Just a little short story I wrote, tell me if you like it!


She was the image of perfection.

Class President for six years in a row, regular fundraiser, top of the class, head of the cheerleading squad, you name it, she has been there and back and she was sick of it.

She knew it wouldn’t make a difference. She could be the president of bloody Mars and within a few weeks, she would fade from people’s minds, like a stain in the sun.

She wanted to be remembered.

She did have her flaws. She hated broccoli with a livid passion, she smoked on occasion, even marijuana, She hated her mother’s perfume, but still bought it for her every Christmas. But she hid all these behind a carefully crafted mask of indifference.

How easy it is to show a reflection and then shatter the mirror.

She only cared for one thing.

She wanted to be remembered.

She wanted people to look at something and it immediately reminded them of her.

As she prepared her equipment, she heard that nagging voice again, that one logical side of her, whispering how wrong this all was. She was high, off her head on weed and she had a tight, slightly sickening feeling in her stomach that wasn’t normal. Normally, she would pack away her stuff and go to school and smile and be as perfect as they wanted her to be.

Not today. It was her graduation, after all. As she raised her father’s semi-automatic to the light, fully loaded, a wide, insane smile spilled from her lips into her eyes. She felt a giggle rise up her throat.

She wanted to leave with a bang.

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

They escorted her from her holding cell to the questioning room. Her luscious blonde hair still had its bounce, the skin was still flawless, but her eyes had a wild animal look to it, as if she had just been released into the jungle after years of captivity. She managed to find a cigarette and she sat down, feet on the table, elbows resting on the armrests and the glowing cigarette dangling off her fingers. She took a drag and rolled the smoke around her tongue, before blowing the smoke out, all the while staring at the detective who had just sat himself opposite her. She saw the double-take as he laid his eyes on her, and anger flared up inside her.

“Serial killers don’t tend to have blonde hair, then.” She shot at him.

The detective looked up at her, apprehension and challenge in his eyes.

“They don’t tend to be 17 year old girls, who smoke illegally during interrogation either, but hey. Brave New World.” He plucked the cigarette from her fingers and stamped on it, killing its light on the concrete floor.

Oh. Sharp. She liked that.

She smiled at him. “Brave New World indeed. I know what you’re thinking, by the way.”

“Oh, really.” The detective leaned forward, so that she all she could see was his piercing blue eyes. “Enlighten me.”

She stared right into those eyes, and she looked until she could see the fear in his. “How could someone so pretty, so smart, just kill – what was it – twenty, twenty one people? She had it all. Why?” She blew some of her stale cigarette breath in his face, but he didn’t flinch. She had to give him some credit. He knew how to play hard ball.

“So why don’t you answer that question for me?”

She leaned back on her chair, crossing her hands over her already crossed legs. Had she not been wearing an orange jumpsuit, she could have been a glamorous talk show host. ”Have you ever read Macbeth, Mr…”

She saw a flicker of surprise on the detective’s face. “Detective. Page. I didn’t have much time for Shakespeare.”

“Oh, but you should, Mister Detective Page. Shakespeare often tells it like it is. Perception is the key to open the door of deception. ‘Look like the flower, but be the serpent under’t.’ Act one, scene five. ‘False face must hide what false heart doth know.’ Act 1, scene 7. It’s all over the place. Shakespeare really knew his shit. Now let me tell you something about justice. Justice, you see, isn’t about the truth. It is about the perception of the truth. And I should warn you now, I have won plenty of acting awards in my time.

“So you asked the wrong question, Mister Detective Page. Don’t ask yourself, ‘How could she throw away everything she had?’ Instead, ask yourself ‘How long has she hidden her true self from the world?’” She looked at him, and savoured the shock and contempt in his eyes. But the fear had amplified. The fear wasn’t a hint in his eyes anymore, but it was pouring out of them. She smiled again, this time showing her pearly white teeth.

“I’m going to be in your dreams for a very long time, Mister Detective Page. And that is all I wanted.”

The detective leaned back, hatred radiating from him, but she wasn’t done.

She leaned in to his ear.

‘And next time,’ she whispered seductively, ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’


One thought on “Perception

  1. Pingback: Rivanna Knows What's Just About Right | Page not found

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