Daisy Hernandez Mr.

Anderson Honors English 9 14 December 2011

Lizzie Borden: What Really Happened

Prologue
Lizzie Borden wandered away from her family and her stepmother. She hates her stepmother, Abby. She is such a hag, always cuddling up to pa. He married her on June 6, 1865. I swear it was the worst day of my life. She moved in with us on 92 Second St., Fall River, Massachusetts and ever since that day Ive been hatching up a plan to get rid of her, for good. She knew she had to get it over with soon. Just didnt know when.

The morning sunlight was an irritating intrusion into the comfortable haze of sleep. She kept her eyes closed, trying to let sleep reclaim her. But it was too late, she was now fully awake. She sighed, she knew she had to get up now or else Abby would have her hide. She made a disgusted sound to herself as she finally threw off the blankets and sat up. She didnt want to start off the day with that old wrench bothering her. She wasnt much of a morning person. But today she doesnt mind. She has plans today, plans she intends to fulfill. She stumbled through her morning routines; showering, brushing her teeth, and dressing. She scrutinized herself in the mirror and pulled her hair into a tight ponytail. The only kind of ponytail her hair would allow. She hated it when people tell her that shes gorgeous. Theres nothing gorgeous about having broad shoulders, a thin waist and, broad hips. The only feature she likes about herself is her light blue eyes. If she could have it any other way she would. Although, what did she expect? Life didnt seem to want to go the way she wanted it to go. Father insists on living a lifestyle well below the more comfortable life we could have.

All she wants is to live a lavish lifestyle as a young, beautiful, rich woman, and move into The Hill where all the wonderful people live. But father refuses to let her have a social life, except for letting her work actively with the church. She brushed aside the thoughts that were starting to form in her head, and hurried out her door, crossing her fingers like she did every morning, hoping that today will be the day. Abby, she thought. Her father, Andrew Borden, called her one of a kind. She wasnt quite so kind in her description of the old woman that is her stepmother. She tried telling him that shes a mean old thing and he was better off not marrying her at all. He argued back that ever since mother died she has kept him happy. As if! She quietly went downstairs to see what her father and sister are up to. Downstairs she sees her father at the door talking to a gentleman on the other side. Her dad must have had heard her because he turned around and acknowledge her. Hello daughter. Come down and meet John Morse. Reluctantly she obliged and slowly went down the stairs. Hello, Mr. Morse. Oh, please call me John. He smiled at her then. Please, please do come in, says father as he ushered in John. Lizzie dear, Mr. Morse here will be our guest for the day. Would you be so kind as to go fetch Bridget the house maid. Lizzie tried to smile back, but she couldnt help feeling frustrated. Of course, father. She hoped this John guy wont get in her way. Lizzie went to go find Bridget. She went upstairs to see if she was in her room in the attic. Bridget! She quietly knocked on her door. Bridget! she whispered fiercely. Bridget didnt seem to hear her so she let herself in. Inside she found Bridget lying on her bed half dazed. Bridget , are you feeling well? She didnt look so good. It looks like shes becoming ill. Would you be a doll and tell your father Im not feeling well, she says hoarsely. I just need to take a nap. She didnt reply back, she was too excited that things are starting to go well. Lizzie went back downstairs to go tell her father of the bad news. It seemed like it didnt matter though. Her father seemed to be occupied with other business and making plans.

Lizzie, dear, I have to go deal with some business away from home. Ill be back soon though. What of Mr. Morse though? And where is Emma and Abby? she says curiously. Mr. Morse went to go take care of something before he settles in with us. While Emma went to go visit a friend and your mother is upstairs tidying the guess room. Yes! She thought to herself. She couldnt wait to get the deed done. She pretended to be disappointed. Very well, father, she says. Come home soon, love you, she says as she watched her father leave. As soon as her father closed the front door she quickly dashed down to the basement, seeking a good weapon to help aid her in her plan. In the corner of the dark basement she finds a cluster of hatchets that seem to gleam to her as if knowing what she intends to do. Hmm, this will do, she says to herself as she picks one up. She likes how it feels in her hands as if she were meant to wield it. Her feet moved stealthily, noiselessly, and despite the creaky floorboards, she had no trouble in being quiet. She felt a wave of electricity jolting through her as she spots her stepmother with her back towards her. She couldnt believe that finally this was going to happen. Casually she leaned against the doorframe watching her go on with her business. Turn around you old hag, she thought to herself. She couldnt afford to waste time dawdling. She was going to have to kill her now. Silence her. Hello Abby. With lightning speed she was right behind Abby, arm posed above her head ready to strike. Shed have to act fast if she wanted to get this over with. With tremendous force she swung the hatchet with all of her might directly at the back of her stepmothers scalp. Just like that Abby fell over face down and landed with a heavy thud. Over and over again she swung the hatchet into the back of Abbys body with such ferocious determination that she couldnt help but let out a joyful laugh. When she was finally done the back of her stepmothers head was so mutilated she couldnt help but admire what she has done. She waited for some sense of accomplishment of a job well done but it never came. Instead all she felt was ravenous like she wasnt done just yet. Startled, she hears her father downstairs. Oh crap Lizzie thought to herself. What if he heard? If he heard Ill have to kill him. With her mind made up she goes downstairs to check on her father. In the living room she sees her dad displayed out on the couch. He appeared to be asleep.

She reached out and touched his hand. She remembers when he used that very hand to catch her pigeons she had kept in the barn and killed them all because he thought the neighborhood boys were causing too much trouble with them. He shouldnt have done that. Those pigeons didnt deserve that, she thought to herself. Anger fueling her rage again she saw her father with different eyes. She didnt hesitate to chop her fathers face beyond recognition. Many whacks later her fathers face was unrecognizable. She felt exhilarated, powerful, ALIVE. Now all she had to do is clean herself up and get rid of the evidence against her. Quickly she changed and burned her bloody dress in the stove. The only thing she didnt know what to do about was the hatchet. What is she supposed to do with that? She asked herself questionably. She attempted to clean off the blood on the axe with ash but it wasnt wor king as well as she hoped. So she went back downstairs and put back the hatchet in hope that they wont find it. Once she felt like everything was in place, she cried out for Bridget to come and assist her. Bridget!!! she yelled loudly. Come quickly! Father is dead! she wailed.

AFTERMATH
The chaos of the scene was absolutely delicious. Watching what she has done, undetectable. All the while she was being interrogated by the police she acted confused, worried, and scared. They didnt suspect a thing. She knew she wouldnt be accounted for what had happened. The police and investigators worked together to keep the scene contained from the curious eyes of the audience that was gathering rapidly in front of her house. She watched outside of her house as people pushed and shoved, trying to get a better view of what happened inside. She stood as far away from them, without being suspicious, as she could not wanting to be near in fear of someone might catch her smiling underneath her tear streaked facade. Today was a good day.