I once knew a girl in middle and high school who was quite peculiar. I'm not saying every kid was normal during this period of their developing lives, but this girl was definitely strange. She looked just like any other student, with tan skin and long brown hair. Her eyes were light green and they shimmered in the flourescent classroom lighting. She wore a different dress every day; I wasn't sure if she even owned one pair of pants. Regardless, she didn't look as bad as her personality suggested. For whatever reason, she was very quiet and preferred to sit alone. I didn't question this, as I went through this in elementary school. By middle school, I had formed many new friendships. One thing I noticed about this girl, though, was that she …show more content…
always carried a notebook with her. She never carried any other books around, only this black spiral notebook. Nobody knew what she kept in it. Then one day, I caught her eye as I turned the corridor. She quickly slammed her notebook shut and covered the bottom half of her face with it, keeping her eyes focused on me, observing my every move. This was my first encounter with her. I was scared, to be honest. I didn't know why she was acting so suspicious, but I decided to disregard the situation and continued walking to class. As soon as I sat down, something in the room felt wrong.
The air felt heavy and I felt as if something tragic was going to happen. I pulled down the sleeves of my jacket and glanced around the room. And then I saw her. I was so confused; why the hell was she in my class? What does whe want? Who even is she?! To my delight, the teacher addressed the girl by her name and politely asked her to leave. The girl's name was Miranda. After school on the day before spring break, a boy confronted me and told me how he felt. I was shocked. I had nothing to lose, so I eagerly accepted his feelings. He held my hand as he walked me to my bus, and hugged me before I departed. "Have a nice break," he said, smiling. Then all of a sudden, he began to choke, and blood dribbled from his mouth and got on my jacket. "What the hell?!" I yelled. I grabbed his shoulders and stared, astonished, at his face, as he silently pleaded for help. I couldn't handle looking at him anymore and I was frozen in shock, so I let him fall to the ground. The person behind him was exposed, holding a bloody pocket knife and that damn black spiral notebook. Miranda. I screamed, and students looked over at me, wondering what the commotion was about. Miranda stuffed the pocket knife in her notebook, keeping her eyes on me, and then she walked away, covering a blood stain on her dress with her …show more content…
notebook. That night I texted my best friend, Bridget, about the incident. I couldn't sleep, so we carried quite an extensive conversation... Bridget: No way... So the day you get a boyfriend, this Miranda chick goes and stabs him with a pocket knife??? How the fuck did she even manage to do that? Me: I don't know, but I still feel sick. I got blood on my jacket. I ran it through the laundry twice but it's still stained. Bridget: We need to tell someone about this. If you want, I can do it for you. Me: Alright... Yeah, I'm going to stay home for the next couple days. Are you sure you can do this without me? I mean, I was a firsthand witness... Bridget: It'll be okay. I'll show the police our text messages and the photos posted on the Internet. I'm sure the cops have heard about the story by now, anyway. News spreads fast. Me: Thank you so much. Bridget: Don't mention it. The next morning, I texted Bridget to make sure if she would be okay on her own.
She said yes and that she was already on her way, so I wished her luck. Anxiety took over after three hours, though. I had expected her to text me details of what had happened. I assumed her phone died, but that didn't relieve my anxiety. Then my mind wandered to other possibilities... What if she got kidnapped? What if her bus got in a collision? What if she just didn't go? I couldn't stay, still, so I decided to make myself a late lunch. Then, my phone vibrated. I checked it immediately: "1 new message: Bridget: Hey! Sorry I didn't text back earlier, my phone died. Everything went well. " A wave of relief washed over me. I was able to eat my lunch in peace. I grabbed the TV remote and turned the TV on. I switched to the news channel to see if anything had yet been settled with Miranda, but the news broadcasts only made me cringe. "At 11:24 this morning, sixteen year old Bridget ***** was witnessed being stabbed brutally by an unidentified teenage girl wearing a short lavender dress and sandals. Her face was covered, but she was noted as being about 5'6" with a "nice tan" and long brown hair. If anybody sees her around, please report her to the police
immediately." Once again, anxiety took over and I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Miranda must have taken Bridget's phone and texted me, posing as my best friend. The thought disturbed me so much that I threw my phone at the wall, shattering the screen. Then, I dropped it in the pot of water I left on the stove. I didn't want to be receiving any messages from Miranda, especially if she was going to pretend to be my best friend. I felt sick. My Mother asked me what the banging on the walls was for, and I just shook my head and said that it didn't matter. But it did matter. But I didn't want to get anybody else involved. But I needed to get Miranda framed. But she's obviously a skilled killer. What the hell was her problem, anyway? "Are you sure nothing's wrong?" my Mom asked me. "Well..." I groaned, still deciding whether or not to tell her. I hesitated, but confessed what has been happening. "There's a girl that goes to my school that has killed 2 people within 24 hours. I'm really scared and I don't know what to do and I feel like she's going to come after me and I'm freaking out, Mom! The sound you heard was my phone being smashed against the wall. She texted me posing as Bridget!" "I don't believe this... What did the message say?" My Mom asked. "It said, 'sorry I didn't text back sooner, my phone died.' Mom you have to believe me, this is serious." "I'm sure Bridget wouldn't lie to you, and what would some killer teenager be doing with her phone? How would she even get in? Bridget has a complex password. I'm sure you're overreacting." "Mom, it was just on the news! Miranda is going after people!" And with that, I was driven directly to the nearest mental institution, being labeled as extremely paranoid. The hospital wasn't as bad as I made it out to be. The food wasn't great, but it wasn't nearly as bad as school cafeteria food. The nurses were mostly friendly, and it was exciting whenever a patient tried to escape. The hospital was quiet and even though I didn't belong there, I had grown to like it a bit more than home. Two weeks can really change a lot. My Mom was able to visit me every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening for an hour. It was another chance for me to interact with the outside world, so I never missed visitation hours. Saturday night was quiet, for the most part. Since I had nothing better to do with my time, laundry was fun for me. I sat on my bed and folded laundry. And then I'd fold it again. And then I'd fold it again. And again. And again, until every piece of clothing was folded identically. It was a meticulous, over-repetitive process, but it definitely did pass time. "Any reason why there's blood on all of your clothes?" I heard a nurse talking with someone outside my door. I perked up and listened closer. "You know why... It's why I'm here, you idiot," a familiar voice groaned, irritated. Miranda?! I panicked. I threw my laundry onto the floor and started crying. I thought I would never have to see her again! I screamed and the nurse threw open the door, immediately asking me what was wrong. I couldn't talk. I could only cry and cover my face with one hand, and point at Miranda with the other. The nurse decided it would be best to put me in solitary confinement for the night since she collected signs that I was "unstable". It took a few nurses to get the straight jacket on me. I thrashed around, screaming and begging to be let go, but the nurses refused. Eventually, I gave in. As they locked me in a small, dimly lit room, I gasped for air and tearfully looked through the tiny window at Miranda, who grinned evilly. I collapsed in defeat, closing my eyes tightly to try and stop any more tears from falling. When I opened my eyes, the same evil, terrifying grinning face stared right back at me. Miranda.....
5 feet 6 or 8 inches high, weighs between 150 and 160 pounds, rather "bright" complexion, but not a mulatto, broad shoulders, larger flat nose, large eyes, broad flat feet, rather knockneed, walks brisk and active, hair on the top of the head very thin, no beard, except on the upper lip and the top of the chin, a scar on one of his temples, also one on the back of his neck, a large knot on one of the bones of his right arm, near the wrist, produced by a blow...
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