Alyssa's Revenge

         I know what you’re thinking.  Alyssa Davis, accused murderer; what a thrill, to finally hear what she experienced.  Thrilling it might be, but my story is not the one your mind weaves.  Cara Lynston was not an innocent victim.  She was a fake, malicious, overbearing bitch.  Karma completed its circle, the day she died.

         Cara Lynston used to sit in front of me in Physics, another of the blind masses.  She and her like-minded cattle had accepted the fashion of “emo”, but had rejected the true meaning of emo, the issue at heart behind the style: an individual able to admit to their emotions, unashamed of them.  If one were depressed, they were depressed for a clear, defined reason, secretive though it might be.  Cara Lynston, however, relished in the decline of true emos, trampling upon anyone in the way of her inexorable march towards popularity.  As she would enter class with her friends, I would finger my studded belt, or black, angular glasses, debating whether or not she and I truly dressed similarly, concerned that I might be mistaken for one of her followers.  However, anyone that knew the difference would label me as a true emo, and her, the filthy poser that she was.

         She whirled around in her seat one day, and much to my disgust, spoke to me.  “Hey, Alyssa, could I see your homework?  I had cheerleading practice last night and didn’t finish.”

         “No.”  Despite my lack of true effort in the assigned work, she clearly had not attempted even that much and I refused to allow her to receive class credit for her own laziness.

         “Whatever.  You probably got everything wrong, anyway.  Hey, why don’t you ever hang out with any of your little artsy friends during class?”  Cara Lynston’s followers laughed at their ever-so-clever leader.

         “So I can annoy you.”

         This time, Cara Lynston laughed, loudly, and so close I could smell the mint-flavored gum she chomped on while searching for a semi-intelligent reply.  “I’m obviously not the only one you annoy, if your ‘friends’ are never here like this.”

         I ignored her, and started drawing a tree on a scrap piece of paper, a young woman with Cara Lynston’s pug face dangling from a branch, her neck in a rope.  What Cara Lynston didn’t realize, however, is that I filed her little slip of information away in my mind.  She had cheerleading practice on Tuesdays.

         After that day, I began spending my time in the Commons, seemingly working on math homework, but secretly, I watched cheerleading practice, and watch Cara Lynston’s poisonous powers influence her team members.  Another kind of poison began to seep within me.

         I overheard her mention that she had to go to the Physics classroom after practice one day.  Unsure of the powers suddenly controlling me, I stood up, collected my possessions, and left, my destination the very room she had named.

         Sitting in an unfamiliar chair in the classroom, the venom within my heart began to nourish my desires.  Cara Lynston was a despicable person, and fed the insecurities of everyone she came in contact with.  By the time she finally walked through that classroom door, my goal had solidified.

         When I left through the back hall thirty minutes later, I glanced backward at her bloody, broken body, reviewing the scene of death, searching for anything that might hint at my guilt.  The chair I had used to mutilate her conceited air held more fingerprints than just my own.  So when I was interviewed by the police, whose only evidence was a video tape of my entrance of the room, I claimed that I had left the room before she entered.

         Although my claims were doubted and brought to court, I was, as you know, found innocent based on lack of evidence.  After all, what motive could I possibly have to kill a girl that sat in front of me in Physics class?




         The elderly man, an experienced lawyer, sat back in his seat, shocked by this young girl’s tale, desperately wishing he could experience disbelief, desperately wishing he had not just defended a murderer in a court of law.  Her eyes hinted at madness.  Why had the jury released a monster into civilization, proclaiming innocence?  An image of the murder scene flashed through his mind, the body of the young, beautiful Cara Lynston beaten beyond recognition.  What had he let loose?