Alisha was a beautiful girl. She had long, dirty-blonde hair and sparkling jade eyes. She was the new girl in school, and not realizing that I was a social outcast, sat next to me in class and said, “Hello.” From there, our friendship blossomed and I developed a deep love for her. Unfortunately, she never returned the favor.

Late one night I asked her to go to the park. I told her I had a surprise for her. As we walked, we gazed at the twinkling stars above. While she looked up I leaned in for the kiss I had longed for, and then grabbed her. My strength overpowered hers, and within a few seconds I had her arms tightly bound with my jacket. As she kicked and struggled, I dragged her to the woods a couple feet from where we were standing. I found the abandoned car I had discovered a few days earlier and threw her in the trunk. I walked away knowing what I was doing was right; if I couldn’t have her, no one should.

They found the car three days later with her arm poking through a small hole in the cheap interior with a bloodstained index finger. She had written a futile crimson plea for help on the left window.

As the weeks passed I thought of her less. Then one day, a girl in my math class looked over at me and smiled. She was a beautiful girl.