Kelsey's best friend is sick. Kelsey sits alone on the bus because Bea is the only friend she has. Kelsey sleeps through first bell because her teacher just talks about his relationship problems to see who was desperate enough to be with him. Second bell is easier since the teacher is pregnant, and her substitute hasn't quite figured out how to teach without handing out a packet and playing on her phone. Third bell requires her to talk, so she chats with the blue haired girl in the back of the room. Fourth bell drags on, and she gets a detention for sleeping. Bea would hit her for it, but she isn't here. Lunch is spent in the library with a few nerds from her fifth bell since she didn't do the homework. Luckily, she can hand it in by the beginning of fifth bell. By the time the sixth bell rings, she is bored, so she leaves through the hoard and drives to Bea's house.

Bea's mother left at five because she wanted to drink in peace. Her younger siblings went to school at seven like normal. None of them checked on Bea that morning. Since her father went back to jail, she hasn't been the same. New injuries appear on a daily. No one notices, not even her best friend. Bea has never told anyone about her self-harm. Her father found it out a little while ago, and pleaded with her to stop. For weeks, she has been good. Cuts began to become scabs. Bruises began to fade. Her voice slowly came back. Every visit, she would show him her progress. He'd smile and she'd feel on top of the planet. Her daddy was proud of her. But yesterday, the guards found him in his bed, unresponsive. They pulled the blanket off and found a shank in his cold limp hand.

Bea got her looks from her mom, and her tendencies from her dad. Freddie Paulson had come from a broken home. His father was a drug addict and his mother was abusive. Until he was eight, he watched his mother emasculate and demoralize his father. Then, a week before he turned nine, his father overdosed and his mother's temper turned to him. At fourteen, he had been removed and sent to an aunt in Philadelphia but the damage was already done. Freddie had gone from an adorable six year old who positively saw the world to a battered man. At sixteen, Beatrice was born and Freddie regained a bit of his humanity. He did whatever he could to care for her, but his life was already spiraling. He had been taking drugs since he was eleven and had charges a mile high. Any time he wasn't in jail, he would fight Bea's mother, Cindy Carraway, for custody and try to be there for his daughter. At fifteen, she couldn't have made him happier, but seeing her wrists all cut up drove a stake into his heart. He tried to convince himself to live for her since she was doing better, but couldn't. He was alone and couldn't take being alone again. 

Kelsey pulls into the driveway of the Carraways and turns her car off. She can't see that anyone is home. She steps out, carrying a plastic bag filled with soup, crackers, ginger ale, and a compress. She knocks on the door and no one answers. She gets the spare key from the mailbox and unlocks the door.

"Bea?" she calls. "School was boring without you so I came over and brought you some stuff to help you feel better. Are you upstairs?"

No one answers. Kelsey locks the door back and puts the spare key on a shelf next to the door. She trudges upstairs to Bea's room and knocks. No answer. She opens the door and gasps. Bea is on the floor crying. Her wrists are bleeding and a blanket has been tied around her neck. Kelsey drops the bag and goes to work untying the blanket and wrapping it around Bea's wrists to try to stop the bleeding.

"What are you doing?" Kelsey shouts at her best friend. She's in tears

Bea lays her head on Kelsey's chest and sobs, "Please don't leave me. I don't want to be alone anymore."

"So," Prose says. I always thought his name was weird but he'll kick us out if we say anything. "Does anyone have news?"

We all shift uneasily. Journal time is when we explode on the page, but group sessions are normally uneasily quiet. Prose taps his foot on the floor and looks at all of us. "Hey Jumotki, how are your cats?"

"Cats? Fine. They're fine. Everything's just fine. Please pick on someone else," she stammers quickly.

"Justaperson, how's fixing the world going?"

She stares wide-eyed at him. Prose waits for a second, before moving on. Justaperson looks like she might pass out. Famewriter gently pats her arm. Prose looks for A, but he's nowhere to be found. He's almost never in group. Lucky. Prose starts to talk to Yankeedoodle30 but receives a death look so sinister that he turns away. He looks around at the rest of us. Acadec56 is snoring pretty loudly, which makes us relax a bit because he's distracting Prose. Tyla left, which sucked because she was my friend and make talking easier. Amberlight... I think that was her name. She left so long ago that I can't remember. Prose sighs.

"You know I can't just let you guys write. That's not what group is about."

We are fish, staring at the raving man. He sighs and tries again. "Mnezz? Have you been anywhere cool lately?"

"I already wrote about that!"

"Well maybe you should read what you wrote..."

"You said we never had to share out loud!"

"I know. I'm sorry... I just..."

Mnezz makes an x with her fingers and holds it towards him until he moves on. Prose looks towards me and I pulled the strings of my hoodie until just a little air hole was left. Prose sighs again. "You all need to talk about things too! Otherwise things will never get better."

He watches us watch him for a while. Suddenly, he goes to the back and brings out his prisoners. Our notebooks. Like excited puppies, we all can't sit still now. We watch him. He watches us. He sits with our notebooks on his lap. "Now, whoever talks can get theirs."

