RANTINGS RAVINGS BOOK REVIEWS

It was somehow appropriate that it was January—not that the month had tried to comply with her schedule. It had rolled around at its appropriate time with its appropriate weather and would be an appropriate backdrop to this closing chapter of her story. She vaguely wished she could thank the month for being so obliging, but of course that was crazy.

“Thanks,” she said into the wind as she trudged forward, remembering that she was crazy and on the off chance January cared, she wanted it to know she was grateful.

If she had been a poet, she could have made something very beautiful and melancholy out of the month and the dying and the craziness. She tried feebly to string words together, but found she couldn’t. Everything in her felt vague, like pain killers were on a constant drip into her system.

Imposing cast-iron gates swung out to welcome her as she meandered up the dirt road. Rocks skittered over the ground in front of her dragging feet until she slowed to a stop in the middle of a school courtyard.

Now that she wasn’t moving she was a noticeable piece of grey in the mob of blue uniformed students. She was a stationary rock in an azure river, out of place without the knee high socks and navy skirt all the other students wore. She’d left her hood up to hide her hair from their scorching gazes, knowing the jagged cut would cause these guardians of femininity to blanch. She didn’t mind standing out, but she guessed she would’ve minded being judged.

Her gaze picked through the legions of girls moving around her. One six-foot-tall, freckled, golden-haired farm-girl glanced over her form disinterestedly until her eyes locked onto the grey girl’s. She almost snorted, but couldn’t gather the emotion for it.

It was really quite funny.

She had a decent enough face, but right smack-dab in the middle of her head were Stephan-King’s-wet-dream-worthy eyes. In fact, she doubted even that master of horror would be able to articulate the dead things peering out of her head.

Her eyes stayed on farm-girl, pinning her like a golden-blue butterfly. Farm-girl’s friends had noticed she wasn’t walking with them and glanced back at her curiously.

The girl in grey could sympathize. She’d frozen herself in the mirror that morning with mild surprise (the most emotion she could conjure up). Her gaze was icy and something about it made you want to jam a fork in your eye.

Feeling a little inspired, she widened her icy orbs and slowly lifted a hand to wave. The tall girl’s blood drained out of her face and she looked close to fainting. Her friend’s hand on her arm was enough to make her jump and take advantage of her long legs to leave the girl in grey behind. A smirk inched its way onto her face.

Hell yeah. Nobody got past her eyes.

The yard was mostly clear and she could look at the school clearly. The building was a great behemoth structure, a throwback to Georgian plantations with its red-brick body and its white columns that stretched up to support a matching front balcony. The large front windows had white trim, dark shutters, and black steel bars that ran across. A large sign scrawled “Rosewood Girls Academy for the Chosen.”

A red, brick wall stretched from somewhere behind the school to wrap the courtyard garden protectively. Green trees and flowers were packed into the place, doubtless hiding dozens of cameras recording the lucky attendees’ every move.

It was only when a teacher passed her, pausing to scan her torso for a name tag (Hello! My name is: Audrey Hepburn), that she realized she’d been standing there for a significant amount of time.

She moved and there was a wrongness to her movements. If anyone had been there to see (the teacher was long gone) they would have turned away from the blasphemy of her steps.

Her limbs were limp and fluid, but there was still someone inhabiting her dead flesh, trying to move. She snickered softly at the mental image of herself on puppet strings being flopped clumsily up the front stairs and into the classroom of a horrified teacher.

She quietly pushed the door open and, as if God himself had written this moment in the stars, her eyes landed on her target.

A young girl with black hair tucked neatly behind her ears was pulling books from her locker. There was a burly teacher near her. She couldn’t help clenching her fists at the sight.

No collateral damage.

Again, God must have heard, because the girl laughingly waved the man off and, amazingly, he left, tousling her black hair as he went.

The girl was alone at her locker. Alone. At her locker.

She shifted uneasily as she stared at her oblivious target. Where were the guards? The road blocks? This plan had been thousands of hours of research and planning, yet here she was, moments away from victory, the culmination of it all, and the girl was being handed to her like a sacrificial lamb.

“Ana?” the grey girl called softly. The smiling dark eyes turned toward her. Ana looked different than the girl had imagined. She looked…very human. Like a little fairy-girl standing across from a monster. She was even slightly hunched forward, vulnerable-looking.

A hiccup escaped the “monster’s” perfect lips, something from deep down in that dark hollow of her heart…and then she was laughing.

It was just so funny. She imagined her boyfriend, her big and strong, intramural-champion, gym-rat boyfriend, and fucking Ana, this tiny fairy who couldn’t have weighed more than 80 pounds…

Her laugh pushed into hysteria. She brought a shaking hand to her face, staring at her hand in shock when it came away wet, and that only made her laugh harder—although maybe now she was officially crying a detached part of her noted dully.

The hysteria wasn’t loud enough for anyone to come into the hall, her voice was too weak, but that sound slid like snakes over the lockers and floor, crawling like a freight train of horror toward the lone spectator of this delirium, licking at her eardrums and sending violent shudders down her spine.

Ana took a cautious step back once, twice, away from the figure who looked for all the world as if every joint was out of socket. Another step… too loud. The laughter cut off, a last rasp echoing eerily in the hallway.

Ana’s heart hammered.

The monster slowly straightened, one jerky limb at a time, popping sounds echoing down the empty hall. The following silence was fragile, and she knew if something tipped that balance, action would follow. Ana really didn’t want to to be around for that action.

The grey figure tilted her head back and Ana was caught in horror by the deep seated eyes peering out of the intruder’s face. Her mouth popped open in a small “o.”

