It all started last Wednesday.  My alarm had just gone off to remind me to get my butt to school or else my future would crash and burn.  Sitting up slowly I sleepily opened my eyes and saw a small shadowy figure standing at the foot of my bed, watching me.
   “Ah! What the-!” I shrieked and shoved myself backwards before my half-asleep brain informed me that it was just my little brat of a sister.  Her obnoxious laughter helped with the identification. 
   “Oh. My. God.” the twelve year old managed to choke out between her hysterical laughter, “You should have seen your face! And your voice rose to freaking helium balloon level squeakiness!”
   “Ugh,” I moaned as I slid out of bed, “Sophie, go away. How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my room?”
   I shoved her outside my door before collapsing slightly on the doorframe. I could hear her muffled footsteps skipping down the hallway and into the bathroom.  Great, now there was a very good probability that I was going to be late. 
   However, by the time I had decided on an outfit that I didn’t absolutely hate, which was compiled of jeans, a black tank top, a red plaid shirt, and matching Converse, Sophie had vacated the bathroom and had made her way downstairs.  I should have known that she was up to something right then and there, but I was too preoccupied with a giant zit that had appeared out of nowhere.

   When I arrived in the kitchen, having managed to pull my messy dark brown hair into a ponytail, my mother and sister were waiting for me.  I know that parents aren’t supposed to have favorites, but my mom and my sister were much closer than I could ever have a chance to be.  When I was little, my dad and I would toss a baseball and build pillow forts and my mom would love watching us.  But when Sophie came around, with her soft strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, and outgoing personality, it was like my mom was staring in a sort of funhouse mirror.  With my dad spending twenty-three out of every twenty-four hours at work there was no one to stopper the explosive dictatorship of my little sister. And thus, the reign of Sophie had begun.
   “Cynthia,” my mom smiled, “me and Sophie-”
   “Sophie and I,” I muttered while putting some bread in the toaster.
   My mom paused to frown and then plastered the smile back on, “Sophie and I have been talking.  You know how Sophie’s room is right next to the mulberry tree?”
   “Yeah?”
   “And you know how she is a very light sleeper?”
   I nodded slowly, not liking how the conversation was progressing.
   “Well, every morning. there are gangs-”
   “Flocks”
   “-flocks, of birds which start to sing very early.  And so Sophie hasn’t been sleeping very well.” Cue pathetic nod and pout from Sophie. “ and so we think, since you could sleep through a marching band, that you two should switch rooms.”
   “What?” I exclaimed, spinning around.   

   “That’s not fair!  Why should I have to relocate?  Couldn’t she just get earplugs?”
   “Now, Thia, I’m sure that you two could keep your rooms the same, all you have to do is go to a different room to sleep.  I’ll even switch over your bed sheets while you two are at school. I know how much you love your Star Wars bedspread!”
   The urge to roll my eyes became too strong to resist, as was the need to exclaim, “This is so stupid!”
   But arguing was fruitless, and we all knew it.  Not because my debating skills weren’t up to snuff, but because my mother wanted Sophie to get anything and everything that my mother had been denied as one of the youngest in her family.  I ranted about this as I walked into Novak High, one bus ride later. 
   “-Honestly, Connor, my life is being stabbed in the back by my sister and I can’t even scream “E tu, Brutus? ” because my mom would just say I was being “melodramatic”!”
   Connor, my best friend ever since he moved in next door the day before first grade, started laughing but quickly sobered up as I glared half-heartedly at him. 
   “If it helps at all, Thia,” Connor began by training his bright blue eyes on my green irises intently, “I truly, and deeply, appreciate your historical comparison.  Who gets a synthesis point? You do!”
   I laughed in spite of myself as he leapt into his rendition of my Roman-styled betrayal. By the time he was done we had arrived at our shared first period class, and my day seemed much brighter.  As I situated myself at my desk and pulled out the notebook and homework I needed I couldn’t help but notice the atmosphere outside.  The trees were still clinging to their summer garb even though a few early bloomers were slowing trading in their happy green leaves for moldy yellows and browns. All of them were restless, however.  The sky was completely blanketed by grey clouds, but they seemed to enhance the brightness of the sun instead of dimming it and a ferocious wind scattered any foliage that didn’t cling tight enough to the branches.
   My musings were cut short when the ever stentorian Mr. Russell started in on his monologue about the importance of Pascal’s Triangle.

