“Ms. Melvy, your defense has made it clear you want to give a statement.”

“Yes your honor.”

The woman with her rosy blond hair tied back to just her shoulder steadys herself with a long breath. Sitting up out of the uncomfortable wooden chair.

Thanks to her lawyers Sofia was able to get out of her orange jumpsuit and into a tight burgundy colored knit dress. It was never a good color for her, washed her right out. So did her favorite shade of yellow, dandelion, she wore it that night too.

“Hello, I’m Sofia Marie Melvy. I was a lot of things, editor chief of the school newspaper, militant vegetarian, and most importantly a sister. If I had to give up any of those other things, I wouldn’t be me. But I especially wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t a sister. A protector, a herder, a wrangler, a shoulder to cry on and everything in between. This was a role thrown at me, but one I’d grown to love fiercely. One that has pushed me to do strange and wild things,dress up as a fairy princess for a birthday party, travel to every toy store in the county to buy a model train. Yet, I regret none of it.” The woman begins in a steely tone.

The eyes of the jury held an equal focus. The knife edge of her words held her own life in balance.

And yet, the woman bristled on with a reckless determination.

“In fact, I have no regret for anything. I can imagine the sorrow the family may feel, but it will never, ever, hold a candle to my own. To the lives of two innocent 7 year olds, compared to the life of one girl who didn’t even value her own to get sober enough to drive. To a girls life that has proved to me forever that karma doesn’t exist…. That innocence is a matter of finance!” The woman exclaimed slamming her hands on the oak table.

The portly bailiff slowly starts over to the desk.

Sofia’s steel melts for a second as a panicked look knits her eyebrows closer. With a frentic look she stares at the Judge. The tan middle aged woman lifts her hand up to wave off the portly bailiff.

“I’d advise against loosing your decorum. Despite being the subject of this trial I can still put you under contempt.”

Sofia began again, looking at her hands with a demure anxiety.

“Sorry… your honor… jury, As I was saying. I couldn’t care less if she was a star runner, I don’t CARE if she volunteered with the homeless once. All the details and victim impacts could not convince me that right to the BITTER END! ….. That Anne wasn’t a reckless, stupid girl, who never showed a tear of remorse for killing my siblings. Anne Perlman got a clean record and we all know deep down… she always has a clear conscious.”

Sofia looked back up at the jury her steely gaze refocused. The woman doesn’t care that their faces are white with shock and shame.

With a small smile she turns to the portly bailiff, holding her hands out. Her lawyer lets out a long sigh. But Sofia knows in all her sorrow, what she doesn’t feel, is remorse.

Her eyes were stone, staring straight at him. He expected her to falter, but she didn’t. Expected a touch in her eyes, one he couldn’t find.

She knew she was right for doing what she did. She knew they wouldn’t understand, so she wouldn’t bother to explain. She would stand here, tall and stubborn, letting them know she thought she was right.

She could still imagine his face. Watching life drain from his eyes, his face fall limp as his body collapsed to the ground. The feeling of that. Going from two in a room, to one. Alone.

But she did it. She felt a sense of accomplishment. He was gone. And she did it.

That evening, before the police had found her, she had gone home to her siblings. To her little brother, Caleb. And her sister, Maia. She had embraced them in her arms, knowing that man would never see them, and they would never see him. They were safe. They were alive. And they would stay that way.

She couldn’t bring it up now. Then people would ask questions. Questions she didn’t have answers to. They would demand to be involved. But she had to keep them safe. Caleb and Maia. They would be safe if she did this.

So she looked them in the eyes with that cold, blank stare. And she stood tall. Leaving them forever wondering why.

(CW: death, murder, supernatural activity, bugs)

I don’t believe I killed Levi Stewart.

I mean, I killed someone—something—for certain.  I’ll admit to that.  There’d be no point in trying to prove my innocence, not with the overwhelming amount of evidence stacked against me.  That’s not what I’m trying to do in this statement.

What I’m trying to do is explain.  Incarcerate me all you want, I don’t particularly care.  Honestly, I probably deserve it.  But, you have to understand, whatever I killed that day wasn’t Levi.  It couldn’t have been.

