Leighton Keiler is an anomaly here in Galena. He was wildly popular in high school. He had good grades, a pretty girl on his arm, a national award-winning martial artist, and his parents died. Then nothing. Since he graduated he has stayed in that big white house his rich parents owned. Who knows? He could be Batman.

A lot of rumors float around, but I’ve studied the Keiler’s case. So here's what I know. Leighton was born on November 13, 1984. His parents were the richest family in Galena, not a huge feat because we’re such a small town. Nonetheless, they were loaded. His mom Sage was your average 80s housewife and his dad Leslie was a British Navy veteran but also an alcoholic, he liked to beat on Leighton and Sage anytime anything was off. He never faced any real consequences for his actions.

Sage had her problems though. She favored her daughter Maya. She would treat Maya like a queen and consistently forget Leighton despite his achievements. He would work his fingers to the bone trying to get some recognition from his parents.

Leslie hated his son. Leighton was always good but not in the way he wanted. He wanted a son who played soccer, partook in ROTC, and worked hard. Leighton on the other hand was active but preferred Taekwondo, he did extracurriculars but led the debate club, and he never learned his dad’s work ethic. The more Leighton drifted, the more Leslie hated him, the more violent Leslie became, the more Lighton hated him. And the cycle never ended.

Until October 12, 2003. Leslie and Sage were found dead in their home from a murder-suicide committed by Leslie. Leighton and Maya were at school and unfortunately had to hear the news via the principal. Leighton had turned 18. He was on his own, but got his father’s inheritance. Maya went to live with her aunt in New York. Although Leighton had a 4.0 GPA he dropped out and became a hermit. An interesting thing about this case is that Leighton wasn’t in the sight of anyone we know of when his parents died. It’s speculated that he was out dealing drugs. When he was questioned he was found with weed on him.

Theories circulate throughout Galena. Some people think Leighton killed his parents, some think Leighton’s dead body is laying in that house and that’s why no one sees him, but i think he’s just a broken guy living in that house alone wallowing in self-pity. It’s sad.

Today is Graduation. I get out of bed with a bit more optimism than I’ve had the past 4 years, I get dressed in a nice black dress, tights, and the same converse I wear every day. The shoes are torn up, but they’re what I have from my dad.

When I was 7, I wanted my room to be red. After dad had bought me a red balloon and it popped, I was so upset that Dad bought two buckets of red paint at the hardware store and painted my room. Unfortunately, we got it on Mom’s college shoes. My dad had hid the shoes in his closet, and gave them to me the day before he kicked the bucket. So, yes. I have been wearing the same shoes for 4 years. I’ve replaced the soles twice. I don’t think I'll ever stop wearing them.

I pull up to the school. The parking lot looks so empty. The assembly doesn’t start for 30 minutes, but I got here early to talk to Sanchez, but I didn't see her car. She must not be here yet. I put a CD in the player and crank the volume. I pull out my notebook and continue working on a poem. I write horror poetry for an occult publication in Europe.

falling in love is such a fickle thing

` and I love much differently than the rest

because I'll love you until death we part

until your blood is on the carpet

and I've seen inside your chest

until your limbs are sprawled-

BAP BAP BAP! I jerk my head around to see a blonde curly haired younger man knocking on my truck window. I turn down the radio, put my notebook to the side and roll down my window.

“Kindness Kimberly Sinlcair. Your parents like the letter K, hm?” I look at the man with confusion and disdain

“I’m sorry. Do I fucking know you?” He smiles at me, and moves his light, curly hair with his left hand.

“According to 7 different people, you know the most about me” I look into his dark eyes contemplating. We sit in silence for what feels like 30 minutes. Shit. Leighton Keiler. He sees the realization on my face and that sweet smile scarily fades in a heartbeat. “What are you doing today?”

“Um I- Well it’s graduation day…” he rolls his eyes.

“Can’t you skip that?” I look at the clock. 6 minutes till assembly.

“Erm- no, i can’t. I’m already late to meet someone.” his smile returns, less sweet this time, more preformative.

“10pm, meet me at the corner of Grove and Toledo.” he begins to make his departure.

“No? What? With the string of murders? Are you fucking nuts?”

“I’ll protect you. Come.” his dark eyes look more relaxed now

“You can come pick me up at my house or I can drive to yours. I’m not meeting a 23 year old in the middle of nowhere.” he shrugs with content.

