November 1st, 2012

To whom it may concern,

I laughed when I saw the newspaper headline.

Three Teens Killed In Another Homicide.

It seemed like kids these days were getting dumber and dumber, what with all the serial killings going on and such. They should never have been on the soccer field at midnight in the first place. I looked at the article underneath and gasped. Well, to tell you the truth, I felt like I had the breath knocked right out of my lungs. The first name listed in that article was Davis Chancey. My younger brother.

The murders started a few months ago, in July. I remember the news vividly, as it was alight. Not only in our uneventful little town, but in our whole state, and maybe in a few other states. There was a youth girl's soccer game, and the girls were just thirteen, maybe fourteen, years old. One girl, a bit pudgy, and definitely not the prettiest of the bunch, got into a scramble for the ball. Perfectly normal, and common, for the sport, but that's when things got hellish.

One beautiful, and I mean beautiful girl stole the ball when the pudgy girl had her foot on it. It could have been a matter of looks, or sport, or (most likely) both, but the pudgy girl got enraged. Her nails were claw sharp, and they rended the pretty girl's skin like a hot knife through butter. One cut on each side of the face, mouth to ear. I didn't see the original act, but I could imagine the gouts of blood spurting forth, the silence, then shrieks of the crowd.

Then, to make matters worse, the pudgy girl kicked her, making her scream, which, in turn, caused the muscles and sinew in her face to split into a gory grimace. She never stood a chance. All photos and names were withheld on the news, but my friend, Will, was at the game, so he got some photos, and boy, were they high quality. You could see every drop of blood, every stringy tendon, and worst of all, you could see her eyes, glassed over as if she was still alive, and taking a nap with her eyes open.

November 3rd, 2012

To whom it may concern,

The killer's name was Chelsea.

November 4th, 2012

To whom it may concern,

I don't have long. Already my memory is foggy, and I can't let it dissapate. Not until I write the truth. I got the email from my brother just prior to his death, and I wish I had checked it sooner, so I could have stopped him. It read:

"You remember the Chelsea Smile murders, right? Heh... That's a silly question, YOU'RE the one who told me about them. Anyways, my friends and I are going to the old soccer field tonight, and if I don't make it out alive, I want you to remember this. The legends are real. Don't dismiss them, ever. Well, TTFN (or FE)."

I didn't know what he meant. "The legends are real." It sounded like he got stoned with a bunch of friends, and got himself killed in the process. I don't really know if I could put how much I love him into words, and it still hurts to know that he's gone. Just poof. Disappeared from the earth. I felt this strange compulsion to investigate, but my gut told me not to, so I did what any rational human would do.

I stayed at home and ate potato chips.

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