Let me just start at the beginning.

I’ve known Levi for about eight years.  Or at least, I can’t be sure.  We’ve only been friends for about seven.  I met him at school; we were both studying political science before he switched to entomology. That’s a bit of a cruel joke, now isn’t it? I think we had to do a presentation together, and that’s when we really hit it off.  Maybe it was later, though.  I don’t know.  It doesn’t matter.

My point is, I’ve known Levi for quite some time, and he’s always been the extroverted sort.  Always the life of the party, you know.  So naturally, I thought it was odd when he started acting… reclusive.

He started talking less, only speaking when spoken to, and even then in simple, one-word replies.  When we hung out together—something that occurred significantly less and less—I noticed him spacing out, staring at absolutely nothing for long periods of time.

“Levi,” I would ask, “are you okay?”

“Yes,” he’d say.  Thinking back, I can hear the monotony in his voice more than ever.  But perhaps that’s just a bit of a mind trick, especially after all that’s happened.

Eventually, he stopped going out completely.  According to his roommate, Caleb Levine, his bedroom “became his cocoon”.  Maybe even literally.  I don’t know what he spent all that time doing there and I really don’t want to.  

I hope you understand that the rest of his friends and I tried to get him help, in those days leading up to his death.  We tried calling, texting, reaching out, knocking on his door.  No response.  Simply cold, unwelcoming silence.

And then Caleb stopped communicating with us as well, and we all got really worried.  At some point, some other friend of theirs, Amelia Morris I think, remembered Levi had given me a key to their place a while back.  She reminded me so, and I decided to go in and check on them.  It made sense to, really.  There was no ill intent in that visit, I promise you.  I didn’t expect it to go so… bad.

I knocked on the door when I arrived, though more as a formality than anything else.  I knew very well that no one would open it and welcome me in.  So, I turned the key and opened it myself.

What I saw in that apartment… God, I don't even know how to describe it.  It was so wrong and…impossible… and yet, I don’t know how it could have simply been my eyes playing tricks on me or a bout of madness.  No, it was truly, and most definitely real.  You must believe that much.

The first thing I saw was Levi.  Or rather, what had become of him.  He—it—looked like… honestly, kind of like that statue of Mothman.  It’s ridiculous, I know, but you have to listen. Its eyes were black and beady, skin a sickly pale reddish brown covered in fine, barbed hairs.  Protruding from its back were two tattered, hideous wings, and its face was pinched and nasty.  I think it glared at me.  I don’t know; I was so startled I couldn’t possibly focus.  Then it lunged at me, and from its open mouth extended a long, sharp proboscis pointed directly at my face.

I did what anyone would do in that situation.  I always carry a knife in my pocket, and, well, I won’t bother explaining.  This part, you already know.

Have you ever heard of a vampire moth?  Also called a calyptra?  It’s a type of moth that uses a proboscis to pierce through the skin of certain animals, including humans, and drink their blood. I learned about the species quite recently, right after Levi’s death.  

You understand what I’m saying here, right?  I don’t know how or why it happened, I just know that it was real.  I heard from Amelia that Caleb ran off; he has a cheap apartment in another town, she said.  I think you should talk to him.  He can tell you; he’s seen the nightmare too, lived with it even. He understands.

One thing I cannot explain is why, after the creature was killed, he looked completely normal again—like Levi, lying there dead as if nothing had happened but one murder.

Oh God, I think that’s the part I hate the most. See, this is why I need you to believe me. To think that poor Levi is dead by my hand—to think that I may just be an insane murderer—it breaks my heart. But I cannot feel any remorse for the death of that thing.

[This is the last continuation of {It Was Me?}]

The court room filled with looks of hate. Hank couldn’t help but wonder “What would it be like if I wouldn’t have taken the blame?”

Hank was slowly brought to the front. The first on stand is Jacob. Hank almost scoffs, as he thinks about what his “leader” had done.

They question each person, the defendant didn’t even really try to deny it. Hank sat there silently, wishing this could be over. He decided to just stand up and say “I did, OKAY I did it!”

