regardless, doing my job without a grumble or anything. That employee of the year title better be mine.
I open my eyes one last time. This will be my last day on Earth, and I’ve come to terms with it. My family, well they’re shattered, but that’s expected. At night I can hear my mom sobbing into my bed and even my dog, Gus, gives me those heartbroken eyes. I think he can see Death coming for me. Heck, maybe he can even smell it.
The Nurse comes into my room for the last time and changes my IV, it’s the only thing keeping me alive. I pull out my cellphone and schedule one text to send out at midnight: ‘I love you all so much.’ It’s not much of a last rite, but hey, it’s mine.
And because I’m a seventeen year old girl, I pull myself out of bed, put on my platinum blond wig, and take mirror pictures. Then, I stare at them for 20 minutes and find the best one. Last, I post them to Instagram with the caption: ‘Bouta be an Angel.’
If I don’t laugh at myself I think I’d cry.
My family comes into the hospital room not long after I make my Instagram post. My older brother, Grant, comes in with his jaw dropped and his phone in his hands. A smirk creeps onto the corner of my mouth and I wait for him to speak.
He races to my side and pushes his phone into my face, “What is this?! Dude you’re sick!” Offense and a touch of laughter stain his voice. I shrug, “If I can’t laugh then no one can!” He rolls his eyes and takes his usual seat at by the small TV in the corner of the hospital.
My mom, Jocelyn Turner, could barely bring herself to look me in the eye. I don’t blame her, I look a wreck. Those nights at my bed when I was throwing up until 3 in the morning are catching up with her. She’s been strong for entirely too long. After I die, I want her to have a good cry about me, and then move on. There’s no reason I should hang over my families head like a ghost.
I make a mental note to tell her not to cry over Angelica Turner anymore. She holds my hand and sits next to my right side. That’s the hand she likes the best, especially since my other one only has three fingers on them. I call it my dinosaur claw. No pinky, no thumb
My dad comes in last and when he does, it hits me right in the gut. He’s wrecked worse than mom is. His hair is patchy and most of it is fallen out, he’s lost at least 20 pounds, and his eyes are just dull. They match mine.
Suddenly, I feel like the crappiest person in the world. His daughter is dying and I’m making jokes. Now, I suddenly want to live and I want to fight. I can’t leave my Dad like this.
I rake over my phone with my fingers and try to force the compulsion to delete my post down. It eventually passes.
I spend the rest of my last day eating smuggled junk food, playing Jenga, and having one last family dinner. My dinner was special because they broke me out of the hospital, and that fresh air felt good. Being alive felt good. Until a massive wave of nausea hit me and made me throw up so much I wanted to die again.
Now, I’m back in my bed.
My bones ache, my head is pounding, and I feel weak. My body is a prison and I want to be free. I say goodbye to Grant first, he and I do out secret handshake. For a split-second I swear a tear falls from his face, but then he slips back to his couch. I say goodbye to my mom next. She holds her tears in her eyes and her cheeks turn rosy red. She rubs her favorite hand and takes one step back. She falls to her knees but Grant catches her and pulls her out into the hallway. Last, I say goodbye to my Dad. His hands are shaking slightly as he pulls me into his chest. His heart is pounding deathly slow.
After I say my goodbyes, I pray. Not for me, but for them. I was a lost cause—a passenger on a train with a one way ticket. But they had much longer here than me.
A few hours later, I saw Death. He was beautiful and kind, his smile lit up the room, and he held out his hand for me.
And I took it.
Freedom.
I stabbed the knife through my latest victim’s heart, a stream of blood whistling through the air and landing on my cheek.
Wiping the blood off of my cheek with my thumb, I looked down at the corpse in front of me.
He was a middle aged man in his 50s, his hair was peppered with specks of gray, and his arm was adorned with a Rolex watch.
He also was a family man; his kids were in high school.
“They won’t miss him,” I whispered aloud, scaring myself by the way my words warped and twisted into something I’d never thought I’d say in a million years.
Looking down at the knife in my hands I dropped it suddenly, my stomach lurching as I fought the bile rising in my throat.
“You did the right thing. You did your job.” I didn’t know whose voice it was—mine or the anger inside of me.
I clenched my long, black hair and dropped to my knees. The blurred memories of what he did to me flashed before my eyes.
My first corpse was Mister Tomas Smith, and I was his maid.
Until I caught him alone and drunk one day, he shoved me down, and called me every racial slur he could think of.
“Do your job you filthy pig!” He bit out as he slapped me, my blood splattering on the ground.
It was a Tuesday—trash day.
So now, I did my job. Cleaning the world of one bad apple at a time, but this time, no one gave me any tips for it.
Oh well, at least no one could say I didn’t do my job.
The van is hot and sweat trickles down my face.
Bump…bump…bump…bump…
We pulled to a stop and I heard gravel crunching under the tires. I’m at the second location. I was dead now, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I hear the door hastily open and shut and I wince. I can’t think like this. I have a family I need to get back to, I could fight. He was so strong when he grabbed me, no matter how loud I screamed. I was still loopy from the chloroform he gagged me with. The door flies open and the sun beats down on me. My unmasked kidnapper now stood before me, his icy blue eyes telling me all I needed to know. “I’m going to give you a chance to tell me why you deserve to live, and if that fails my sweet, you can run.” He says with a hauntingly light tone that sends shivers down my spine. “Please don’t kill me.” I try to say but the gag soaks up my words like a sponge. He places his rough hand on my cheek and caresses my face with my thumb as he takes the gag down. “What was that?” He says with a smirk as he drags me out of the van and I fall to the earth. Gravel imprints and sticks onto my cheeks and my shirt as he drags me to my feet. “You’ve got-“ He taps on his Apple Watch and starts a timer. “A minute. Make it quick.” He puts his hands under his chin like a little school boy paying close attention to the teachers lesson. “I’m someones daughter, I’m someone’s sister, I haven’t even lived yet I-I haven’t even kissed a boy-“ My voice croaks and tears slide down my face. I start to shake and he reaches out to touch me. “I know who you are Clara Barnes, tell me why you should live.” I swallow the lump in my throat and continue, shallowly breathing and still shaking. “I-I could do great things but you’ll never know if you kill me. I-I could cure cancer, I could make you normal again. I deserve to live! You don’t have the right to take that away from me!” I yell at him, my voice still hoarse. “Well, times up.” He laughs, “you better run my dear!” I take off, not just for me, but for my family. I’m someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, and someone’s friend. I can’t die on them and I won’t die on them, so I run.