1. Kylie Walker
I don't know what they mean. The Newspapers, television reports, the entire city. It's haunting
me. Not more than a couple weeks have passed but it feels more like a lifetime. Every waking
moment, I spend worrying, wondering, terrified. Some nights I sleep with my eyes open. Some
nights I don't sleep at all. “Emilie, come downstairs!” my mother calls from the kitchen.
“Coming mom...” I yell without a spark of enthusiasm. I change into my black baggy pants and
an even baggier sweater. These days my clothes don't even matter. I am sure she is going to
start questioning me, but out of all people she should believe me. I walk downstairs to see my
mom leaning against the counter. “Here's your toast”, she slides the plate down the counter
without turning her head to face me. “Thanks.” I walk away, my head hanging down. I want so
much to be able to talk to her, to open up. Who else do I have? “Mom-“, I begin, “I would
never, you know I would never...” But as usual, she just sits there with a newspaper in one
hand, coffee mug in the other, acting as if I don't exist. That's how she used to act, even before
this.
I left to visit the police department. I need to state my case, prove my innocence. I hear a
couple police officers mention my name, her name, my case. “Um excuse me officers, I believe
I heard my name?” They stare at me with blank expressions. “Yeah, I heard you. So if you
wouldn't mind, keep my case private.” More cops gather around me as if they want a show. All
their eyes search mine. The feelings are building up inside me. The tears begin swelling in my
eyes. “STOP!” The voices in my head got worse, they were shouting at me now, so I shout back.
“I would never hurt my friend! NEVER! God...please believe me...” I collapse to the floor in
tears. “I'M NOT A MURDERER!” It is probaby quiet. Everyone and everything in this room is

2. probably silent, unmoving, watching me. But all I see is blood, it's all around me. It's dark, eary,
I'm alone. But the voices in my head are my only company. They're screaming at me. My
hands cover my ears, tears roll down my cheeks. I smell the rusty blood all around me, burning
my nostrils. I feel something pulling me up from the ground, the darkness and blood slowly
fade away. I am back, with the police officers, but only for a little while. Now I'm home, again.
Lonely, isolated. Not much of a home anymore.
I am out of options. Completely. To clear my head, I walk beneath the gleaming street lamps. I
walk to THE graveyard. I always have trouble finding her grave. There were so many. “Kylie,
I'm sorry.” I kneel down in front of the fresh stone. The engravings ripping through my heart
like a thousand spears. “I still remember you. You're in my head all the time. That won’t ever
change. But now I’m in a deep amount of trouble trying to plead my case. You know I didn’t
mean to do it, don't you Kylie? You know I didn't mean to hurt you right? I'll always be here for
you, even now. You can talk to me. I bet if you were here you would help me like you always
had…I wish you could answer me, just once.” I trace the letters of her name: K Y L I E W A L K E
R. “My own mother doesn't even believe me” I continue “She hated me before this too. I still
can't figure out why.” I can't stand to stay any longer, I drop my red roses in an otherwise
gloomy setting, and turn away crying.
I come home and the lights are off, the house is empty, and the only thing lying on the coffee
table, is the newspaper my mom had been reading this morning. I pick it up, only to discover
the headline on the front page reading: 'Teen girl stabbed to death in rural New Jersey.' This is
really happening, all of it. From the news on T.V, to the newspapers, to the word on the

3. streets. “Kylie”, is all I manage to say before a terrifying knock escalates my nerves. It almost
comes from within my body, but I know it's the front door.
I can guess who it is before I even open the door. An aged man, well-dressed, stands in the
doorway, a small bag in one hand. Beside him, my mother, leaning against the doorway, arms
folded on her chest. She has a slight grin on her face. They walk in and my mom motions for
the couch. “This is Dr. Stevens... from Jersey Heights Mental Hospital.” Saying this doesn't pain
her even for a second. “You want to send me away?” Strangly I don't want to hear the answer.
“It's time for you to leave. This has gotten out of hand. I don't want to be responsible for you
anymore. You've gone too far.” My heart sinks lower than ever. I feel my body collapsing,
again. The dizziness sets in. “I'm not safe anymore Sophia. Knowing that I should keep a
weapon beside my bed just in case my own daughter has one of her episodes in the middle of
the night. I don't know what you're capable of anymore.” I choke on my words as if they're ash
and dust, unable to speak. My mother just dug my own grave.
There are no police. No mother, no family at all. Where are they? Do I even have a family? I
look around at the stained walls, spots that are rusted with old blood, old memories. The
curtains have gone from white to a pale yellow. You notice these little things when you have
time. A lot of time. All I have is time. Time to think. Time to become crazier than I already am.
That's why I've been in here for over a year. Making tallies on the wall for each day that passes
by. 493 so far. But this isn't a place you can escape. It isn't a tunnel that leads to a better
place. It's worse than being jailed, at least then you have a sentence, and a chance. No, my

4. mind is the prison and my thoughts are the prisoners. I am a prisoner. I murdered Kylie
Walker.