They dragged him away. He was put in jail, specifically death row. He had heard a guard say “let’s let him suffer for as long as possible before we you know what.”

Hank decided to start a fight with the biggest guy, as he knew he had snuck a gun in. Hank was ready for death.

[The other bits are {It Was Me?}, {The Questioning}, {The Body}, {The Arrest} and {The Fall}

“I’ve no regrets whatsoever.” “The suspect is proven guilty!” “Most would now say NOOOOO. But, I’m not most. I am guilty.” “Case closed.” “Yes, I hit my mom 1 time.” “LIFE SENTENCED TO PRISON!!!” “She was mean to me.” “In which way?” “MOMMY HIT ME FIRST!” “Oh. Never mind. No sentence.” “So… that’s it?” “Yep. You can go now.” “Oh, how simple.” “Bye!” “Bye!”

I am 100% guilty of murdering my brother. I've never liked him. He always followed me around and always got into my stuff. But that's not why I killed him. The moment I took his life, is never felt more alive. I would do it again to anyone. I'm guilty and going to jail with a smile on my face. I've never been happier than to go to his funeral. He deserved everything he got. Boy did I love hearing him scream and beg me not to kill him. Ashton had always been the favourite. He was always in the spot light, the golden child. Nothing I did was ever good enough. My parents never took notice of their firstborn and only daughter. So I killed their pride and joy. Their perfect son who had everything. Now I am happier.

I feel no remorse and I'd kill again.

Tomorrow I hear from the jury; they’ve been deliberating all night. Who are they to decide if I live or die? Who are they to put the pieces together, to be trusted to murder me after I murdered someone? An eye for an eye still rings true in this country, I suppose. But the difference is I did what I had to do, and they’re doing what they want to do. To save face, to make it look like there is still some semblance of order here. If there were order, I wouldn’t have had to grab that knife in the first place. If there were order, he would have never touched me. I wouldn’t have had to do this. I put myself first and I will never regret that. So, if tomorrow the jury comes back and condemns me to death, I’ll hold my head high, knowing that it could not have ended any other way. And with nothing left to lose, who’s to say I won’t have my own fun in prison? As long as I can find a knife again …

Judge Thompson cleared his throat into the microphone, hushing the jabbering voices present in the courtroom.

“With this guilty verdict,” his deep voice bounced off of the wooden walls, “Ms. Vendel do you have anything you would like to say to the victim’s family and friends?”

Freshly convicted Annika Vendel stood from her seat with a satisfied smile. She clasped the button on her grey blazer and smoothed her hands down her torso. “As a matter of fact, your honor,” her smile then meeting her blue eyes, “I do.”

“Please join me at the stand,” Judge Thompson gestured to the box adjacent to him.

Annika gathered a small stack of papers from the table in front of her before using them to shield her mouth from any witnesses. She whispered something to her lawyer. Whatever she said earned her a pitiful expression before the man nodded and gestured toward the same place as the judge. Annika tapped her papers twice on the desk to align them before smoothing her blonde ponytail and taking her spot on the stand.

The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound filling the courtroom, but the tension felt like a blanket of smoke contaminating the air. Annika spread the papers out across the desktop and stared into the crowd. After a long moment, the judge piped up, "Anyday now, Ms. Vendel."

Without looking away from the first row, where her deceased lover's family sat, Annika spoke. "I would like to issue a formal apology to all who knew Jasper." Her former mother-in-law sobbed into her husband's shoulder as he held her against him. The convict noted the far-away look in Jasper’s brother’s eyes and the dark circles under his sister's. "Jasper is--was, sorry," she corrected herself with a small smirk. "Jasper was seemingly a flawless son, a perfect partner, and a genuine friend. My husband commanded the attention of every room he walked into. There was a reason that he was the star quarterback, the prom king, the town's prince." Nods of agreement rippled like a wave through the crowd. "There was always a reason for everything that he did. He was a well-thought-out man, and he was so careful." Annika allowed a moment of silence for the audience to soak in the words, probably missing their double meaning.

Judge Thompson's sharp inhale was heard through the speakers, but Annika held her hand up to cut him off. "Your honor, I am not done."

