Faces Four – Gone Wrong


Gone Wrong: A Young Girl’s Voice
Inside the Mausoleum: Mary Jo – The first voice heard – What happens when a parent shuns her daughter – All she wanted was to be loved…

I hate people. Most annoy me just being near me and others well their faces turn my stomach, their eyes give me chills and their breath stinks. Walking around this town of nobody’s it is really quite easy to decide on my next target. Killing anyone is fine but finding the prime target takes some work. Most of the people I have killed are quite prominent others are poor and have not a pot to you know what in.

Faces Four - Gone WrongTeens that think they are so great they look down on people like me who have little or no education. Others are so shortsighted, steal from their parents and some just smoke weed for the fun of it. So, how did I wind up telling this story and why am I behind this huge stone well not really a stone in a cemetery but a beautiful mausoleum that was dedicated to my memory.

Killing all of these people gave me a total rush. Who and why does not matter as I take you on my killing spree. There is no rhyme or reason behind which I choose to kill. People need to be eliminated since there are too many of us in this world. Planting bombs was easy, taking out several people at once no problem and of course poisoning the water in the town hall a piece of cake.

I’m 18 and have been doing this for a very long time. Getting rid of anyone in my way is not a problem. Growing up with 10 sisters and brothers and having to make a B line for the bathroom really gets your motor going in the morning when you really need to go and there are 8 ahead of you. Needless to say I am now at the head of the line. You gotta do what you gotta do to get what you want in this world.

My parents had me number 10 as an afterthought. That means when they thought about it they were disappointed not only that I was a girl but short, not pretty according to their standards and too smart for my own good. Imagine getting all A’s and having your parents prefer those that got D’s and caused trouble in school. Well, I’m making up for it now. Hope they are proud!

Monday morning and I am fresh and ready for the next kill. I move around a lot and never remain in one place for very long. No one seems to be able to create a pattern for my work. One person could burn in their car and the next one I might use a poison dart. Sometimes a thin metal wire works wonders around a thin or even thick neck when the person is slight and I come up from behind.

My I Q is in the genius level and there is nothing that I really cannot figure out or do. But, staying one or two steps ahead of the FBI and the major crime units just became harder as someone claims to have seen a short, dark haired girl around 109 pounds following a tall, thin, and dark haired woman in an alley behind a Target store. But, upon closer reflection they are not really sure since somehow the image was quite dull and the tape not exactly the best quality. The techs can’t seem to use their limited minds and technology to enhance the picture but to be on the safe side I am now a red headed girl that bulked up in a sense and now looks like she weighs about 150.

Walking down a deserted street at five in the morning you never expect to find anyone out there. But, I have been canvassing this neighborhood for a while and realize that one young teen walks her dog at this time before going to school for her morning reading class. She’s an honor student and assists her reading teacher or literature teacher on a daily basis. It seems this young lady has a grasp of Shakespeare, Plato and the classics better than the rest of her classmates and she and the teacher spend time every morning before class preparing their discussion, their arguments and the questions they will pose to the rest of the class. So, what! What makes her so special? I’m just as smart. The world and her teacher will just have to deal without her.

“Someone is walking behind me. I can feel it but I am not going to turn around. Unfortunately, my dog is a beagle and not a bit bull or Rottweiler. Walking faster and allowing my dog to do his business, I decide to take a different turn when I see a light going on in a house close by. I hope that the person will let me in because I did a stupid thing and left my cell phone on my dresser and went out without it thinking this would not take very long. I live in an affluent neighborhood that is usually patrolled by the police but for some reason they had an emergency to deal with in the next county. Out of nowhere they said on the news that there has been a rash of small fires and tons of looting. So, even if I called them I might not get help so fast. Slowly, turning the corner I realize that this was a mistake as the light went out in the person’s house and the street lamp looks broken.

Walking faster I decided to face my attacker head on. What I saw was a short, red head with a mask over her face and a dart gun in her hand or maybe a taser gun. I had no chance once I turned around. She shot me in

the chest, the neck and then the lights went out. I just hope she didn’t kill my dog. The last thing I remember were her cold words that she whispered in my right ear: No School Today Dear. You are on a permanent vacation.”