We are roaring with news now. Mel slapped her boyfriend for looking at another woman. Sandflea68 is publishing another book. Finder ate a peanut today even though she was allergic just to remember what it felt like. EriduSerpent and her family went to the zoo. Acadec56 didn't get any sleep last night because he was watching his niece. Soon, everyone in the room has their notebook. Everyone except me. I watch Prose like a wounded leopard.

"Come on, AJAY9979. I know you've got something."

I shake my head.

"Did you wake up yesterday?"

I shake my head.

"Did you eat anything?"

I shake my head.

"Did you go anywhere?"

I shake my head.

"AJAY9979, tell us something."

 I pull my hoodie off my head and pull the rubber band out of my hair. My purple weave falls down to my shoulders. "I'm a girl," I murmur.

Prose turns red. It's the first time I've seen him embarrassed since he and chainedinshadow had their huge argument and she said he had the reddest butt she'd ever seen, and she was glad they broke up because she didn't like baboons. For months, he'd been calling me a boy. Everyone had. I grab my notebook and write about how I want Prose to go fall in a dung pile.

"My name's Zeus-"

"Hi Zeus."

"And I'm a sex addict."

Pen clicks. "Tell us about your issues." 

"What can I say? I just like sex."

"You don't just like sex, Mr. Zeus."

"I prefer Gave You the Stars and Sky Zeus, but Mr. Zeus is the same thing."

Eye roll. "So, maybe we should talk about when you started."

"Well, fucked my sister and went from there."

Eyebrow raise. "Your sister?"

"You've met her. Hera? She comes on Tuesdays because she has Alcoholics Anonymous on Thursdays. Wait, was I not supposed to call her that out loud? You humans are so complicated."

Eye roll. "So, you slept with your sister? Why do you think that happened?"

"There was only six of us, and Hestia was a virgin and Demeter's crotch smelled like wheat. Was not going down there. And I'm not into gay shit. I mean, I kissed Poseidon once and had my first taste of what being with a woman on her period is like, am I right?"

Chuckles. Another eye roll. "So, your sister was convenient for you?"

"I guess. I mean, I eventually got Demeter pregnant too, but Hera's my one and only. Well, if you don't count the other 584 people I've been with."

"How is your dick still attached?"

Laughter. "If you have something to ask, Mr. Sheen, raise your hand."

"Shut up, ass wipe. I'll kick your scrawny ass."

"I'm a god, Mr. Sheen. If I start burning, I kill me and the bitch and come back cured."

"Hardcore."

"Mr. Nicholson!"

"What? It is hardcore!"

Another eye roll. "Anything you'd like to add?"

"Oh, I'm your dad, and me and your mother are banging again. Thanks for listening."

Think insanity,

With a splash of crazy,

A hint of deranged,

Sprinkle in cuss words-

Fucking hell on shit land!

Well, the cap fell off...

I'm sure it's fine.

Just fucking fine.

Oh well!

Back to business...

Mix in heartbreak,

A few good friends,

And half a cup of hatred.

Some intelligence.

Fuck, that was stupid juice...

It'll probably taste the same...

Maybe add some phobias.

A dash of crazy here and-

Shit, already added that...

Sugar probably cancels that out

But it reacts bad with the hatred.

This can be saved...

I can save this...

You know what...

FUCK IT

I awake unaided and have a good exorcism stretch. Due to my recent shower, my eyes don't water when I lift my arms anymore. It feels like a good day. I look at my phone. 12:14 on a Friday. I should've been up hours ago to "watch" the puppy, but I hear my parents' voices. Oh yeah, I graduated yesterday, so we all get a day off. A full day with my family. Sounds awful, but they don't know I'm awake yet. My friend texts me with her daily crisis, but she doesn't know I'm up either, so I toss my phone back down and roll over. In two and a half weeks, it'll be shattered, but that's not my concern, now is it? Across the hall, I hear my brother having a fourteen year old moment. Shall I go see? Nope. I'll just stay in bed and enjoy my happiness, before life comes and sits on me.

"I didn't set out to be a serial killer," Mommy murmured. "It's just a high you wouldn't understand."

"So why didn't you kill me?" the four year old sitting across from her asked.

"Sweetie, Mommy loves you. Don't ever forget it. Mommy just needs to kill sometimes to get all the stress out."

"What if we're the only people around?" he asked.

"Timmy, I would never hurt you. Believe me, baby. I would never lay a finger on you."

"What about LoLo?"

Mommy rubbed her belly. "No, I couldn't hurt him either."

Timmy blew bubbles in his milk through his straw. His mother watched with mild interest. Suddenly, he stopped and gazed back at her. Worry had washed over his face. "What if I do something you don't like?"

Mommy chuckled and slides her hand over his. "Can I tell you a story?"

Timmy pondered the connotation of her words before nodding.

"Well, some people get things from their Mommys and Daddys. You got your daddy's hair and his lips, and you got my button nose and dimples. LoLo looks like he got his daddy's cheeks and my eyes. I got my feelings from my grandfather. He was like me, and when I was little, he told me I was the most special of all his grandkids because I understood him. He said one day he wouldn't be here to guide me, but he always taught me that my feelings were okay and I should never be ashamed of them. Even when my mommy and daddy would tell me I was bad and put me in home after home to try and fix me."

