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The Face of a Killer

So, there's this girl at my school. She's awkward. She has these big blue eyes that stare without blinking, and my friends say she's weird. They say a lot of things about her. They talk about her behind her back a lot, and most of the time it's only from a couple of yards away. I think she knows it too. Honestly, only a fool wouldn't suspect it. I don't really think about her much. In fact, I think she's weird too. I laugh at her with my friends, and here and there I'll crack a joke myself. Still, I think nothing of it. Then, I was reading an article about a girl who killed herself, and I finally thought something of it. I thought to myself: I don't know her story. I don't know what this girl goes through every day, and I don't know what she goes home to. In fact, I don't even know if she has a home. So why, I ask myself, do I always laugh and make fun of her all the time? She's never even done anything to me. All she's done is try to be friends with me, and I keep my head down when she says hello, failing to pretend I didn't hear her. Sometimes I look her in the eye and still ignore her. The thoughts in the back of my head all start with 'What if'. What if the article I read was about her? What if my friends and I were what pushed her over the edge? Would I be able to look in the mirror and see myself, or would I see the face of a killer?



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