She’s just beyond the bush over there, fumbling her keys and talking on the phone. Her hair is long and Ferrari red, she’s wearing leggings and a low cut tank top. I have been keeping my eye on her all night. We started out over on 54th street where she met up with some friends, and had some drinks. They talked about her Math final and this boy on the La Crosse team who had added her on Facebook. She has the sweetest face I have ever seen, so innocent and forgiving. She then headed over to the college campus bars, Old Timers to be exact. I watched her dance the night away, drinking and carrying about in a sluttish and profane way. These goddamn children of today have no respect for anything. They just want to drink and party with no regards, but not in my world. I know what’s right and wrong and so will they. She called a cab to 544 Mitchell Way. She got to her dorm room at 2:10am, ten minutes after dorm lock down. As I approach her from behind she has no idea of my presence. I wait until she finds the right key; I brush up against her gently alerting her, before I grab her I look into her eyes. This innocent face I watch tarnished all night with drinking and flirtatious smut, was afraid. She looked at me in a trespassing manner, as if I shouldn’t be there. I grabbed her and placed my hand around her mouth firmly to dampen the sound of screaming. The sound of screaming while someone’s hand is over your mouth sounds like screaming with someone’s hand over your mouth. So I pulled her into the parking garage entrance. She was kicking and biting at my hand, her face is filled will tears and running mascara. The same mascara I watched her put on earlier. She worked so hard at the campus school store to buy that mascara, what a shame. I move my hand from her mouth to reposition it around her throat. It’s not long before she’s quiet and you can see the beauty of her innocent face. All that was left or her was a lanyard with her college ID in it, Sarah Meyer.
She works for the Census bureau, her name tag reads Elaine Brewster. I have seen her going door to door with her clipboard for 3 hours now. She usually takes her break at 1:30pm. She usually finds some secluded place where she can smoke some “Mary Jane.” I despise that pungent smell and all of its sins. She is making a mockery of America and its work force. I approach her car from the passenger side. She is to indulged in the step-by-step process of this drug to even notice me. I stick my hand through her back window and wrap the seat belt around her neck. The sound of that weird screaming, hand over the mouth noise rings in my ear, she fades quickly. I ease up on the seat belt and her head falls forward. I pick it up and wipe away her cherry flavored lollipop hair to look into her eyes. She is a beautiful now, no more drugs to tarnish this innocent soul.
I call her #3, she sings so beautiful you could easily mistake her for an angel. She stands with the posture of a choir singer. Her vivid fire truck red hair reflects of the light as if it were raining red rain. She performs for two hours and thirty-five minutes every Monday at Jake’s Irish Pub. I watch her fool around with the owner every night in the back seat of his luxury car. He’s a married man and she’s a fool, they are both fools, sinners. This man taking advantage of innocent and precious soul is immoral. This Tuesday I followed them to the Sears Motel across the highway. They checked into room 3. I watched as different members of the worlds scum entered and exited room 3. I waited until the yelling and music had died down and nothing but silence roamed the air. I approached the door and put my ear to it. I heard quite chatter and giggling. I covered the peephole with my hand and gave a subtle knock. I heard a door slam from inside and footsteps nearing the door. “We don’t need anything thing thanks.” I knocked again, this time firmer than before. He yelled obscenities as he opened the door. As soon as the door unhinged from the lock I pushed it hitting him with the door. I stepped in the door and closed it behind me. He looked at me with a blank stare while holding his head. Before he could say a word one thrust to the head was the end of this cheating man. “Jake, Jake,” I hear being mumbled from the bathroom. I walk toward the bathroom clutching the metal pipe I had dislodged from Sarah Meyer’s closet earlier. I try the handle but the door is locked. “Who’s there?” she says. I can hear her voice trembling; she’s definitely a screamer. God knows I would do anything to not hear that chalkboard screeching m hand over the mouth screaming noise. She again asks who’s there, I say nothing and begin to shoulder the door in attempt to break it down. She’s screaming now and this fuels me to break down the door even quicker. I finally get in and she is in the bathtub screaming with a shaver in her hand. I look at her from top to bottom. Her beautiful hair is soaked with tears; I say one thing to her, “Don’t scream.”
She jogs every night through the park. She wears shorts and a cross-country shirt from her high school that says “Weiss.” Before she goes for her jog she spends hours at the casino gambling and pissing away her earnings. She justifies this by drowning in her own sorrows and booze. Gambling is a fools game and for sinners. She is a damper on society, she feeds into the worlds many vices she’s weak. I follow her thought the bridge underpass in the park. Her iPod headphones are lost in her beautiful ginger colored hair. Once we reach the middle of the underpass I catch up getting close enough to push her to the ground. I start to clinch my fist tight. She looks at me with a puzzled face. As I approach her I’m counting down the time before her brain tells her to scream. I kneel down and place my hands around her neck. She never screams, I watch as tears and saliva run down her pale cheeks as she stares into my eyes. Thirty seconds is all it takes for her body to lie lifeless in my hands. There’s an imprint on her neck from a necklace. I could feel it clinched in between my hand and her neck. The necklace had a heart locket on it. It reads “Daddy’s Little Girl.” I suddenly get a terrible feeling in my stomach. I open the locket and it s picture of a girl sitting on Santa’s lap. The back of the locket reads Florida 1991. I rip the necklace from around her neck and clinch it my chest. What have I done?
I remember there was a time when I had a little girl she was my world. She would always stare at me with her beautiful little brown eyes. I would kiss her on the forehead every night before bed. A little piece of my heart died the day her mother took her away from me. I wanted nothing but the best for my daughter but she picked the wrong path and chose the wrong friends. I was irrelevant to her, just another dead-beat dad. I look at the locket once again and start to tremble. Tears start to run down my face and I feel weak inside. I try and stand but the sight of her body lying there lifeless weakens every attempt. I close her beautiful brown eyes with my index finger and thumb. I come to the realization of what I’ve done. The last piece of my heart just died. I sigh, and kiss my little girl for one last time.
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