"So if I was like you, would you be mad?"

"Of course not," Mommy says, squeezing his hand. "But I hope you don't. I hope you and LoLo both get to be normal and not have these thoughts."

Timmy smiled. Before him, a little girl was screaming for her mommy. Timmy clutched the knife hard as he remembered what his mommy had said to him at dinner. She wouldn't be mad, but just in case, he had laid a tarp down so the little girl's blood wouldn't get everywhere. Vainly, she screamed and tried to crawl away, but he had tied her to the table in the shed like he'd seen his mommy do to LoLo's daddy. The little girl looked back at him. Tears were streaming down her face and snot bubbled out of her nose.

"So you thought you could push me at recess and not get away with it?"

"I didn't mean to! I'd never hurt someone as cool as you! Just please let me go! Mommy!"

Timmy grinned evilly. "They always scream before I take care of them."

The little girl continued to beg and scream. Suddenly, Timmy kicked her down and plunged the knife into her throat. The little girl's eyes widened as she gagged on her last breaths. Timmy watched with glee. Won't Mommy be proud!

The curtains open to a young couple in a dark bedroom of a two-story Oklahoma apartment. The girl, a British sixteen year-old named Susanna, sobs on the floor next to the bed. The boy, a tall slender sixteen year old named Tyler, paces the floor nervously. Around them, the room is in array. There are books and clothes thrown everywhere all doused in a thick layer of blood. Tyler turns to talk to his crying girlfriend, careful not to be loud enough to awaken his sisters sleeping the other room.

Tyler: (angrily) Are you satisfied yet?

Susanna looks up into his angry, stone cold eyes.

Susanna: What? What are you talking about?

Tyler kicks a bloody purse that smacks into the wall. He curses again and turns back to his girlfriend.

Tyler: You know what I’m talking about. Are you satisfied yet?

Susanna: No I don’t. What the hell are you talking about?

Tyler: You wanted her gone, and well, now she’s gone.

Susanna: (shouting) This isn’t what I asked for! I said humiliate her. Pull her pants down. Trip her. Push her into the hottest guy as hard as you can. Not this!

Tyler: What the hell were you trying to gain from this? You and I both know that people are going to find out. I don’t want to go to jail for you!

Before Susanna could answer, there was a tiny knock at the door. Tyler flung it open to see his younger sisters, Emily and Angelina, standing at the door. Emily held Angelina’s hand and cradled a bunny in her hand. Both the girls had wet eyes.

Emily: Ty, can you read us a story? We can’t sleep no more. There’s too much yelling going on.

Angelina: (Nodding) Yes, please.

Susanna: You should go, Tyler.

Tyler: (picking Emily up) Come on, girls. Let's go. You wanna hear Rapunzel again?

Tyler takes his sisters into another room down the hall. The door closes behind them. As soon as they are gone, Susanna drops to her knees and lifts up the blanket. Under the bed lies a girl who has been beaten to death. Susanna smiles and covers her back up.

"You can't just kill people you don't like!" the woman yelled at the little girl.

The girl pouts. "Mommy, she was touching our display! I can't just let some greasy fingered kid touch all over the display we worked good and hard for!"

"Now you'd better not let the boss know about this, Annabelle. One more murder and it's back to the morgue."

"They can't put us back! They need us. Who else is going to tell kids what like was like in as a child working in London in the 1800s?"

"There are hundreds of others just waiting to have the opportunity we have Annie. Your brother worked hard to get us this job."

The girl scoffed. "Worked hard? He got sick and his jaw rotted off. That's not working! Nature did the hard part."

"You know what I mean. Your brother got the look. Now I'm not too broken up about not being able to pay that doctor to glue it back on."

"Were you even going to pay the doctor?"

"Of course I- Did you hear that?"

Shit, I had stepped on a piece of paper and it made a loud crumbling noise. The women looked at each other.

"Mum, I think we have ourselves a little visitor. Maybe I can show you that new recipe I found."

"Just like old times?" the woman asked her daughter as they neared my hiding place.

"Just like old times."

Age: 24

Birthday: February 6th

Occupation: Janitor (3rd shift)

Skin Color: Toffee

Eye Color: Blue/Grey

Hair color: Bright pink

Hair length: Tip of her shoulder blades

Hair texture: Rough (looks smooth until you put a comb through it)

Hometown: Abidjan, Ivory Coast

Fashion: wears cargo pants and a crop top. Generally has headphones in. Her hair is always in a different braid type every day. She ward headphones all the time but no one ever hears her music. She wears ripped up Converse though her clothes are always clean and pressed. She wears a plastic I.D. on her chest every day but the picture is scratched out. She smells like strawberries and oranges.

Personality: Seems nice enough, but few people really talk to janitors, no matter how interesting they seem 

Family: In the janitor's closet, there is a picture of a little boy that looks like her at the beach. He has a green mohawk, and his eyes are both grey. There is also a picture of two older people holding a baby girl with grey eyes who is holding a sippy cup. She doesn't wear a wedding ring.

Accent: Arabic