   After a school day filled with monotonous work divided by interactions with people that either make you want to laugh, cry, or smack someone with a brick, I arrived back home.  I stomped upstairs into my room, only to find Sophie’s hot pink comforter draped over my bed.
   With a mighty groan I dropped my backpack besides my desk, fell into my spinny office chair, and thunked my head down onto the workspace. All was silent in my room until I sighed and stubbornly muttered, “Ow.”

   That night Sophie skipped past me into my room and I growled past into hers.  I was greeted by a psychotic array of hot pink and neon green wall stickers proclaiming phrases like “Yolo!” and “l8r loser”.  Among the exclamatory word bubbles, mirrors littered the wall space.  There were too many to be useful and just enough to creep me out. I quickly shut off the light, leapt across the room, clambered into my new bed, and clenched my eyes shut.  My internal rantings eventually lulled me to sleep.

   My eyes twitched. The back of my eyelids were the lightest shade of pink, but it was enough of a difference from the pitch black they were accustomed to, to mistakenly believe that it was time for me to get up.  Groaning, I flipped over and buried my head under my pillow, but I knew deep down that there was no way for me to fall back asleep.  I finally gave up on that doomed crusade and turned back over onto my back.  I glanced at the alarm clock that rested on the bedside table to my left.  I frowned at the blaring 4:00 that read in a hideous pink.  My sister would pay for this.

   “Explain to me again why we are at a thrift shop, instead of getting Panera,” Connor asked while the shrill bell above the door clanged.
   “Because, my dearest friend,” I shot back,  “soup will not allow me to get revenge on my sister, even if it would make me happy.”
   Connor followed me into the back of the musty store where something had caught my eye. 
   Sensing his question before he voiced it, I called over my shoulder, “I need to buy some curtains that both allow me to sleep past four o’clock and also teach Sophie a lesson.  Thus, Operation Ugly is born; I purchase the most hideous shades I can find, and Sophie will see them every time she steps foot in her room.”
   “Ah, I see,” Connor laughed, “she might be able to pretend that they don’t bother her, but imagine when some friends come over to your house.” He raised his voice in an imitation of a sixth-grade girl, “Um, Sophie, those curtains, like, totally don’t go with your pillows.”
   I jumped in, “And why is there some weird robot guy on your blanket?
   “Sophie, you might as well burn your room with yourself in it, “hashtag-social-suicide” much?”
   We laughed and started to peruse through the different patterns from which we had to choose.  Then I saw it, the cloth representation of hell.  The fabric had an antiqued rusty colored base with brown flowers thrown on sporadically.  There was a darker stain near the top and black stitching outlined where it had been altered.  As I grabbed it, the heavy material promised me that it would stop any light in its path. 
   I grinned manically at my friend who chuckled before heading over to the check out.  As the octogenarian who served as my cashier slowly rung up my purchase, I read the  different signs that littered the counter.   “All merchandise collected through donations” “Tips go towards employees’ college funds” “Donated goods may be altered for sales”
   As I was handed my bag Connor leaned forward and threw some change into the tip jar saying, “Here’s to your Harvard experience.”
   We bit back our laughter as the old man rumbled, “What?”
   “I said, have a nice day,” Connor slowly enunciated.
   “You, too, young man.”

   That night as Sophie and I paraded past one another I threw a snide smirk in her direction.  Shutting the door to her room, I ran over to where I had stuck the bag and pulled out the curtain with a flourish.  I draped the cloth over the window and blinked as the light coming from outside was extinguished suddenly.  Gone was the cold moonlight and open navy sky.  I jumped into bed and huddled under the covers. 

Drip. Drip. Snip. Slice.  I couldn’t see anything, no light, no anything.  I could feel though, cold hands coated with a hot liquid slowly caressed my cheek.  Something was dripping nearby, falling onto a far off surface.  Drip. It sounded like someone was cutting up a piece of paper.  Snip. Then hot, rotten breath on my face, “I see you.  Can you see me?”  I opened my eyes-
   I jolted upright and for a moment I swore I still saw the outline of some twisted figure leaning over me.  “Just a nightmare, just a nightmare,” I chanted softly as my heart raced.
   “Cynthia!”
   “Ahhhh!” I screamed as the door swung open to reveal… my mother.
   “Get up! You are going to be late to school!”

