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1 Right now there is a massive manhunt for me. There’s almost no chance I will be found, but just in case, I need to set the record straight. I know you think you know what happened. I mean, it has been all over the news for days. The country in mourning, shocking act of violence, and on and on. But you only know what they told you. But once I tell you everything, tell you the truth, you’ll be thanking me. I’ll be a goddamn hero. Not that anyone will admit it. Doesn’t matter though. I’ll be long gone. So like any good story, I have to start at the beginning. I know you’d prefer me to just cut to the chase. But there are some things you need to know first. Bear with me, you’ll be glad you did. 2 First, you should know some things about me. I hate people. I hate small talk. Trying to find something to talk about with a bunch of strangers I’ll never see again. No thanks. I like being alone. I’m happy alone. I don’t want to be married and pop out a couple of whiny, germ filled kids. I don’t want anyone around telling me what to do or making me feel bad about what I am doing; i.e. a husband or boyfriend. If I want to stay up till three in the morning eating double stuff Oreos while watching St. Elmo’s Fire then that’s what I goddamn well am going to do. If I want to lay in bed till noon or not shower for a couple of days, well, you get the idea. If I feel the need for some companionship i.e. sex, I go pick up a guy at a bar. It’s pretty easy because, in all modesty, I’m hot. Not just attractive. An actual stone cold fox, at least to enough of the population to matter. I can say that because I had nothing to do with it.
All genetics. All big blue eyes, full lips, blond, tall, and lean. So sex, no problem. And since I don’t really like people or small talk, I pretty much scope out the bar for an attractive unattached guy and ask if he wants to go to my place. I’ve never been turned down. No one spends the night. Last thing I need in the morning is some smelly guy with bad breath bothering me for something I had plenty of the night before. Also, I’m filthy rich. I hadn’t planned on ever working for a living, but who knew I’d find something I enjoy so much. What do I do? I kill people. For money. I know what you’re thinking, but who gives a shit. Not me, that’s for sure. If it makes you feel any better I don’t kill kids, no spouses just because a divorce will cost too much (selfish bastards), but other people. It’s not hard, partly because of because of my looks. I can get into a lot of places with no questions asked. And partly because I’m ahead of the curve on intelligence. Not a genius, but pretty damn smart. Maybe it goes without saying that I don’t have any friends, but I’ll say it anyway. I don’t have any friends. And I don’t mean I don’t have any close friends. I don’t have any. I think it’s because I’m rich and beautiful and that intimidates people. Or, it’s because I’m a bitch. I don’t care about people’s petty problems, I don’t take shit from anyone, and I don’t tell people what they want to hear. So, why am I telling you all of this and why do you care? Because, I just killed the President of the United States. 3 I wasn’t born an unfeeling bitch. I was made into one. I was a caboose baby. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it means my parents were done having kids but too lazy or dumb to do anything permanent. So sixteen years after their first and only child, I was born. I don’t know why they had me. It wasn’t as if abortion was illegal. It was 1984 for Christ’s sake. My parents weren’t overly affectionate with my older sister, but to me they were downright cold. I didn’t understand why until recently. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Who knows how I would have turned out if I had been loved. Nature vs. nurture, right? Who can say? Anyway, my parents were killed in a car accident when I was ten. My life hardly changed. Remember when I said I was filthy rich? Well, it’s from family money. Where did it
come from? Doesn’t matter. My parents were rich and their parents were rich. Rich marrying the rich and getting richer. So when my parents died, I stayed in the same house with the same servants taking care of me, only now my older sister was in charge of me. At the ripe old age of twenty six. She moved back into my parents’ home, but basically left me alone. Where did we live? Irrelevant to the story. But if you really need a location, just imagine some sprawling estate up north. Did I mention my sister works in politics? She has a political science degree. She started volunteering in college for whatever Republican was running. Oh yeah, my whole family is Republican. Big surprise, right? Rich and white. I’m the odd man odd. Another big surprise. I actually don’t give a shit who’s president. They could tax me at eighty percent and I’d still have more money than I could ever spend. They could take away gun rights and I could still obtain any weapon I needed. They’re all a bunch of lying crooks anyway. But, I digress. So my only order from my sister was to not embarrass the family. My sister had big plans for her future and wasn’t about to let a pre-teen stop her. So I had almost complete freedom, as long as I did well in school and didn’t draw any unwanted attention to the family. The doing well in school was no problem. As I said, I’m not a genius, but definitely above the curve when it comes to brains. My sister also controlled my trust until I was twenty one, so I behaved. It wasn’t that hard. You’re thinking I was some wild child? How else could I grow up to be a stone cold killer? You’re completely wrong. Killing people takes incredible control. Correction, killing people and not getting caught, that takes incredible control and planning and patience. You can’t do anything spur of the moment. You have to be able to walk away if something changes. So how did I become a killer? I’ll get to that. It’s not really the point of this story, but I think you need to know about me to understand what I did.
