"Our house, all our own," he said,

Showing me the blueprint for the house.

Now at ten, we're trusted to go out alone

So, with saws and screws and wood,

We set out to go built our paradise.

He carved the wood and I climbed

The tallest tree and together we worked,

Screwing and hammering and nailing,

Creating our fortress of solitude.

For days and weeks, we would sneak off

And seclude ourselves in our little house

Watching the rain fall hand in hand,

Playing board games, watching movies,

Lying in each other's arms, and thinking,

Of what life would be like one day

When we were married and our child,

Who would be coming in a few months,

Would be running around this forest too.

One day in the middle of July, my friends and I met in the middle of the woods. I bought two sets of matches. I wanted to make s’mores. I thought we were going camping. They never tell me anything.

Only three of us were there so far. I waited for Olivia and Earl. Hours later, Earl came walking over. A shovel in his left hand. Olivia’s twisted ankle in the other.

The four of us loomed over the fifth’s body, six feet below. A shallow grave. A shallow fate. Seven minutes of silence was interrupted by a… “We can never speak of this again,” Earl stated.

A shallow echo of agreeing murmurs followed. I didn’t say anything. Jen elbowed me in the side. “Ow!” I exclaimed. “Rude.”

“We can never speak of this, Marcus!” Earl exclaimed. “We all killed Olivia. So we all go down together.”

I rubbed my side. “Yeah, sure whatever.”

“We shouldn’t talk to each other anymore,” Chester said. “It’ll only make it easier for them to track us.”

Another echo of agreeing.

We turned our backs to each other and walked away. Eight steps away.

Nine months later…

“So there we were,” I spilled to my therapist. “All walking away from Olivia’s maggot infested body. Those things work fast by the way. And--why are you huddled in the corner with the phone?”

“Because I’m calling the police since you’re a murderer Marcus!” She exclaimed.

Dr. Janky squeezed a throw pillow close to her chest for protection.

“But Dr. Janky!” I whined. “That’s so not nice! I thought I could trust you! You said this was confidential!”

“There are limits to confidentiality. For example, if you murder someone.”

I sighed and picked up a lamp from her desk. It only took ten seconds for her to stop struggling.

I frowned, using eleven muscles. I pulled out my phone and called the others. They weren’t happy.

After fleeing to numerous different states, it took them twelve hours to reach me in Central Park. Dr. Janky’s body was in a black, plastic garbage bag. A few people glanced at me, concerned. Even more didn’t give a rat’s ass and probably knew I was dragging a body behind me. It was New York. What do you expect?

Chester slapped me as soon as he saw me. “What the fuck, Marcus? The police were finally off our tails and you go and do this shit? Do you want to go to jail?”

“Not really,” I answer, dense as a brick. “But she was about to rat us out!”

“How did she even find out?” Jen asked.

“Oh, I told her.”

Chester slapped me again.

“Why would you do that?!” She demanded.

“I was supposed to have confidentiality!”

“That’s not how it works!”

“We’re screwed because of you, Marcus,” Earl said. “So fucking screwed.”

“Me?” I say, outraged. “We’re only in this mess because you butchered your girlfriend! You’re the person who fucked us all over!”

“We are all guilty of what happened to Olivia!” Earl claimed.

“How? Because I ignored her thirteen texts? By god, I didn’t think she was being serious. When people text you saying they’re ‘literally dying’, they aren’t often ‘literally dying’. Besides, you’re the person who stabbed her.”

“But I felt bad about it.”

“Really? Because the only thing you seemed to care about was covering it up and dragging us all into your mess!”

“Marcus is right!” Jen added. “That was your fault, Earl!” Then she turned to me again. “But this is your fault, Marcus! You’re the person who couldn’t keep a secret!”

Chester slapped me again. He put an arm around Jen. Boy, they’ve gotten chummy. Again. How many times have they gotten together then broken up? Fourteen? I’m surprised they’re not the couple that ended in bloodshed.

“God, Marcus, how could you be so stupid and impulsive? You’re acting like you’re fifteen!” Jen whined.

Earl raked his fingers through his hair while Jen and I kept fighting. “Just shut up and give me sixteen seconds of quiet to think. It’s clear you thunderheads won’t know what to do with a body if your lives depended on it! Which they do!” He demanded.

Jen pouted and crossed her arms. “I don’t see what good getting rid of the body would do if Marcus is just going to fuck up again.”

Chester slapped me again. “Quit it! How many times are you going to slap me?”

He hit me again. “Also many times it as it takes.” He paused. “Up until like seventeen. My hand is starting to hurt.”

“That’s fair, babe,” Jen said. “Respect your body.”

I rolled my eyes. She sounded like those eighteen year old Instagramers who keep writing things about ‘positive vibes’.

“I think I have an idea,” Earl spoke up.

We all turned to face him. He yanked the bag from my hand. “To start, give me this. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.” He glanced at Dr. Janky. I whimpered. Guilt was burning on the inside.

It’s not like I wanted to kill her.

“Maybe I can bury her somewhere. Somewhere deep. Like nineteen feet under.”

“That’ll take forever to dig! I heard another patient already found Dr. Janky’s office empty with splattered blood already,” Jen complained. “The police already assigned twenty officers to the case.”

“I think it was twenty-one,” Chester added. “They placed an extra detective on the case.”

“I can get it done in twenty-two,” Earl declared.

“Minutes?” Jen asked, hopeful.

“Hours.”

“What are you during that time?” Chester questioned. “Taking twenty-three breaks?”

“You wanna dig the hole?” Earl demanded.

Everyone stayed silent.

“I thought so. Just keep the police busy for now. Do whatever it takes. And don’t say a damn thing this time!”

Just before he left, Earl grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled his face close to mine. He breathed. “And this time, you’re not going to get in my way.”

The next day, I stared out across the bridge. Even from up here, I could hear the rushing white water below. It’s been twenty-four hours since I killed Dr. Janky. The clock would reset. A new day.

Guilt was bubbling up inside me. Just like before. Except this time, I couldn’t go to anyone. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. It was eating me alive. Killing me.

I stepped over the railing. The water was calling to me now. I tightly clamped onto the railing, holding me back from falling. But I didn’t let go.

One storm was all it took to wash my body onshore. Two policemen found me. It took them mere minutes to decide this wasn’t a suicide. There were rope marks pressed into my throat. I didn’t drown.

But who killed me? Who knows. A new numbers game was already on foot. And there were three of them left.

In a garden of green,

There were two trees:

The left had idioms,

And the right had bees.

Wendy grabbed with her hands,

And pushed up with her knees.

And jumped up the left,

Which all worked a treat.

Until she reached the top,

And felt under the weather.

And she fell from her perch,

Like a leaden bird’s feather.

She hit the ground below,

And cried out, ‘Ouch! Ow! Hello?’

But no one heard her crying,

Or if they did they were too slow:

To add injury to injury,

She barked up the right tree…

Oh, no. Bees.