   “That, my friend, is messed up,” Connor agreed as we marched into my house.
   It was Friday afternoon which meant movie night with Connor. Tonight’s agenda: Jurassic World. 
   “I know, right?  I mean, why in the world would I have that nightmare?
   “I don’t know what to tell ya, Sin,” Connor shrugged as we trudged into the living room where the TV was waiting for us, “maybe,” he continued after a pause, “you have to christen your new sleeping quarters?”
   “Con, what in the world is that supposed to mean?” I asked over my shoulder as I stuck the DVD in the player.
   “Like, you know how people have a baby shower, or smash champagne on a new boat? Maybe you need to have a sleepover to formally honor your new sleeping arrangements.”
   “Are you asking just because you don’t feel like walking down the street after this movie ends?”
   “It’s cold and dark outside!”
   I laughed and hit play.
   As the movie’s opening screen started to roll I heard Connor mutter sullenly,  “Not just ‘cause it’s dark… I’ll protect you from the monster in the closet, or something.”
   I snorted and handed him a bowl of popcorn to sooth his fragile feelings.
   
   As the credits listed the movie’s helpers Connor and I tiptoed upstairs; my mother and sister had gone to sleep an hour ago.  I grabbed a sleeping bag out of the closet in the hallway before joining Connor in Sophie’s room.  His eyes were glued to the curtain.
    “I know that the curtain is supposed to strike fear and guilt into Sophie’s heart, but, wow, that is pretty extreme.”
    He was right, the dark lighting cast eerie shadows in each curve and the orange looked more like dried blood than a healthy layer of rust. 
    “Shut up,” I managed as I forced a laugh.
    “Just sayin’,” Connor muttered as he grabbed the sleeping bag from my arms.
   
Drip. Drip. Snip. Slice.  Scream.
    I jolted upright as a blood curdling scream tore the sleep away from me.  I couldn’t see anything in the dark room but from under the door crack I could see that a light had been turned on down the hall.  My mother’s hurried footfalls echoed in my ears as I reached to my left to find a lamp.  The screaming sobs continued as the lamp flared into life.
    There was blood sprayed on the ceiling. And my wardrobe.  My head swiveled as if in slow motion until my green eyes landed on the form of Connor who lay on the sleeping bag, stained red.  He was shrieking!
    “Connor! Oh my God!” I screamed as I fell out of my bed and onto the floor next to him.  He was curled tightly into a ball and I could barely tell that he was trying to say something. 
   “Connor! Look at me! What happened? Where are you hurt?”  I shrieked as my doorknob rattled as my mom and sister tried to get in.
    He didn’t respond until I touched his shoulder cautiously, then he spun towards my touch and yelled into my face.
   “MY EYES! I CAN’T SEE!”
   His eyes were gone. Where they used to be were two deep pits of a burgundy mush.  They were bleeding a terrifying amount and that was the last thing I noticed before my mom shoved me out of the way and yelled to Sophie to call 911.

   It was mid afternoon before I was finally granted access into Connor’s hospital room.  He had been rushed to the emergency room and ever since he got out of surgery and woke up only his mom and dad were allowed in the room.  I slowly walked over to his still form.  He was paler than usual but the only big difference between this foreign creature and my best friend was the thick white bandage that stretched around his head.
   “Hey, Con.”
   “Thia.”
   I gulped, the tension between us was as icy and uncommon as the frost that covered the trees outside.  Eventually I couldn’t handle it and I collapsed into the chair next to his bed.  He jumped slightly.  I leapt on the first thing that came to mind,
   “Did you have to talk to the detective yet?  I think his name was Harding or something… he didn’t have any leads yet and I think I’m going to have to talk to him later this weekend… so anyways, did you meet him yet?”
   “Nah, I think he’s coming in later,” Connor shrugged, “something about letting me rest my e-” his unfinished sentence hung in the room.
   I choked back a sob that was quickly rising in my throat, “Connor, I am so sorry- I don’t- what, what happened?” A tear slipped down my cheek.
   His forehead creased and his breathing quicked. We sat in silence until he finally whispered, “I don’t know,” and then the dam broke, “I was asleep and then suddenly I felt like I was pinned down, and I opened m-my eyes and there was this, this girl, hanging upside down off the ceiling like a freaking bat and she had a pair of rusty old scissors and she, she...”
   “Oh my God, Connor!” I sobbed as I leaned over and hugged him. He clung to me as words continued to pour out, “and then I couldn’t see, I COULDN”T SEE, and all I could hear was this voice saying, saying “I see you.  Can you see me?” over and over again.  Sin, I think I’m going insane! Maybe all of this is just a nightmare and I’ll wake up on the couch and realize that I just watched one too many episodes of “Supernatural” but I know it’s not.”
   I shuddered as goosebumps ran up and down my spin as a terrible, terrible idea started to mutate in my mind.  I could see Connor’s parents on their way over and so all I managed to say before I was hustled out of the room was, “It’ll be ok, I promise, I’ll make this right.”