“Fine. come to mine at 9:30” I look at him in gentle triumph and wait for him to leave. Great. Now I don't have time to see Ms. Sanchez. Teacher-student fantasy. Gone

I had to lay low

the police were close

i tightened the floorboards

and held tightly to my hopes

but after a few months

nothing.

no interrogation

no questions

so the gig is back on

think I should mention

there's no bias

no hatred

do i relish it? yes

but people love my films

and some have done a lot more for a lot less

no children are involved

just the greedy and the stupid

but i'm the only one who sees

that only i could do it

others couldn't be Robin Hood

others would get lazy

others would get sloppy

others are crazy

but i'm doing it right

i'm making art

and now that i'm safe

i can finally start

again

You’d think by now i’d be a pretty crier

You’d think by now i’d know how how to make the tears fall like diamonds

Keep them in a jar and sell them to whoever crosses my path

You’d think my now my sobs would sound like a melody under the trees

And my shaking body would look more like dancers floating in a field of roses

You’d think the tears in my eyes would glisten like the sea

And that my sadness would remind the masses of the Mona Lisa

You’d think time heals all wounds

You’d think by now i’d be covered in scars

Rather than bleeding out in the dirt, the cacti to drinking from my pain

Alone in the desert, no water for miles

The only thing escaping my chapped lips is a cry for help

But no one can hear me

Its almost like I’m camouflaged

You’d think by now i’d be a pretty crier

You’d think by now i’d know how how to make the tears fall like diamonds

Keep them in a jar and sell them to whoever crosses my path

A tiny house in California

Could buy us a mansion way out here

The sad part is i know we hate this place

We’re running but we cant go fast

We’re treading over broken glass

Is it our feet or our heads that know we’re bleeding

Everyone goes

I know i know i know

But we’re getting way too comfortable hating ourselves

Like the stars we wished on are just giant balls of gas

But everyone goes

I know i know i know

Took some pills, maybe I’ll feel better

Can you get high off of Benadryl

It’s four am and I’m still wide awake

I blew all my cash in 16 hours

I can’t even pay my bills

I give a new definition to “starving artist”

So i have to go

I know i know i know

A corpse they found underneath San Domingo bridge

I want to tell you, but all my words are wrong

So I have to go

I know i know i know

So we gotta go

I know i know i know

I took your word and abandoned it

The moment you left was the moment i hid

Feel the blood running down my wrists

But im terrified it’s all in my head

I’ll go out to public-owned land

And call 911 before I lose my head

Will I decompose before someone cares?

Will they scream “WE WERE JUST RIGHT HERE!”

Or Will aliens pick me up and take me far

Was Heaven’s Gate that crazy after all?

Or will I die, and that’s it?

Purpose is what idiots make of it

Are these all warning signs

Maybe i should get help this time

My therapist doesnt think I'm crazy

Is there hope for an alien like me?

A silenced gun, and a happy face

Is the silence my happy place?

The blood falls from my wrists

On to the piano

Somehow the most beautiful music is made that way

Van Gogh eats the yellow paint

Histrionic

Art is made by the bloody tragic crisis’ of our lives

I sit in my darkened room, staring at the old Brittney Spears poster that fell off my wall two weeks ago. I've decided it's not worth my time picking it up. my eyes drift to the digital clock on my decades-old pink vanity—7:45 am. I'm running late. I let out a heavy sigh and lift my emotionally malnourished body off of the creaky twin-sized bed that I've slept in since second grade.

The emotional hermit of a human I call Mom hasn't refurbished my room since my dad died. When he committed suicide Karol decided that she'd take up a hobby in apathy. She doesn't talk to me until absolutely necessary and doesn't seem to care about anything I do since I got out of ED recovery. She never seems to notice that the only time I ever even leave my room is for school, and today is my last day, after today, I am graduated.

I make my way to the bathroom to wash my face and throw on makeup. I look at the person in the mirror. she looks like me, but half alive. I wash my face and put on enough makeup to hide the paleness of my skin, I muster up a smile and head down to the kitchen. Kallum is standing by the door excitedly. I look at the plate of food my mother left out for me and leave the house. I get in my 2004 Chevy Silverado and drive. Kallum chooses the music, it winds up being some video game music I've never heard of. I crank the volume and keep my eyes on the road. Kallum is rocking out doing air guitar and mouthing the lyrics. I smile to myself. I love him.

we pull into Galena High School. Kallum's eyes light up as he sees his girlfriend. A small black girl with pigtails, blue and pink glitter eyeshadow, and an oversized letterman jacket knocks on my passenger window. Kallum rolls it down and gives her a passionate kiss.