So, dear Tara lights out and no classes today. Walking away I realized that there were no cameras on this street, no one saw what I did but to make sure I moved the body of not only Tara but the dog under the house across the street which has been vacant for some time. Will anyone find her? Not for a long time.

Now, to bask in my own greatness and give myself an A+ for a job well done and then move on to the next. No one will ever figure out that I killed anyone. No one has been able to figure out when I will strike next. First, I will move to another town and then change my appearance once more. But, first I have to take care of some people that were supposed to care for me but did not. All of my life I was never really loved hugged or ever told that I was worthy of anything or anyone. My sister was not that smart but she loved to drink and smoke with my mom and she thought she was the greatest. No matter what I did and how well I did in school she never cared. Education did not matter to her making money anyway and no matter how to feed her drinking and smoking habit made all the difference in how she treated me and my two sisters.

They dealt in dealing drugs, using the hard stuff at times, selling themselves to the highest bidder and did odd jobs for the man next store. While I went to school and wanted to graduate they worked the streets. When I finally graduated from high school with an A+ average I hoped to get a scholarship to Medical School. Getting a job in a doctor’s office I learned a lot and now I am going to use some of those skills to take care of my two sisters and well anyone else that gets in my way. You see I really have no feelings for anyone and why should I.

Knocking on the door of my mom’s house I realized they would not recognize me with my new look. Blue hair tinted purple, streaked with red, a ring in my nose and three in one ear; they would think I was one of my sister’s friends hoping to score. Melanie my older sisters opened the door and said that Valerie was not home if I was looking for her. I asked if I could wait and she never gave it a second thought. Offering me a drink of any kind was my chance to take action and rid the world of one sister. I did. When she was not looking and went to get my drink, I spiked hers with something that was odorless and would do the trick. Placing her on a chair in the dining room, she looked like she was watching television or even listening to music as Valerie returned from one of her selling gigs and wondered who I was and why I was there. But, for her I had a different end. Leaving the house no one saw me and when my mom came home well, you figure out the rest.

You don’t think I left the bodies for her to find when she came home. I put them somewhere no one will ever find them and since I have become a first class forger, I left a note stating that my sisters were going to visit a friend for a while and would be back in a few weeks. By that time my mother would have someone other kid buying her cigarettes and getting her liquor. But, I am not done yet. Moving to the next city was not hard and changing my appearance easy. I put on 10 pounds, colored by air purple with pink streaks and spiked it up on both sides, got some new duds and I was good to go. Walking down the street I saw a bus coming and decided to go for a long road to focus on my future and who would be my next victim. There were cops in six states looking for me but no one could come up with one characteristic or one thing that fit all of the murders.

No one really thought it was the same person because each victim received my own special brand of torture and left this world in a really spectacular way if I do say so myself. Do I feel sorry for what I have done? No! Do I want recognition for my good work? Maybe! Will anyone ever learn the truth? Well, I did record everything after each murder on a video that I have placed somewhere safe. The bus ride was really refreshing and the bus itself was not crowded. Sitting next to a young college student I realized she was busy doing some research and had no time to talk to me, make small talk or even acknowledge that I was there. Perfect: no one was sitting on either side of me and no one was in back of me. The bus driver was concentrating on handling the traffic up ahead so when I took out my small needled and inserted it in her leg no one noticed and when the bus stopped no one realized that the young girl was just sitting there, no moving and you can guess the rest.

All in all I had a great run so how did I wind up inside this huge mausoleum? Well, getting off the bus I did not see the red mustang pulling out of a parking space and looking down at my cell phone I never saw it coming. The guy hit me so hard my body flew into the air and I landed on the hard pavement on the sidewalk. No one stopped to see if I was okay. I saw myself floating up in the air and my body on the ground. When someone finally realized what happened to me they called the police, found my mother and then something I never knew. This woman who was supposed to be my mom, who hated me, was really not my mother. She stole me from the hospital when her own child died and resented me ever since. I will never know why she even took me or what really happened but she blamed my real mother for her own child’s death. When my real mother learned what happened to me the least she could do was provide me with a dignified burial. Does that mean that now I am loved?

There’s more but I am not going to share it just yet. Faces Four: Just wait and see what I do next and who else finds themselves behind these beautiful stones or within the solid walls of a mausoleum.

