Last time: Sarah Devens stumbled upon the body of her dead teacher, literally. She slipped in his gory blood and landed herself in the hospital.
I awoke feeling different. As if a part of me were gone. That part of me that felt like it was missing was my left arm. Then I looked over at it.
I had been stabbed! [Where are the nurses?!]
As soon as I saw that, I started screaming bloody murder.
Then the doctors came in. Apariently I couldn’t have been stabbed that long before, because I had been stabbed in an artery. Then things got dim--like the previous day at school when I just happened to find Mr. Wain--and dimmer and dimmer.
* * * * *
I awoke again. But this time I was in my bedroom at home. Then I saw my mother. She was sitting at my desk.
“Mom,” I said.
“Honey,” she said in her annoying perky way. [If you hadn’t noticed, I didn’t like perky people.] “Your up. How do you feel?”
“That’s good, I was worried sick. [Yeah, not showing up at the hospital in your daughter's time of need is exactly what shows how much you care.] Thank goodness your all right.”
“I’m fine. Where’s Jimmy?”
“He went to school today.”
“Great,” I said sarcastically. “what time is it?”
“It’s two “o” clock.”
“One more hour.”
“How are you?”
“Didn’t you already ask that question.”
“No buts about it. I’m tired. Leave!” I could tell my mother was definitatly hurt. But I didn’t care. Oh, no, I’m no going to become a softy. I’m sixteen. I can take care of myself.
* * * * *
Yes, it’s me again. I know your surprised. But it really is true. Sarah is sixteen. She kind of acts like a baby, but that‘s how it is. [At least I realized this as I wrote it.] I’m almost ashamed to have her as--sorry I keep rambling on on like that. It happens, sometimes, you know.
You might be wondering what I was about to say, but you’ll find out soon enough. All comes in due time. And again, I tell you, that I am not Sarah. I am simply telling you this through Sarah’s point of view. She is the story. Yet I am--I‘ll tell you later.
Sarah slept the rest of that day and half of the next. I will tell it to you now. . . . .
I hate mourning--I prefer night.
If I awoke to peaceful sunlight streaming threw the window, birds singing peaceful beuatiful songs--I might like mourning better. I might have woken up in a good mood. But I didn’t.
Instead I wake up to hammering and chain saw churning, and all the normal sounds coming from the constructin site next door.
I hate Oregon, I thought. [It seems I had a bone to pick with Oregon. The gals from Dear Sister lived--and hated it--there, too. The closest I‘ve ever come to Oregon is Southern California when I was four.]
I hate the noise. I hate the polution. I hate the traffic. I hate everything.
I looked at my alarm clock to see what time it was.
Jimmy was home, I thought.
I grabed my phone off the reciever and dialed Jimmy’s number.
It rang three times before anyone picked it up.
“Hello,” said a deep male voice.
It was Jimmy.
“Hey Jimmo,” I said.
“Sarah, how ya doin?
“Fine. How are you?”
“Okay. How ya feelin?” [I don’t think he was supposed to be southern]
“Fine. I already said that.”
“I know that.”
“Really Jimmy, how do you hide all of your stupidity, and apear to be so smart?”
“What can I say, but the intelligence impaired know all.” [WTF?]
“You are so stupid.”
“Duh yourself, you big wienie.”
“Oooo. I’m shakin’ in my cootie.”
“What?” [My sentiments exactly.]
“Listen Sarah, I gotta go.”
He hung up before I could say anything. I hate him so much sometimes.
* * * * *
I went back to school three days later. Everyone asked me about the gory details of Mr. Wain’s body. I just told them where to shove it and walked off.
I found Jimmy waiting for me by my locker.
“What the hell do you want, Jimmy?”
“I just want to know how your doing. That’s all.”
“Nice. If you’ll excuse your unwanted presence, I’d like to get into my locker and go to class like a
[I’m pretty sure that’s where I ended it, because the rest of this page is so not my handwriting. I‘m guessing somebody continued on my story when they were passing around my notebook when they stole it from me, which could explain why I stopped working on it.]
normal kid, but apparently you don’t understand that.” I stormed off without going to my locker. “Jimmy is being such an asshole.” “And yet he is so handsome.” [I don’t remember calling Jimmy handsome. He was an “outcast,” which meant he probably wasn’t that great looking.]
“Sarah! Sarah!” My stubstate was calling my name. Some kids started snickering. That made me so angry that I was ready to smack each and every one of them.
Soon after school I saw the most popular girl in school. In class I noticed she was the one who snickered the most. So what I did was hide behind a bush jump out scare her and beat her up. It was so funny to see Miss Perfect with a black eye.” Sarah Johnson Devins
* * * * *
Yeah. That kind of killed the story for me. If you are indeed curious about this, the person doing the murders and hurting Sarah was Sarah’s twin sister Julie, but as we later find out Julie never existed. Sarah’s mom was originally expecting twins and she would’ve named the twin Julie. [So borrowed from The Perfume] So Sarah made up the personality of Julie, and it was her thinking she was Julie that was going around stabbing people. Ah, the clever plot twist. Anyways, it was Jimmy who found out her secret and finally got her help. But his “betrayal” is what sent Sarah truly over the deep end and made her believe she’d always been Julie, thus Julie is the other person telling the story. Yes, it’s convoluted. And this is only the beginning.
Next time: The Day of Rebecca, a play about a girl named Rebecca who kills somebody. Are we sensing a pattern here? Oh, and this one’s ACTUALLY FINISHED! I know you’re excited.