   I was being haunted.  It was the only logical answer.  I don’t know how I managed to get a ghost mad at me but now I was being punished.  I paced back and forth in my kitchen before grabbing a can of salt out of my cupboard and tucking it in the pocket of my pants; if I was being haunted, then I was going to use all the tricks I had learned from my favorite tv show; they said that ghosts didn’t like salt, thus, salt!  My mom came in from the other room with a steaming mug of something and handed it to me.
   “Here, this should calm you down.  It’s some tea.  Your favorite.”
   “Thanks,” I muttered before continuing to pace.
   “You know, the forensic team already cleaned up Sophie’s room.”
   I nodded stiffly and to break the tension chugged down the tea.  Scowling at the burning sensation and funky aftertaste, I stared down my mother who obviously still needed to say something.
   “Sophie wants to sleep in your room tonight,” she admitted sheepishly.
   “Fine,” I snapped, “I’m not tired anyways.”
   “Well, about that,” my mom rubbed the back of her neck nervously, “the doctors at the hospital gave me some sleeping pills for you since they were worried you wouldn’t be able to sleep.”
   “I’m fine,” I replied stiffly, and then yawned. 
   We stared at each other before I glanced at my mug.
   “You didn’t.”
   “Sorry honey, but it’s for your own good, if it makes you feel better, I gave myself and Sophie one too.”
   “No, Mother, it really doesn’t.”
   And that is how I ended up back in Sophie’s dark room.

    Drip. Drip. Snip. Slice.  My breathing quickened.  No, not this time.  I strained to open my eyelids, the adrenaline pumping through my system helped me to fight off the effects of the sleeping pill in my system. I blinked in rapidly and my vision slowly adjusted. Connor was two inches away from my face. No, his eyes were.
    I thought I was still in a nightmare, the way I was petrified, unable to scream or move.  His signature blue eyes were clouded over and as I stared at them, they moved in opposite directions disjointedly. My vision widened slightly and I saw that there were more pairs of eyes tied onto the same string as Connor’s; I was staring at a necklace of eyes. And the necklace was worn by a disfigured girl who was crouched next to me on Sophie’s bed.  She was staring at me with solid white eyes.  From the bottom of the eyes black and red goo oozed down her cheeks like tears.  The ghost smiled in such a way that her thin lips stretched up to the corner of her eyes and the skin cracked as though it was bone-dry.  As I lay frozen, my heart pounding like the waves of a stormy ocean, the girl held up one stained clawlike hand.  In it resided a rusty pair of old-fashioned scissors. 
    I saw red. This thing was what took my best friend’s sight and was about to take mine too!  As one of her claws scratched and dug into the side of my face to hold it still, my hand crept down to grab the salt shaker that was digging into my side.  Then, in one fell swoop, I exploded backwards with a yell, swinging the shaker into the ghost’s face!
    With an unholy shriek she flickered out of existence.  In her absence, I drew a protective circle of salt around me.  When I glanced up, my gaze was met again with her unearthly eyes. 
    “Ah!” I yelled, spraying the remaining salt at her form.
    This time she disappeared only for a few moments before reappearing on the opposite side of the room.  As she hissed at me, her eyes slowly dripping goo onto the floor, I took in the rest of her appearance.  She seemed around my age at seventeen and she was, well, ghostly pale.  She was wearing a long orange dress that had some sort of pattern, it looked like, flowers, brown flowers.  I stared and I glanced at the curtain and then back at the dress, both of which were made out of the exact same, eerily glowing material. 
    “No,” I gasped.
    My albatross laughed, a cold raspy sound that echoed in my ears, “Oh yes, I’m here and it’s all your own doing.  I mean, I guess, it could be said that the thrift shop is to blame a little, seeing as how they took in a blood stained-dress and said “This seems like a good material for a living room window shade” but, you, you were the one who wanted to use it to get revenge.”
    Tears sprung to my eyes and she laughed again at the sight, “Poor little Connor, but you have to agree, he perfectly compliments my collection,” she purred as she stroked the eight eyes that hung on her necklace.
    I swallowed thickly, before daring to meet her dead expression of malicious glee, “I know how to kill you.  All I have to do is burn that,” I deadpanned while gesturing to the possessed curtain, “and you leave in a puff of smoke.”
    I crossed my fingers that my TV show had gotten that right too.
    “Maybe,” she muttered coldly, “but you should think about what might happen if you do send my spirit away.”
    Her countenance sent shivers down my spine but she paid it no mind, she was too caught up in revealing her evil plan.  In my state of shock, the question “Wow, could you have been more cliche?” crossed my mind before it focussed on what she was saying;
    “People never really understood me when I was alive, so, when someone pretended to, well, I showed them that they didn’t know anything,” she muttered as she unconsciously ran her decaying fingers across her trophies on the necklace, “I hated it when somebody attempted to placate and sympathize with me by pretending they could see into my soul.  Now that I’m dead, well, I just can’t help myself.  When I see someone who genuinely cares about another, and look at someone they love, it’s just too delicious to pass up the opportunity; they should know my pain.”
   “Your sister is next, because I can see right through your act.  Deep down, she’s still your sister and so you’ll always love her.  And then I think I’ll grab your mom’s eyes. And hey, maybe when your dad comes home sometime within the next year I can complete my family set.”
    “No! I won’t let you!” I yelled at her.
    For a minute she froze, almost confused that I dared interrupt her.  Then she disappeared only to teleport just on the outside of my protective circle.
    “You think that I’ll just poof away?” she hissed in my face, “You are just like the others.  You could kill me, again, in theory, but that will not be my end.  I’ll haunt you,” she said this as she captured my eyes in her clouded stare, “I’ll haunt you until the day you die.  Can you really do it? Give up any chance of happiness, all to save some people who you are anchored to because of your genetics?”
    Her words struck a chord. Maybe I could just bury the shroud, she would never be able to attack my family if she was six feet under.  Even as I thought it, I knew I would never be able to live with myself if I left this spirit alive, able to bring more despair to whoever discovered the altered article of clothing.  Either I beat myself up for the rest of my life, or I let this villain play whatever tricks she has up her sleeves and know that I made the right decision, the only decision that might give me atonement.
    I stared back coldly, “Look in my eyes and tell me if I’m lying when I say that I will end you, no matter the cost to me.”
    We remained in our standoff before the specter slowly melted into a rusty haze and was absorbed into the curtain.  As the two merged together the light that they had been emitting disappeared, plunging me into darkness yet again.

