Getting to Judgment

Getting to Judgment is a story about two teenagers who are killed by a serial killer. During the story we follow Macy and Myles through their journey to get to judgment.

Part One: Isaac Fisher

             Killing isn’t a choice. It’s an obsession. Taking a life gives me a thrill like no other. I don’t kill people randomly though. I have my reasons. Girls who break hearts and boys who use them mustn’t be allowed to exist.

            I learned from the young age that girls older than eleven years old are vicious. They break hearts, dampen spirits, and kill dreams. Boys older than thirteen can be just as evil. My sister was sixteen when her boyfriend left her pregnant to become a rock star with his band. She committed suicide and his band failed and he died at twenty-one from overdosing on heroin. Teenagers must be taken care of. Only a select few of them can live. They must think logically and have their head firmly secured to their body. Those who don’t will just waste their lives. 

            I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire called Nashua. I lived on Merrythouts Street. There was a small wood at the end of road next to my house. Ironically enough it was the last house on the left. I lived there with my sister, parents, and grandmother. When I was in college (after my grandmother died) my parents kicked the bucket leaving me the house. I left college and went to live in the house by myself.

            I people I have rid the world from have called a murderer, serial killer, and many other names. I believe I’m doing them a favor by ridding the world of those who plague it with sadness. They destroy lives so they do not deserve theirs. Who cares what they think? They hurt people in their lives, so I won’t let their words hurt me now.

            Macy Cunningham is a perfect example. She broke hearts, told lies about her friends, and thought she would be famous. She had to be ended, so I did. It was late October and she was coming home from the movies. They weren’t far from her house so she told her friends to just go home and she could walk. She took a “shortcut” through an alley. I obviously was waiting for her. I blindfolded her and gagged her. I put her in the backseat of my van and drove back to my house. I knocked her out and tied her to a chair in my basement. I took off her blind fold and waited for her to wake up while I got my instruments. They included a pole that people use to tend to fires, a sewing needle, and glass. She screamed a lot. No one heard her though. I tortured her for hours before finally killing her. She needed to feel the pain she inflicted upon others.  I took her clothes and burned them. I washed all the blood off her body and put it in garbage bag. I took her body to a river. I put the bag into a boat and pushed it out into the open water. They would find her body later, but they would find no evidence on who killed her.

Myles James was more difficult. He was stronger, smarter, and tougher. He broke girls’ hearts and threw them aside like garbage. He was walking home from basketball practice and decided to take a quick detour and check in with his girlfriend. On his way there I called to him. “Hey, do you need a ride?”  I called to him. He said yes and climbed into my car. He sat down and before he could register what was going on I pulled a bag over his head. I put an air hole in the bag so he could breathe. I knocked him out with some drugs and tied him to a pole in the back of the van. I pulled around to the back of my house and unloaded him. I brought him down the bulkhead to my basement. I tied him to the same chair as Macy had been tied to. When he came through I laid him down and put a cloth over his face. I poured water on his face. When he finally drowned I revived him and repeated the process. After a few cycles I finally let him die. I burned the body and everything else besides the chair. I threw the ashes in the garbage. Then I began my search for my next project.


Part Two: Macy Cunningham

                 Dying was relief after the torture. He blinded me by sticking a needle in my eyes. I didn’t know when he was going to kill me. I just felt pain. Then I was weightless. It was bright and pleasant. I felt like I was lying on the beach then I realized I was. I then realized I could see. I turned my head and saw many pairs of feet. I stood up and followed the crowd. People were walking into the water to an island. I looked at my hands and they began to fade. I looked at my feet, they began to fade to. Then I was gone.

                I was in a wood by the Nashua River. The trees were spread apart so I could see for miles. Then I saw him. My killer. I approached him and I saw what he was doing.  He had my body in black garbage bag and put it onto a canoe. I walked over to him and I saw him shiver. I had been so distracted by seeing my own body I walked right through him. Literally through him!  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, I was dead. He watched the canoe float away until it was out of site. He walked through me and shuddered. He walked out of the woods and into a house I could only assume was his own. I followed him into the house and looked around. It was a nice house. The den was big and it led into the kitchen. Connected to the kitchen was the dining room. In the kitchen there was a door. He opened it and revealed a staircase I assumed lead to the basement. He went down and I pursued after him. It was just as I remembered.  Dark and unfinished, made entirely of concrete with only a single light hanging from the ceiling with a pull cord to turn it on. He gathered what looked to be my clothes and then did it only occur to me what I was wearing. I was wearing what seemed to be Greek Goddess’ dress. It was beautiful. It was light blue with gold lace on the v-neck. It had a band around my ribcage and then swept to the ground. At the bottom was intricate gold beading. On my feet were golden sandals and in my hair was a Greek diadem.  It was made of rowan leaves and berries.

                I knew what type of wood it was because when I was alive, my father was a carpenter. He taught me all about different sorts of wood when I was young. In school I was the best of my year in wood shop. My friends were amazed and I let them praise me. They praised me not only for my carpentry talent, but my beauty. I had light brown hair with natural blonde highlights. They fell in ropes of curls down past my shoulders. My face was practically perfect. My eyes were green with hints of blue. The center of my iris just around the pupil was gold. The outer rim of my iris was like a silver lining of a cloud. My skin was perfect. Never a blemish and I had rosy cheeks. My lips were rose red and my teeth were straight and pure white.

                 I pitied those who didn’t have my beauty, but I still made their lives miserable. I will never forgive myself for hurting them. They were perfectly fine, but I still impaired their lives. I made them think badly of themselves. I made others not like them for no other reason than conceit. I was stuck-up and judgmental. Truthfully I envied them. They had what perfect Macy didn’t have. Real Friends. And even though I turned many people against them, they still had their friends.

                Even though I did those dreadful things, did I really deserve to die? While I was being tortured, Isaac told me why he was doing it. That is why I regret what I did. There is no other reason and it makes it apparent I took my conceit with me when I died. I know this, but I can’t change it. That’s just the way things are.


Part Three: Myles James

            I never actually considered how I would die. It seemed very far away and I had troubles that were important there and then. Trouble that seem idiotic now. Basketball, girls, and food were my worries, not what would happen to my parents after I died. They had already lost one of their children, my sister. She died of Leukemia and seven. She was my older sister so I don’t really remember her. I was only three when she died. We moved from Los Angeles to New Hampshire to get away from all of the painful memories. Now they will have to move again, but without me.

On March 22, 2010 I was going home from basketball practice when I decided I should check up on Emily, my girlfriend. I was almost there when a guy pulled over in a van and asked if I needed a ride. Like an idiot I got in the car and before I could take a breath a bag was over my head. I struggled but he gave me a dose of drugs and I was out cold. Next thing I remember was being tied to a table with a rag on my face. He poured water on it and I drowned. He revived me and drowned me again repeatedly. I finally died.

            I woke up though. Face down in sand. I pulled my head up and found out I was wearing something much different than the jeans and t shirt I was wearing when I died. I was wear dressed in a white button down shirt and brown drawstring pants. I was wearing brown sandals and there was a circle of pine leaves resting on my head like a crown. I stood up and I disappeared

            I rematerialized in a basement. It seemed familiar, but I couldn’t be sure. Then I spotted him. Isaac was there. Then I realized something. We were not alone.

The End

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