I want you to know who I am.

It wasn't meant to be so morbid. >.<

I want you to know who I am.  I don’t want to dissolve into the nothing of a mediocre existence.  I want to be the boy who is spirited away to a magical land by a wardrobe, or a wizard, or a ring.  I want to be the boy who hits the jackpot, the big time.  I want to be the boy every boy my age wants to be.

     I want to write an amazing novel, or to compose a symphony to rival Beethoven.

     I want to score the winning goal, I want to travel the world, I want to die a saint or martyr.

     I want to see my name in lights.

     But that will never happen.  Not to me.  I’m just a weedy, fifteen year old nobody with no particular skill with anything.

     I’ll get caught up in the rat race, and I’ll vanish from any meaningful form of life.  Nobody will know who I am.

     Perhaps I won’t even know who I am myself.  Who can say?

     But I have decided, today, I’ll do something to make myself noteworthy.  Anything.  I’ll make the headlines, the front page.

     I’ll be famous, if only for a short while.  I don’t know how I’ll do it yet.  I’ve not decided.  But it’s gonna be great.

 

I have to get to school.  Perhaps this is gonna be my chance.  I grab an object and stuff it into my bag before my mum can see it.  But shh, it’s a secret.  I can’t tell you what it is, but it’s a part of my plan.

     Trust me, this will be great.  I’ll be famous for this.

     As I walk down the dreary old streets of my dreary old town, I wonder about the future.  Well, no, that’s not strictly true.  I daydream, and I prophesise.  I’m a genius, didn’t you know?  This time tomorrow, these bored old streets will be crawling with reporters, all wanting to know me.  It might not even take that long.  Perhaps by the end of the day, even.

     I can’t tell you how excited I am.  I’m going to be known.  I won’t be a nobody anymore, I’ll be a somebody.  I’ll matter.  I’ll have made a difference in the world.

     I set my iPod to shuffle and repeat.  This is a day that needs a soundtrack, to be sure.  A day so glorious as this needs to be accompanied by music.

 

It doesn’t take long for me to walk to school.  That said, it doesn’t take long for anybody to walk anywhere in a town so small and boring as this.  It won’t be boring for much longer, I can tell you that much.

     As I sit in class, the physical effort it takes not to jump up and scream “I will change the world today!” is so much it almost hurts.  Then I realise it hurts because I’m digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand.

     My classmates sit around me, talking about mundane things, enjoying their mundane lives.  That girl’s staring at me again.  Perhaps I should change her world first?  What do you think?  I’ll pay that some thought while the teacher thinks he’s telling me something new.  He’ll definitely be the second to experience my genius, if the girl is first.  Definitely.  I smile to myself.  Or is it more of a smirk?  I’m not sure.  I may be a genius, but I cannot see my own face without aid of a mirror.

     As I sit in the cafeteria at the lunch hour, the girl from class comes to speak to me.  I exchange a few words with her.  I almost pity her; she’s so incredibly stupid.  She looks nice, though.  Yes, she shall certainly experience my genius firsthand, before the others.  She’s nice.

     I take her round the back of the bike sheds, because nobody ever goes there.  She follows me willingly.  I smile, and she smiles.  We smile together.  She’s nice.  I should mention that before I came out here, and left my bag in the cafeteria, I put the item from this morning in my pocket.  I’d known this would happen. That’s because I’m a genius.

     We exchange a few words, but I forget them.  They’re meaningless.  She begins to unbutton her school blouse, and I smile.  Or is it a smirk?  Even I, in all my ingenuity, can’t tell you this.  She turns away from me, to fold her blouse and place it somewhere where it won’t get dirty.  She doesn’t know that it doesn’t matter.  I pull the object out of my pocket, and when she turns back, I ram it into her pretty face.  She begins to cry out, but that would spoil my plan, so I put my hand over her mouth, and jab my item into her stomach.  I take care not to get any blood on myself.  When she stops trying to call for help, I leave her there.  I assume she died.

     She experienced my genius, now it is time for that so-called teacher.  I wonder how many students he failed?  I wonder how many young boys suffered his wandering hands and dirty old mind?

     I knock on his door, and he calls me to come in.  I do so.  His back is to me.  Good.  I walk up behind him, and press my knife into his throat (I may as well tell you it is a knife.  You have probably realised by now, anyway.  But shh, it could get me into trouble.).  He doesn’t make a sound.  Perhaps he is an intelligent man after all.  But he’s not as intelligent as me.  I’m a genius, after all.

     He died, without much incident.  I didn’t wish to waste my talent on him, so I simply slit his throat.  And that was that.

     I manage to turn most of my class into art, and demonstrate my genius further.  I think I’ll call the work “A Study in Crimson”.  It has a nice ring.

     It would take too long to describe the individual passing of each, and he or she died for the greater cause.  For Art.  Shortly after, someone alerts the police.

 

The newspapers came, and they took my photograph, and my autograph, and my name and my date of birth and my address.  They appreciate that I am a genius.  They know I have talent.

     Now, I’m sitting in a juvenile detention centre.  My mum is going to be taken to court, and so am I.  The legal system never did understand genius.  They call it murder.  It wasn’t murder.

     I just wanted to be somebody.  I wanted to make a difference, and I did.  I’m glad.  I’ll tell them so.

     Now they know who I am, and I’m sure you do too.

 

Author's Note

It started out as the story of a boy who wanted fame... It turned into the story of a boy who'd do anything for fifteen minutes in the spotlight, even murder his classmates.

It wasn't meant to be like that. He took on a life of his own.
Sorry!

(I'm sorry it's so short, too!)

Reviews

[Sam Summers]

i really like this. its just the perfect length for what it is. i can sort of relate to his reasoning too, which is unsettling, and i like his delusions at the end. and i do like 'a study in crimson'. the only thing i'd change is the bit where he says its a knive. i suppose it is obvious, but i liked the kind of mystery anyway. i thought it was a broken bottle beforehand, for some reason.

[Callum Dalloway]

Hehe, EDUCATION FOR LEISURE.

But graphic, in a way that isn't graphic.

Is he based on me?!

=]

Like his mind/thoughts.

[Callum Dalloway]

Hehe, EDUCATION FOR LEISURE.

But graphic, in a way that isn't graphic.

Is he based on me?!

=]

Like his mind/thoughts.

[Star Catcher]

Wow. O_o Extremely twisted human thinking. I like it, if only because I'm nearly obsessed with dark writing. XD