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Sunday, October 18, 2009,

Chapter 1: Murderer

“Why aren’t you smiling? Smile. The world is so much brighter that way,” I say, looming over the dead body. “The room is so pretty, look at all the red hues. I love red. I love roses.” Placing a rose next to her, I creep out of the room.

***

Be like a flower, girl. Flowers are pretty. Flowers are graceful. You must be a flower.

No. I hate flowers.

Look at this rose. How beautiful, how fragrant, how elegant.

It has thorns.

***

I am a rose. A beautiful one. But when someone touches me, I get mad. My thorns prick their finger.

And they bleed.

8:28 PM



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