"Proceed."

Ms. Vendel nodded before continuing, "His reasons for hitting me, for example, were always because I 'didn’t know when to shut my goddamned mouth.'"

Whispers and gasps erupted from the audience as the plantiff's lawyer stood to shout, "Heresay, your honor!"

"Sit down," the Judge demanded. "Language, Ms. Vendel."

"I apologize, your honor." She batted her eyelashes at the man and turned back to her audience. "And I apologize to all of you. Jasper was a perfect man because he was a manipulative narcissist, and he was damn good at it. He fooled all of us into believing he could do no wrong, and I’m sure many of you will believe it.”

Annika honed her sights on her ex mother in law. “Mrs. Lacoste, I am sorry that your favorite son grew up to be a rapist who refused to accept the word ‘no’ from his wife. Mr. Lacoste--" His hand shot up in an attempt to silence Annika's speech. "I am sorry that your oldest son used all of those years in boxing classes against his wife. I apologize that you had to turn a blind eye to my constant bruises inflicted by your son." Annika took a sip from the untouched glass of water in front of her before continuing.

“Peter,” she looked at the victim’s brother and he now looked at her. “I’m sorry that you never had a proper male role model. I hope that you never become the abuser that your brother was nor the coward that your father is.

“And Lena,” she addressed her former sister-in-law, “I wish for you to never fall into a spider’s web the way that I did. Jasper cocooned me and fed on me then apologized when I said it hurt. After I’d believe his apologies, he’d do it all over again. Someone who loves you does not intentionally hurt you.”

For her final apology, Annika allowed the tears in her eyes to fall. “Lastly, I am so, incredibly sorry to seventeen-year-old Annika Vendel. I am sorry that you fell for a web of lies. I’m sorry that he made you promises that he never kept. It isn’t your fault for believing him when he claimed he was sorry. I am sorry for the six years of hell that you were forced to endure.” Annika paused to gather her papers that she did not glance at once.

“What I am not sorry for is cutting myself from the deadly web of Jasper Lacoste. He got what was coming to him."

Judge Thompson's gavel slammed against its sound block as his voice commanded order. Police officers blocked audience members from spewing profanities at the convicted killer. The sheriff met Annika at the entryway to the stand with handcuffs. She rose from her chair, wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled at the man. Annika clasped her hands behind her before walking backward towards the officer.

“How do you feel knowing that you further damaged a family,” the man asked while clasping the metal cuffs around Annika’s wrists.

“I feel free,” the blonde woman sighed.

I have put a lot of thought into how I should go about writing this letter, and as I write it, I realize this is most likely not the best approach to defending myself before a jury. But as a man who was brought up in a devout Christian home, I was taught to always tell the truth. No matter the consequences.

Today, I stand before you as a victim. A man who refuses to feign remorse for actions I deemed necessary. In a world where survival often demands drastic measures, I simply acted in self-preservation. Regret is a luxury I cannot afford, nor do I seek absolution from those who fail to comprehend the complexities of my reality.

As I face the consequences of my actions, I cannot help but acknowledge the anguish my actions have caused the victim's family. To them, I extend my condolences, for I understand their pain, though I do not share it. However, those condolences do not equate to remorse or regret. For in the heat of the moment, my only concern was self-preservation. The events unfolded rapidly, leaving me with no choice but to defend myself against an imminent threat."

The law may judge me based on the outcome of that fateful encounter, but it fails to consider the circumstances that led to it. I am not a cold blooded murderer, but rather a survivor who fought tooth and nail to protect myself. To expect contrition from me is to disregard the fundamental instinct of survival that resides within us all.

While I may bear the burden of my actions, I refuse to carry the weight of unwarranted guilt for defending my own life. And though this statement may lead to a life of imprisonment, or even the death penalty, at least I know I will die an honest man, rather than a helpless victim at the hand of another man.

After days after killing her boyfriend, for no reason, she still has no remorse for killing her boyfriend, but today is the day of her murder trial. She just laughed the whole time she was sentenced to life in prison, without the possibility of parole.