Excerpt from the second story in the book, The Hate:
“So it is with great regret that I am forced to let the defendant go,” the judge said, lowering her gavel. It was over. I know judges are supposed to remain neutral, but the look of disgust on her face spoke volumes. Even though we all knew it was coming, there was still a large outcry from the galleys. I say we like we were all together, but I only knew a couple of people present. The rest had been organized by a victim’s rights group tired of laws that let criminals walk. When we heard what was coming, my friend Annie contacted them. Annie contacted everyone; newspapers, talk shows, television. I couldn’t help her. I could barely get out of bed. Of course it became a big story here in Colorado. But it only warranted a blip on the national front. I knew the protesters didn’t have the same flame of hope I did. That somehow the judge would forget about the law just this one time. She knew what the defendant did. She knew what he was. But she couldn’t change the law by ignoring it. The protesters knew and they were ready. “Order, Order,” she banged the gavel, but they just got louder. “Officers, clear the courtroom.” She banged the gavel one last time and left, escorted by a bodyguard. The extra security brought in for this ruling went into action herding people to the door. This wasn’t their first experience with this group. I felt the pressure of Annie squeezing my hand. I could feel her eyes on me. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t take the pity I knew would be there. Right now I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop staring at him. There he was, his hand gripping his lawyers, causing the sleeve of his ill-fitting suit to ride halfway up his arm. It looked like something his lawyer picked up from goodwill. Despite protests from my friends, I chose to sit directly behind this man. I wanted him to know I was there. I wanted him to feel my hatred, my anger. He glanced back at me, smirking. That bastard was smirking at me. At that moment I knew I would kill him. I knew I would make him beg for his life and then I would kill him. The image appeared in my head like a movie. Maybe he actually felt the daggers coming from my eyes because he stopped smirking and looked away. He shouldn’t have killed her. He shouldn’t have left me with nothing more to lose. 2
My friend Annie was trying to get me to leave, but I couldn’t. It was as if by sitting there, my eyes closed, I could undo what had been done. I could go back and make sure the search was legal. Tell the overanxious detectives to wait until the warrant was signed. But once I left this courtroom, it would be too late. It would be real. They were there too, the detectives. I knew they were watching me, but I couldn’t look at them any more than I could look at Annie. It wasn’t pity I was afraid of seeing from them though. It was remorse. Deep down I knew their intentions had been good. But deep down wasn’t enough for forgiveness. I didn’t want their sorrow to make them people in my eyes. The truth was, I didn’t want to forgive them. I was afraid to move. This trial was the only thing keeping me going. It was the reason I got out of bed each day. The reason I went through the motions of life. The reason I did the simple things people do each day without a thought. Things that drained the small amount of energy I did have. I did them so I could see him punished. And now this. What was I going to do now? Go home? Go back to work like nothing had happened? Like that was even possible. A year ago my life was great. I loved my husband and my daughter. John and Amy were my life. I had friends, a good job. I was actually thinking things were getting a little boring. God, if only I could go back, I would be happy to be bored like that for the rest of my life. It only took a second to change everything. Too many if only’s. I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening. Then it happened. All that rage I’d been controlling, I set free. 3 My actions were so quick Annie didn’t have time to react until it was over. I jumped the banister separating me from him, grabbed a pen from the table, and aimed for his throat. It would have worked if his lawyer hadn’t caught my arm. I think I could have pulled away and still stabbed him if the bailiff hadn’t been so quick to react. He ran over and grabbed me in a big bear hug. The lawyer relieved me of the pen, then ushered his client, who hadn’t even moved away from my attack, out the back way. The stream of profanity I was screaming at everyone around me rivaled Tony Soprano. I don’t normally swear, but I felt possessed. I don’t know where it all came from, but it must have been everything I had been holding in for the last six months. I was fighting like a wild
animal, but the bailiff just squeezed me tighter. In my mind I was putting up quite a fight, but the lack of sleep and food the last six months had taken their toll. It wasn’t long before I went limp in his arms. I sat there long after the room had cleared. I guess I wasn’t perceived as a threat because the bailiff just set me down on the hard bench and left. Annie said she would wait outside. She knew I wasn’t ready yet. Six months was all it took to turn my life upside down. John killed by a drunk driver. The driver who killed John also died, so I had no one to vent my rage at. And I had to think of Amy. I had to be okay for her. Now Amy was gone, and her killer free. Annie finally came and helped me up. I let her believe I was okay, but I didn’t make eye contact. I was afraid she would see that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Want to read the rest of the stories? The Hate is available on Amazon, Smashwords, and Barnes and Noble. http://www.amazon.com/The-Hate-ebook/dp/B004O6MVAS/ http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43781 http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-hate-sl-pierce/1030183843
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