Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24686384-20150329082315

I woke up to the fresh smell of...breakfast. Yes, breakfast. I loved my fathers cooking, even when all we could ever get was little, but provided for both of us since it was only him and myself that he had to take care of. "Whats for breakfast" i said impatiently as he turned around and said in an almost jolly voice, "we are having bacon today! hope you enjoy!". This seemed odd since dad never actually smiled a lot, but today was different for some reason. He had a big grin going from ear to ear, almost as if there were pins holding it in place. I got dressed for school and left home. I walk to school on a daily basis, it takes roughly 15 minutes to get from home to school, and that same time to get home again. We couldnt afford a car and the bus never went down our street for many reasons I could understand.

When Ieft I also started to feel a searing pain in my head, but I passed it off as nothing and kept walking. When i got to school it was the usual type of day, nothing too out of the ordinary. A few "hey there!" from teaachers and new kids who will eventually attempt to ask me out. Don't get me wrong, I would say that im pretty but really I couldn't care less. You could say that my beauty is a curse,or something along those lines. But a usual day 'inside' the school was different.

My father didnt have enough time when i was young to give me a proper education, so I learnt from the streets. Some people were kind enough to teach me about life and everything that was in the world, along with a lot of other things. I only started school when I entered high school, thats when it hit me that I needed to be taught a lot. I struggled with most of the mathematical subjects, but was good at music, dance and art. My teachers looked after me well after they understood the situation I was in, so yeah, it was a good school at first until I met them.

Mark Clersan and his friends, they loved to toy with me and push me to my limit. Once they tried to hold me down while they looked me over, but one of my teachers walked in and scared them off. They had been stalking me inside the playground and spread rumours that weren't true.

That afternoon while I was walking home from school, Mark and his friends decided to walk with me...without my permission. They started humiliating me infront of every person we walked pass and try to grab me in areas that are innapropriate for a person like me to name. (Even though I learned from the streets, I still keep my manners). Suddenly, Mark tripped and fell onto the road, he fell and split his skull open on a hard, yet sharp, rock. His friends gathered around him and ried to help him up, I just ran as fast as I could to get away from them while they were distracted. The headache I had in the morning rushed back to me, then went away after I was a good distance from the little punks.

When i returned home, I told my father what happened. He suggested I stay at a different school, "a school where no one could touch me", I think he said. After a week I  went to my new school and was put into a room where only I was taught, no other children. They said that it was too dangerouse for anyone else to be in the classroom with me other than my teacher, whatever that ment.

It's been almost 10 years now that I first came here, and I have learnt so much! But now im wondering, why are all the other students here in the exact same style of clssroom as me?

Police document 019982:

Name: jessica dunspark

Age:16

Jessica has a tendency to create her own image of a 'perfect world', in this case, this means that everything she does, hears and/or tastes is not real, but something entireley different. I asked her what she was doing this morning when her father died, she said she had no clue what i was talking about, but she had bacon for breakfast and headed for school, this didn't trouble me a bit, thinking the kid was in trauma. When I asked her about why did she murder Mark Clersan, she didn't answer. When an officer went to pick her up from her house, she asked him if she could go to a new school and refered to him as 'dad'. We all thought of it as nothing, when we found out she had eaten her father and murdered a boy, we started asking questions. At the end of her interview with us in the prison, she asked me a strange question that had nothing to do with our interview. "Excuse me sir, but, when will I be getting homework?" 