Hypothetically... *looks around furtively*.... and I mean hypothetically, if I were a serial killer, I'd be just as I am... except I'd be a serial killer.
After all, nobody expects the wide eyed teenage girl who is always stuck in books to be truly present, much less kill real people. Then again, nobody checks to make sure I've actually read them either. You wouldn't know that they could read English. Or were ever teenagers. I mean honestly, do they really think I want to read an entire book about other stupid teenagers who do stupid things like falling in love? Goodness.
And getting out? No biggie. It's not hard to hang out with friends that don't exist. Who needs to sneak out of windows? Lame. And then, after the deed is done, just waltz up to your room and BAM! Alibi. Because nobody really remembers where I was, nobody really cares. And I've been working on that butt load of homework, hmm? Well, naturally it's hard work being a serial killer. I've got to work my hand off at school copying answers all lunch. What a fantastic student.
Not to mention my murder weapons. Ha! They're lying right under their noses. Papa, I'm so sorry. I was showing your gun to a guy friend and forgot to give it back. At most, a small scolding and a pat on my head. Oh, Ms. Rainsfield? Mind if I use the chemistry lab after school? It doesn't hurt to bat an eyelash or two with her either. An unlimited supply of super strong acid in the clutches of a teenage who may or may not be alone in the AP Chem classroom? What could go wrong? *bats eyelashes*
Why become a serial killer? Well first off, paid target practice with the gun! Blowing up heads is pretty cool, especially if you weren't particularly fond of them. The poison is for jobs I might possibly feel guilty about in the long run. Leave it up to providence then. After all, I'm not making them drink that cup of water on the nightstand. Then again, fate's pretty cruel too.
Besides, the black market pays well. College? Bah, I don't need to go to some stuck up school to make a decent living. I'd rather not put myself under that ginormous pile of debt only to have to live under it. Might as well sell yourself in to slavery. Me? Once I make enough dough I'm going to see the world.
Live life. Survival of the fittest, you know. Who says you have to live by society's rules? Not me, no siree.
But you know. It's not like I have it planned out or anything. I'm just one teenage girl who is so stressed by her exams she's always breaking out. Such a brilliant student, a bookworm as well! She's got her head in the clouds, couldn't have done this. Besides, there's no murder weapon. Because, y'know. This is all hypothetical.
By the way, there's a glass on my nightstand. Thirsty?
Zooming to Class
Rushing to class, thinking I’m late, I’m late, I’m late! Hashbrown fingers flying as you stuff your remaining breakfast in your mouth, you go to the next tab and-- wait, no, you don’t need to see your horoscope! Finally finding the link, fingers aching and leaning back in your chair from the pure exhaustion of thinking so fast, you slump in you chair and sigh.
“Stupid Crapper, makes his class so early...”
Swiping the hair from your eyes in the mirror and checking for ketchup on your mouth because Sam’s in your class, you put on a smile and turn to find--
“Chromebook, I REALLY need you to work right now! If not, I’m going to literally throw you on the floor!” You threaten, gesturing to the wooden floorboards littered with scattered worksheets.
The circle keeps spinning round and round and round and you hit the side impatiently and--
“I have WiFi! You are total BS!” you grumble, grudgingly turning on your precious hotspot.
Twenty minutes late, and still... surprise, surprise, still loading. You hit the side again in frustration and the screen goes black. Oh my penguins.
“No, no, no, no, no! Look here, I’m sorry. Just please work. I’ll plug you in. I need to get that flibbertigibbet Crapper’s class. C’mon, c’mon, c’monnnnn.”
The screen goes white and the pure relief radiating from the very fact it just turned on.
“I’ll feed you instant ramen, I’ll bring you to the Maldives, I’ll marry you, JUST PLEASE KEEP COOPERATING,” you beg as you open your gmail, clicking on the link frantically.
“You can do it, you can do it...”
The screen pops up asking if you want your face to show or not. You click yes and enter the classroom, kissing your chromebook screen in pure joy.
“Alex, glad you could finally join us... what are you doing?”
“Sorry Mr. Crapper--” your cheeks warm, and he sends you the iciest glare as the other students barely muffle their laughter.
“I mean, Mr. Capper, my chromebook was giving me issues.”
“Yeah, right. I told you that today was your last chance. Not only are you late, you’ve disrupted the end of this lesson. Respectful students,” he says mockingly, ” you are dismissed. Alex, expect an email to your parents. Unless you’re Spider Man, don’t bother coming next week.”
The Zoom ends, and you wonder how that could’ve gone any worse. Slamming your stupid chromebook shut, you turn around and flop face-first onto your bed. And then, naturally, just when it really can’t get any worse, your mom peeks through the door.
“Alex, how was class? I heard you talking to someone even after I cut the WiFi cord because I read an article about poisonous spider that crawl through WiFi wires. So scary! Anyway, I’ll make you some brownies?
You would scream that a bug in your computer is not an actual bug, but today you are much too tired and who needs WiFi anyway? Well, you do. But not right now. And staring at her expecting eyes, you just can’t tell her what happened. Then she wouldn’t make the brownies, and you really needed them at this point.
“Yeah, lucky me! Thank you for saving us from some bug!” you whoop half-heartedly. “I could definitely use some brownies.”
“Great, I’ll go to the store to buy some. I saw some cheap expired ones yesterday!””
After you make sure the door has clicked behind her, you roll over to stare at the ceiling.
“Well, that was... well cr- AHHH MOM THERES A SPIDER IN MY ROOM”
“Don’t worry hon, I’m coming with my hazmat suit!”
Peering at your ceiling, she waves it off as not poisonous. You relax, until it falls and bites you and you become Spider-Man 2.0. Ha, Mr. Crapper.
coloring white roses
the start of an era
or the end of one?
or perhaps we shouldn't count time
after all, time is infinite and we are not
the *tock* of my grandfather clock
as another granule makes the plunge
are you afraid
of the unlit seaglass that will fall
when death is fated to coil 'round your neck?
that moment when your eyelashes
meet the bags under your eyes
for the last time?
i have always been slow
and even i who barely knows myself knows
that even when 2021 comes
we will be reluctant to let 2020 go
fisting thorns in our palms
coloring white roses red
because isn't time always more romantic
in hindsight, staring up from your bed?
What haven’t you heard, read, or seen before? I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. At least, I’m pretty sure. But, the fact of the matter, is you HAVE seen me. I assure you that you’ve read me in books, heard me in songs, seen me at school. How do I know? Because I’ve read me in books, heard me in songs, seen me in the movies. Whether her name was April or Paige or Riley, you have seen my life play out as their’s. We are simply the same prosaic colored shards rearranged into mosaic stained glass windows. Art reflects life, and life reflects art. Life reflects life. There is nothing I could serve you that you haven’t had before. I am just an imitation of life before me, because I wasn’t made to be unique. There is a reason new discoveries, no matter how minute, are so celebrated. But I haven’t made any earth-shattering discoveries. I am only one teenage girl who is okay with being un-unique. So is it just ique? Point is, if I had, I’d be famous and not sitting in this leather chair grasping at the elusive straws of dreams. So I will not put myself on this page for you, because you are not looking for me. You’re looking for a discovery handed to you on a silver plate. Well, happy birthday, merry christmas. Here is your unsurprising discovery everyone has an inkling of but won’t acknowledge.