Kairyn Cortez
Murder. That’s what I was accused of. Murder. Can I believe that? No! Neither can I! Why? Out of all the things that I could have been accused of it had to be murder. To make it worse it wasn’t even me!
Slamming my hand on the cold metal bars I flinched as I heard a loud snap sound. It wasn’t me.
Slamming my hand again on the metal bars I didn’t even flinch as flesh made contact with metal. It wasn’t me.
Isn’t that what the accused was supposed to say? That it wasn’t them, but why in all of hell’s realm would anyone believe them? They just lie through their fucking teeth.
Well, some of them do. Others are just unfortunate people in the wrong places at the wrong time. Like me.
I literally just wanted a soft pretzel. A fucking soft pretzel that escalated into murder. That soft pretzel though, all buttered up with just the right amount of cinnamon, I mean come on. Those are made by the devil himself! My usual cravings are never really this bad, but once my period rolls around all sense of rationality flies out the window to god knows where.
Damn you period. Fuck you to hell and hope you get lost in the sea of despair never to return again.
Placing my head gently on the cold bars I just sighed.
Come to think of it, what was I even doing that day? Oh yeah. I was running through the streets in the middle of a thunderstorm in heels to get to the bakery before they closed.
God those fucking heels. Why? Just why? I probably would have made it to the bakery much faster if I hadn’t been wearing them. I didn’t even have a choice though. My photography class was going to have the chance of working with the real professionals on a project for Vogue’s upcoming magazine.
For that I couldn’t downgrade, I had to upgrade myself. I probably also shouldn’t have tried too hard though because next thing I knew, I was getting dragged and forced into different outfits with some of the other models.
My class had finished late that day and I only had about fifteen minutes to get to the bakery, which thank heavens was about a five-minute walk from where I was.
But the cursed fucking heels!
They were heels, yes but the heel part of my shoes were blocks. So there’s no way in hell that I would’ve tripped over anything. Or even fall for that matter, but I just had to have the most ungraceful of falls right at that moment. Near a fucking alleyway mind you.
At that moment three things happened. One, I caught a glimpse of the murderer as they were in the middle of committing the act. They also looked as if they were smiling as the knife went through the soft flesh of the victim’s brain, making for a clean kill. Who smiles as they murder people? Wait. That was a bad question, I probably shouldn’t answer that.
Two, a knife slid right under me as I fell so I fell on top of it, but it was flat meaning I didn’t get stabbed. This made it convenient for the person trying to hide the murder because when I got up the first thing I pulled from right under me was the knife. In front of a now gathering crowd. Fuck me.
Three, the body somehow conveniently was thrown in my direction, blood spraying everywhere to an onlooking crowd soaking me plus anyone in a close proximity. Covered in blood while holding a knife was just the golden VIP ticket straight to hell. The rain also didn’t make it any better. Looking up at the alleyway I saw an almost apologetic smile before she opened her damn mouth and screamed. Like. A. Hysterical. Banshee. It was even worse than if both an ape and a banshee had a spawn. I thought it couldn’t get any worse, but oh it does. Everything just goes straight to shit.
She walks out of the alleyway sobbing, tears running down her face, she’s shaking and all, the whole fucking nine yards. What this did to my idiotic brain was make me wonder how they hadn’t given her a damn Grammy because of such superb acting.
At this point, I can’t get away and the crowd is staring at me in horror. Pure horror. As in if you could sell horror, this would be its finest of forms. Some of the onlookers had their phones out, while others tried to calm the hysterical fake.
Since I was covered in blood and the knife plus the body were in my vicinity, I was automatically blamed for a murder that I had no part in. I couldn’t even defend myself at that moment because nobody would believe me when the evidence was right in front of their face like that.
I don’t even remember much of what happened after that. All I remember was being taken away, questioned, and locked away. The only thing I got out of this whole thing was the victim’s name. Annissa Rosario.
Victim. Yeah right. Victim my ass.
I should have just ordered and had them deliver to me. Maybe I would have even had the chance to also order the Thai food that I’d also been craving.
Annissa Rosario had framed me. She had lied through her blood-stained teeth and for what? For her stupid, I’m a free spirit and cannot be caged, but in a high pitched snobby princess voice. No seriously. Go back and say that line again in your head because that’s exactly how she sounded when I saw her and she leaned in just to tell me this stupid, useless fact that will never help in proving my innocence. She had no shame whatsoever and not even an ounce of guilt showed on her face after what she had done. Only that fake Grammy-winning look of fear showed.
That bitch! Fuck her.
Walking to that skimpy excuse of a bed I sighed and laid down facing the wall. I’m going to get my revenge. I’m going to get her for that cinnamon butter-soft pretzel that I didn’t get. I’m going to-
Wait.
Isn’t that how they want you to think? Like a killer? Rolling on my back I sighed. That slut! I’m going to get my revenge. Right after I deal with my broken arm and figure out how to make myself sound innocent because I sure as hell wasn’t.
Perverted wise. I wasn’t innocent when it came to all things kinky, but I was a saint when it came to murder and that’s what I have to get everyone else to believe.
That I was innocent.
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