   Hours passed slowly, the only indication that I was not stuck in a time-loop was that I could eventually make out early morning light sliding under the door frame.  As soon as the clock read six-thirty I couldn’t bare to remain in my puddle of salty sweat any longer and made a break for the door.  It was like running out of the basement after you shut off the light, only I knew that I had a rea1 reason to flee the room.  I didn’t see any movement in my peripheral vision, but that didn’t stop me from heading straight into the kitchen cabinet and getting the large canister of salt. 
Clutching the tub close to my chest I scampered into the other room, dumped out the school binders from my backpack and grabbed the now empty rucksack.  I tiptoed around my house, paranoid that my mom or sister might hear me as I collected matches, igniting fluid, and even more salt.  As I double-checked that I had all the objects I would need to properly send the ghost away, I heard a creak behind me. I finished stuffing the supplies into my bag, and then spun around, salt in prime throwing position.  My mom stared confusedly at my reaction.
   “Good morning? What are you doing up?  I thought you bought a curtain or something so you could sleep in?”
   I shuddered involuntarily which earned me another strange look.  Thinking fast I blurted,
   “I forgot, for my photography class, I had to take a picture of some scenery at dawn, noon, and dusk.  I was planning on driving over to the field on the other side of town.”
    “Oh,” she pursed her lips, “I didn’t know you were taking photography this year.  Are you planning to be out all day?”
    “Um, yeah, I think I’ll just hang out at the mall or something when I’m not taking pics. Anyways, the light’s growing so I’m just going to go…”
    My mom folded her arms but smiled, “Ok, just call me if you want me to bring you lunch or something.”
    “Thanks, Mom,” I murmured softly. With her strangely domestic offer I turned away and blinked tears out of my eyes.  I brushed them away in surprise and sniffed before straightening; I could do this, I would get rid of this ghost to save my family.
    “Just need to grab my camera,” I told my mom before solemnly walking into Sophie’s room and stuffing the curtain into a separate bag.  As I spun to exit I swore I saw a shadowy figure slide just out of view, and to prove a point I took my time walking out of the room.

