Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-35949526-20180621220502/@comment-26444017-20180622111843

I hope you don't mind. I had a lot of free time, so I took what you had here and tried my hand at smoothing it out. Honestly, I think it turned out pretty good, so I'm gonna drop it in here and see what you think.I typed it up in a hurry, so there may be spelling errors, but it should be a good starting point.

My name is Anita Sanders. Or, at least, it used to be. I have another one now, but we'll get to that.

I live in a small town called Pecker's Dream, named for the town's founder who had the unfortunate last name Pecker. It was humorous, but ultimately something you stop noticing after a while. I moved here five years ago with my mother. My father wasn't with us, as he passed away when I was 3 years old. I attended middle school there, and things were pretty normal.

However, my attitude shifted when I graduated, since high school was on the way. I heard many rumors from my classmates about what high school is actually like. A lot of it wasn't very good. Stories of bullies and jocks and slutty girls with narcissistic attitudes were common. But I wasn't really worried about them doing anything to me. If anything, I just wanted to make a good first impression.

As soon as I stepped foot in the building, I could tell something was different. This place was wilder, more primal than middle school. The students were all over, mingling, chatting, and messing around. There was no sense of order here. It made me uncomfortable, and that made me upset. I told myself it wouldn't be that bad. Just get through the day. Learn the ropes.

The day dragged on from there, and the longer it went on, the worse I would feel. I couldn't go five minutes without hearing someone talking shit about someone else, and I'm certain that a few times, they were talking about me. Lunch came around, and the food was nauseating. I doubt it could really be described as food. That ended, but the rest of the day was more of the same. Outside of class, the hallways were so loud, the conversations always negative, like no one could just leave me alone.

Finally, my last class ended, and I made my way back to my locker to gather my supplies. As I rotated the dial for the combination lock, I noticed the locker next to mine. It was the gaudiest thing I had ever seen. The entire thing was painted a sickening shade of neon pink, and rhinestones were clustered sporadically on the door. I had seen it earlier in the day, but not the person it belonged to. It didn't help how I was feeling, and I had to wonder what child had made this abomination.

My question was answered when a tall, blonde girl dressed in cheerleading attire strode confidently up to the locker. Clearly, she was older, probably a junior or senior, since she was already a cheerleader. As she walked, I could see her large, clearly fake breasts bouncing in time with her steps. I never understood why people did that. It was just disgusting. She apparently caught me staring, as her gaze locked on to me. She walked more quickly, her glittery lips pursed, before slapping me right across the face. "Who the fuck do you think you are, staring at me like that? I saw you looking at my locker too. What's your problem?"

But I didn't answer. My hands shuddered, but not out of fear or pain. I could feel my fists clenching, muscles tensing up, and tears streaming from my eyes. I couldn't hear what was going on around me. My head was swimming with a thousand thoughts all rushing past at once. All of them agreed on a single conclusion.

I threw the first punch, putting behind it all the strength I could muster. My fist connected with her face, and I could feel a satisfying crack from the impact. Her mouth was agape, surprised no doubt, and I saw the results of that punch when a single tooth escaped from her parted lips, drops of blood following behind.

But I wasn't satisfied with that. With my right hand, I grabbed ahold of whatever parts of her head and hair I could. I shoveded as hard as possible, and the resounding gong from her locker door was enough to tell me how effective that was. She started to cry, tears, mucus, and blood mixing on her broken face. Her eye had already started to swell, and blood dripped from her crooked nose.

I didn't care, though. She was done, and I knew I wasn't going to be allowed back after that. I unlocked my locker, calmly gathered my things, and stepped quietly away. I could see people gathering around her as I went, her sobbing drowned out by the chatter of the crowd. As soon as I got out to the parking lot of the school, I sighed.

"Great first day."

I called my mom, telling her that I would be home late. Instead of telling her what I did, I lied and said that I had met up with some friends and we would be hanging out for a while. In reality, I just wanted some time alone, before the shitstorm that was coming.

I made my way to the woods a few hundred feet from the school. I had to take some time to compose myself and collect my thoughts. This was not going to be good. I wandered aimlessly for about ten minutes, before deciding to head home. I returned to the school the way I had come, and stepped onto the sidewalk. Then, I heard a loud noise behind me, like a car getting up to speed.