A small whimper broke in the air and Ana slapped her hand over her mouth, wishing she could take that small sound back, but it was too late. Her opponent snarled.

Something glinted in the grey monster’s hand—a small knife, and then she yanked forward, running with her staggering, wild gait toward Ana.

Confidence infused Ana, and the girl looked every bit a heroine princess. She felt relief roll through her, loosening her shoulders. Despite the girl’s terrifying appearance she was attacking in a mundane, normal way. Ana had been trained for this. She reached into her purse and pulled out something sharp of her own.

“Stop this,” she said, her voice level. She stood taller with the knife now, though her hand shook as the girl continued to sprint toward her. “Please.” The monster didn’t stop. As the grey girl ran past, Ana twirled deftly, and each of their blades snagged on flesh. The monster’s blade grazed Ana’s translucent cheek, while Ana’s own knife found its way into the girl’s armpit, digging into her heart.

Ana pursed her lips and felt any remaining tension fall out of her as the monster continued to run down the hall, the protruding, bloody knife-handle glinting in the fluorescent light. Ana stood quietly for a moment before shutting her locker, a small crease between her brows. She was wondering if she should report this or let whoever found the girl’s body deal with it. It was such a hassle to fill out the forms, officially launch an investigation. Sure it was impressive that the girl had gotten in their fortress at all, but just a knife-scratch…

She was adjusting her hold on her bag when her dark eyes widened in mild surprise. One of her hands raised of its own accord to her throat, then ghosted over the cut on her cheek. Her heart rate spiked and she started clutching at her throat and chest area, wrapping first one hand around her throat, scraping down it with her nails, and then the other.

Soon blood was soaking the front of her shirt from the self-inflicted wounds, and she wondered vaguely if it would be immodest, like a wet t-shirt contest when the paramedics arrived. She began to claw her chest too, sharp nails parting her flesh, bringing more morbid stains on the pale blue prep-school uniform.

It was then that she realized the paramedics might not be coming. She froze momentarily in shock and pain. No one was in the hall, no one had seen what just happened.

No one had called 911.

No one was coming to help her.

She stumbled forward. There was a classroom about five yards ahead. She hit the ground hard, still clutching at her throat, her legs unable to support her. She stumbled up and forward again, not even fully straightening before she fell again. Her chest was tight now and her head pounded.

She lay face down on the carpet of her fortress. She noted dully that this shouldn’t be happening...it was completely illogical.

She was too weak. Her heart raced, trying desperately to disperse oxygen that wasn’t there, blood starting to leak out through her eye sockets. She clawed the floor, trying to drag herself. She was so close to that door, probably less than a yard now if she stretched.

Now her face was purple, blood vessels popped in the girl’s eyeballs. Her lips took on a faint blue as her irregular heart tripped and staggered on its last leg.

Then it stopped.

Soon after, the tiny heartbeat that pittered out from her womb sputtered, stumbled and joined its mother in loud silence.

From the classroom the corpse was still reaching towards, her classmates’ laughter echoed out into the hall.

The temporary victor had turned around to watch the show. Oddly, or maybe not oddly considering her mental fog, she didn’t feel anything. She walked backward, out onto the back steps of the school.

She closed her eyes and saw a flash of the blood staining the front of Ana’s shirt.

The muscles in her shoulders and joints began to loosen as they slipped out of her control. She stumbled with a breathy choked sound (she had a collapsed lung after all) and caught herself on the railing.

She watched dully as a red drop suddenly appeared on the concrete by her feet. Then more. Something tickled her nose, and she hesitantly rubbed the backs of her hands against it. They came away covered in red.

She was just so…tired.

That voice in her head came softly to her, whispering that “it was time,” and some of her old self seeped back into her as she remembered that she didn’t like to be told what to do. She raised a hand, flipping the voice off before quickly dropping her arm again in fatigue.

Really she was just so, so tired.

The grey girl straightened (her mother would have been disappointed if she’d died slouching, heaven forbid) and looked down at the red on the cement. She took a deep, raspy breath, and a tear might have made it to the corner of her eye before the bullet ripped through her hand.

Numbly shocked, she looked down at her once elegant hands. The only thought that echoed through her head was, But I play the cello… She held up her wounded hand to her face and realized they’d shot off her middle finger, and she gave a breathy, disbelieving laugh.

Brain matter stained the ground behind her when the next bullet struck her between the eyes. Almost simultaneously a second bullet delved into her already torn heart for good measure.

She did not feel the cement as it smashed the delicate bones of her beautiful face. Provided the bullets and knife hadn’t killed her, her neck twisted and snapped backward, severing the spinal chord and sealing her fate.

The air was silent around her. Later, when the people inside found her body, they would take and do unspeakable things to it in revenge for her misdeed. She had known this and had decided she was fine with it as long as Ana was dead. She’d made her peace and said her goodbyes to the world.

January fourth she’d had her last bowl of Ramen Noodles.

The fifth she’d visited a dog park and had her last fill of puppy-lovin’, not caring when she’d arrived home in jeans damp with saliva.

She’d given her guinea pig to a good home.

Sadly, she hadn’t had sex this month, but she had vicariously lived out a romance in the last book she’d ever read, which she finished on the tenth.

The eleventh she’d started the sequel, even talking with the bookstore clerk about her excitement to get to the end. She hadn’t allowed anyone to spoil it for her out of stubbornness, and now she guessed she would never know if it turned out okay.

The twelfth she’d had her last (delicious) cup of coffee.

Today, January thirteenth, she’d walked, teased, laughed at her own joke, and cried for the last time.

January. It was the first and the last time she ever murdered anybody. It made an appropriate backdrop to this final, closing chapter of her sad little story.