    I got out of my car, grabbed my bags, and walked off  of the street I had parked on.  I was walking the line between the start of a forest to my left  and a field that was just starting to turn yellow to my right.  The sun was hidden behind a layer of mist evaporating around me as I crunched over twigs and dried grass.  After about one hundred paces I stopped.  The long grass and flowers to my right whispered of days past their prime while the shadowy tree branches to my left threatened to swallow me up if I wasn’t careful. 
    I pulled out the rough fabric and after a moment threw it on top of a nearby boulder.  As it landed, it seemed to fold into the shape it once held, and the shaky illusion of the antiqued dress made me fumble slightly as I pulled out the igniting fluid.   The sun burned through the last of the fog as I poured a diligent amount of the flammable liquid on the material.  Then I sprinkled salt over the curtain and pulled out the box of matches.  My fingers steadied as I stuck the match.  The match sparked to life as an image of the dead girl flickered into view over the boulder.  In the daylight her skin was blotchy, almost as if the sun was peeling off what remained of her shell, layer by layer.  Her eyes squinted at me and pinpricks of blood started to leak in the corner of her eyes. 
    “Are you really sure you can do this?”
    Before, in the dark of night, surrounded by fear and loneliness, the answer had needed consideration.  But now, as a new day began I had the strength, the foolish hope that I could handle whatever the consequences of my actions were.  I quelched the desire to throw some cheesy pun at the figure as I tossed the match onto the curtain.  The ghost made no noise as she and her anchor were slowly consumed by flames. Everything slowly turned to smoke and curled away, except for the ghastly necklace. 
   The image lingered like the Cheshire cat’s smile and as I waited with bated breath for it to disappear as well. Horrifically, it seemed to solidify instead of fade with every passing second.  I took a step back and this seemed to break whatever barrier was keeping the strand in place. It flew towards me with terrifying speed.  I screamed as the necklace latched itself to my neck like a leech.  I felt the urge to throw up at the cool slimey texture of eight eyes pressed into my skin.  As each pair made contact, my mind was assaulted with images and I blacked out.

I was creeping behind the unsuspecting form of my “best friend”, then my mother, then my teacher.  They thought they knew me.  Understood me. Could help me.  Fools.  I see the terror in their faces.  I feel their warm blood on my hands.  I revel in the sounds of their screams.  Then I am standing in front of a mirror.  In my hand is a worn, rusty pair of scissors.  They are the only ones who truly know who I am.  I smile and stab myself, and watch as the light fades out of my own eyes.

    I gasped for breath and sat up off the hard ground.  The sun had almost set and I ran to my car.  As I put the key in the ignition I glanced in the rearview mirror and the ghost’s images stares back.  Then I fainted again.

    I am watching a foolish girl who thinks she knows everything about the world.  Her sister obviously hates her. Her mother loves her sister more.  Her best friend is the only one who really gets her.  I want them all to suffer.  I wait.
    I hang from the ceiling and watch the boy sleep.  He jolts awake and thinks he sees me.  The last thing he “sees” before my necklace is one pair heavier is a mirage. 

    “No!” I screamed, lurching forward.  My heart was pounding and as I wiped the perspiration off my forehead I noticed my cheeks were wet as well. I refuse to look in the mirror, terrified of what I would see if I did.  I drove home in a panicky haze.

     I was fine until bedtime that night.  As I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I caught my reflection; my eyes were a sightless white and bleeding down onto my cheeks.  I screamed and wiped my face, but my fingers came away dry.
    This was my curse.  I will always see myself with her eyes.  And every night I dream of her crimes as though I am the perpetrator.  I guess I kind of am.  I thought I understood.  But I know nothing.  And I know that now.  And so do you.

   The psychologist at the police station looked at the pale frame of the girl in front of him.  Her dulled green eyes were resigned to what she deemed was her fate. 
    “Thank you, Cythia, for talking with me, I’ll be back in a little while,” the doctor said.  “Poor dear, she’s gone completely mad.  It was probably the guilt over what she did to her friend that did it,” he thought to himself.
    As the doctor turned the door handle and prepared to exit he glanced one last time at the girl through the reflection in the interrogation room’s one-way mirror.  And just for a second, he swore he saw the girl look straight back at him with solid white eyes, crying twin rivers of blood.