I finally regained consciousness two days later. At first, I couldn't see anything. The gauze wrapped around my head ensured that I was effectively blind. Instead, I could hear someone talking very faintly. As I started to become more aware, I could hear my mother's voice. It sounded like she was arguing with someone.

"M-Ma'am, she can't be moved in this condition. She's been through a severe trauma."

"She needs to be at home. I can take care of her there."

"Bu-but, ma'am..."

"No. No 'buts'. I am taking her home, right now."

I could feel motion. Someone was moving the bed I was laid in, and I was certain it was my mother. A sinking dread started to well up inside of me. I didn't want to go home. I felt much safer here, or anywhere, than there.

I could feel the arms around my back and legs as I was lifted into the backseat of a car. It was a long drive back to our house, and the entire way, I was fighting to sit upright without hitting my head. Being unable to see made this difficult, and the window was unbelievably painful as my damaged brain sloshed around. By the time we arrived home, I had a splitting headache unlike anything I had felt before.

My mother took me by the hand and led me into the house. But her grip was odd. It wasn't relaxed, like a parent leading a child. There was a sternness, a rigidity about it, that sent a chill down my spine. Maybe this whole thing affected her more than I thought it would.

She sat me down in a soft chair. based on what i knew about out home, I surmised that I was in my room. My head felt like it was on fire, but even more so, I was uneasy about the situation. I wanted to know what actually happened; how bad it was. I started to paw around my head, grasping for the end of the gauze. I found the clip holding it in place, and only just released the clasp, when I heard my mother speak up for the first time since the hospital.

"I know what you did the other day."

I hesitated a moment, trying to figure out what she was talking about.

"You've always been a pain in my ass. Getting into fights, hurting people. And now, thanks to you, we have a massive medical bill that needs taken care of."

Somewhere outside the room, I heard a sudden, metalic 'click-click'. What was she doing? Something in the kitchen? I had to see.

I started unwrapping my bandages with my right hand, using my left to navigate myself into the bathroom. The bandages caught and wouldn't come loose. Tugging was only making it worse, as my head started to ache again. I groped blindly for something to help me. My hand nudged something cold and sharp.

"Do you have any idea how much easier this would all be if you were just gone."

The scissors did the trick. Cutting up through the layers of bandages, the blade tip caught once on something attached to me, causing me to tear up. However, after just a few seconds, I peeled away the blood soaked remnants of the gauze. Slowly, I started to open my eyes. The room was dark enough that I could see without much adjustment. I found myself facing the mirror.

The ugly thing that stared back at me was far worse than I thought possible. Stitches zigzagged across my face, the skin the held back pressing around them, threatening to break free at any moment. Part of my face had drooped, leaving the whole thing assymetrical, as though I had had a severe stroke. My eyes were swolen, the sclera fractured by broken vessels, turning them a deep shade of crimson. But the worst thing I saw was not the monster I faced now.

It was the one standing behind me.

The silver glimmer of the barrel was unmistakable. A handgun, brandished by a woman fed up with her monster daughter. I didn't move, frozen with fear. My hands started shaking. I could hear the clattering of the scissors against the porcelain of the sink. She stepped closer. Her silent footsteps inched that awful machine toward what was left of my head. I racked my brain for whatever solution I could find. There was only one.

I reeled an arm back and took hold of her wrist. Immediately, shots rang out as my mother pulled the trigger. The bullets grazed, but ultimately, I had control. She fought as desperately as I did, but I couldn't let her do this. I had to save myself. I had to stop her. I had to hurt her. I had to kill her.

She didn't notice the sharp scissors in my hand until they were handle deep in her neck. shocked gasps croaked out of her pierced throat, and the gun clattered to the floor. I retrieved my macabre tool, blood pooling from the wound as she collapsed to the floor. I wasn't finished, and took my time carving, slicing, stabbing, and severing at her lifeless body. I must have stayed there for hours, just relishing in it all. It felt like I was finally free, and glancing back to the mirror, I wan't afraid anymore. I felt at one with what I was; what I am.

Stories still circulate about me. The Scissor Girl, or the Girl with the Broken Face. People are scared of me. And they should be. My mother was only the first. Since then, dozens of people from this tiny town have gone missing, and turned up dead in the woods hours later. The cops are chasing their tails. But I'm running low here. I'll have to move on soon. So, keep an eye out for me. I'm looking forward to seeing you.