An Interview With Jenny

An interview with little criminal Jenny once she killed all those poor innocent people. One, two, three, four, five...

'Hello.' A smile. 'I'm Meena.'

'Jenny.'

Hands shaken. Polite nods. Wondering what's really beneath the soft-voiced exterior.

'How are you?'

I look around the room. The flowery lamp paints yellow spirals on the white walls, strangely out of place amongst the plain wooden desk and black cupboard. There's a glass figurine perched on the desk, wearing a deep blue dress and a matching hat. 'Amazing,' I hear myself say.

A moment of silence. The figurine's small lips are crimson, her eyes glassy black and staring into nothingness. They contrast with her face, pale as paper, as the quietest cloud. She's a glass Snow White.

'I guess I wouldn't feel great in your place, either.' The counsellor's words flick away my sarcasm.

There's a neat stack of paper in the middle of the desk. It looks like it's never been touched.

'Do you like your job?'

I watch my words settle inside her mind. They barely scratch the surface.

'Yes.' The answer falls to the floor fast, saved at the last minute by a snow white cushion. It sinks into the softness, drowning in it.

'Why?'

It's a reverse questioning. It's easy. Just ask questions. Just keep asking, and the interviewer will play along. I tap the desk with my nail; one, two three, four. One, two. Two taps. Four.

'I get to help people.'

Her face is settled in a familiar consoling mask, but it doesn't reach her eyes. They mirror the figurine's; dark, glassy, empty. The expression is meaningless now. A day at work. A way of getting little criminal Jenny to trust you.

'So you're helping me now?' Two, three, four. One, two. Two.

'I hope so.'

'I'd rather you didn't,' I tell her. One, two, three. Three taps.

'I know.' She brushes aside my statement like a feather; too easily. But after one feather, I'll plant another. I'll drown the room in feathers, drown the whole place in feathers, until the world is drenched in my power. The power of the insane. One tap. Two.

'You're used to this,' I say. One, two, three, four taps. One, two, three feathers. Four feathers.

The bell for break rings, a shrill sound piercing the silence. A needle pinching something very small. Skin.

In my mind, I walk over and push the perfect little figurine off the desk. I watch the shards scatter across the floor, like the bullets I used to kill with. Innocent people. Guilty people. Happy people.

I killed them all.

Life is a video game. This is my favourite part.

'Time's up,' I say. One, two, three, four. Five feathers. Tomorrow I'll plant some more. One, two, three, four, five, six. Seven feathers. A hundred.

I leave the room in silence.