"PDA!" i yell playfully and shoo him out of my car. They both giggle and run off into the school yard. a large purple school bus with the words "CLASS OF 2008!" spray painted on the side pulls into the school parking lot. Jocks pour out of the badly painted bus and start chanting.

"C.L.A.S.S of 20 06, C.L.A.S.S of 20 06". I roll up my passenger window, put in the new Amy Winehouse CD, and wait for the bell to ring. I run to class, trip 4 times and make it into Ms. Sanchez's class with 26 seconds to spare.

Ms. Sanchez is the best teacher in the entire school. she's taken care of me all year and helped me pass all my classes, now i get to spend my last day in her classroom. I know everyone but i don't really have friends, it never really bothered me until Ms. Sanchez says the worst sentence an introvert could hear.

"Everyone find a partner". I have a mini panic attack and wind up partnering with the teacher, which I don't mind but everyone will give me weird looks. but at this point, I'm used to being looked at this way. we play a trivia game. you pick a random prompt, and you have to answer it about one of the people in the partnership and see if you come up with the same answer. luckily I've eaten lunch with Sanchez all year and I know more about her than any of the students.

"favorite color? 1, 2, 3!" i smirk

"Purple!" we say in unison

"Spirit animal?"

"Albatross!"

"Dream travel destination?"

"I don't know this one," she says to me with an eyebrow raised

"Amsterdam" I respond shyly

"That's a good answer though" she chuckles "Illinois sucks anyway"

I feel good.

Would you understand me better

If I spoke in binary code

If I got your attention with

Beeps and boops, and monotone speech

Would you find me interesting

If you could control me with a remote

If I was fast and flashy and eye-catching

But I'm not a machine

I'm a person

Not a perfect one

But one who tries her best

Though I don't sing in 0s and 1s

Every song is about you

But I'm fighting a screen

And I know I can't beat a machine

They are made to be perfect

I was made to be me

And sometimes thats not good enough

Your attention is more applicable

To something that doesnt ask for love back

Something that will do what it is programmed to

Something that can't prove you wrong

Something that listens to you

But I'm just human

And thats not enough

I guess

Pinch me now

You're caught in my crossfire

Fell into

Your arms, but they got tired

We're so good aren't we

Till it just stops working

Almost like

We tore out the same page, and

Left a lot of

Room for the same mistakes you

Never quite let me in

Till it gets bad again

I'll stop waving a flag

I'll just drop all caring for that

I go quiet

And you go cold

Hope it passes before

We get

Older

Humour me

Be honest do you

Need a break from me

I see you suffocating

But won't you just look at me

Or am I too draining

You spent hours awake

Holding me, said it was okay

I was crying

But you got tired

Hope it passes before

We get

Older

ive cried every day this week

and I'm not sure why

ive never been so fucking depressed

but it's alright

or at least I think it is

i've listened to more music

but each song makes me sad

ive paid much more attention to the words

"I had a feeling so peculiar

that this pain would be for

Evermore"

i listened to that song for an hour staight

while crying

and lying in bed instead of going to work

keeping my boyfriend worried

keep him on his toes

i'm on my toes too

i don't know why I feel like this

why it wont stop

no one is mad at me

so why do I feel that the world is against me

like there is a gun to my back

i almost want him to pull the trigger

he wont

who cares what I want

but I just want to be okay

why is it so hard to feel normal

fuck

fuck

i cant stop my fingers

they move at lighting speed

writing the longest poem know to man

nobody will read it, stupid

it's not pleasant, because my mind hasn't been pleasant

nobody wants to know what you're going through

they want to read an entertaining piece of art

write that

no, I don't want to I can't

who cares who reads it, I wrote it

barely, I havent even got out of bed today

i woke up at 2pm

lazy

sloppy

ungrateful

be better

i can't

im trying my best

so try harder

i can barely keep myself clean

THEN TRY HARDER

i cant

i cant

i cant

you wont

you wont

you wont

your the reason for all your problems

self-sabatoage is your middle name

you wont get up

you wont work on your album

you wont write poetry

you wont smile

you wont change your clothes

you wont take a shower

it's possible, you just wont

you want to stay sad

admit it

you like feeling helpless

you like that lack of control

i dont

but you need it

i can't have this conversation

you wont

you avoid confrontation because you love it

fine I wont have this conversation

goodnight