1 Comment
  1. Avatar of Craig Murray
    Craig Murray says

    This story gives me the feeling of a person who writes about violence while never having experienced it or really knowing it.
    The invincible, super-killer who, devoid of training, physical attributes, weapon expertise etc. is able to kill at will and on a large scale, all the while avoiding any sort of detection is too unrealistic even for fiction.
    The continuous monologue written in a self-congratulatory manner reveals nothing about the character other than they are a blood thirsty sociopath.

    Starting with “Walking down a deserted street”
    The author switches point of view from what had been a first person monologue to giving her character god-like understanding of the victim, her knowledge, her activity, her status at school etc.
    The character could not possibly know all these things so it is author interference. The author is inserting themselves as the omnipotent all seeing eye who can give away information that none of the characters could possibly know.
    The author then switches POV to the victims point of view and a totally unrealistic set of reactions take place. The victim enters into a monologue of unrealistic style. There is no natural speech, no natural reaction. Instead thee is the dreaded ‘Telling but not Showing’
    The paragraph that follows is terribly bad. Her speech is unrealistic, she switches between thoughts and descriptions without any definite break. She comments on a police force suddenly out of the county to the next one that seems to be in a state of civil war or something, and then, she describes her death.
    She describes her death in the most laconic, disinterested and uninspired way possible. She might as well have added “Oh well I guess I don’t need new shoes” at the end.
    I do not know if this is the authors first foray into fiction. If so, then please, spend the time learning how fiction is written. Read a lot of it, read the good stuff. Learn how to write scenes and how to write in third person. If you are going to write on violence then learn what the tools of the trade are and how they work.
    Garotting a person requires incredible strength. You need to inflict enough force in both directions to crush the windpipe and to cut off all blood flow to the brain. You need to keep the pressure on for quite a long time. The other method is to use a thinner wire and to almost decapitate the person. There is an ocean of blood, it will spray everywhere, it is not clean, it is not neat.
    There are no magic dart guns. Watch a video on a bear being tranq’d. It is shot, a few minutes pass, it gets woozy, it falls down. Your darts hit and the magic inside them totally immobilizes the person right away, they do not even scream.
    They would.
    Have you ever pricked your finger? You jerk away and yell. She sits down next to a girl on the bus and sticks a needle full of poison into her leg. The girl does nothing. She is a mannequin, as are most of the characters in the story. Unreal, unreal reactions.

    Fran sat on the bus watching the passengers depart one by one until she was almost alone. In these quiet moments the voices in her head became too loud, too crashing for her to tolerate so she killed to shut them up.
    The only other passenger was a young girl. Fresh and pretty, her hair tied in a ponytail that bobbed and weaved like a pennant. Fran hated her from the moment she saw her.
    The bus driver was focused on the road ahead, the girl obsessed with her smartphone, neither paid any attention to Fran as she moved. She loved to act, loved to play the victim, and now was another opportunity for her close up. She stopped beside the girl, a tear running down her cheek and in a voice meek and mild she said “Can you help me?”
    The girl popped out her headphones. “What’s up?”
    “My boyfriend, I’m so scared, I don’t know what to do. Can I ask you something?”
    The girl moved her bag over allowing Fran to drop down beside her. The needle in her hand hidden but moving. She faked a few more tears, slid her hand rapidly forward until she felt the tip penetrate the girls jeans.
    “Oww! What the fuck are you doing you psycho bitch!” she screamed as she leapt to her feet.
    Fran was shoved roughly to the floor as the girl hopped over her.
    “What the hell are you two doing?” roared the driver.
    “This crazy bitch just tried to stick a needle in me.” she said, rubbing her leg.
    Fran was on her feet, her mad eyes rolling in her head. She moved towards the driver and the girl, the needle held in front of her like a knife.
    “The cops are on their way so sit the fuck down before you get into more trouble!” yelled the driver.
    Fran was not about to be stopped, her madness had taken over. She took three more steps before her world went white and then everything went dark.
    The girl had grabbed the extinguisher, blasted a cloud of CO2 into Frans face before denting her skull and leaving her for the police.

    The first cop to enter her apartment threw up. It was filled with the dead and mutilated corpses of hundreds of animals. Pets, strays, wild creatures. None were safe. Sociopaths are not something to be viewed as cool or edgy or worthy of tv shows. They are the scum of the earth, the cowardly killers, the torturers of animals.

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