Knowing Too Much

Amber is a teen girl who witnessed something she shouldn't have. Now, no one will believe what she saw but she has to prove it to someone.

I saw it happen. I saw the whole thing. They keep saying I’m making it up. “There is really no need to lie, dear,” my therapist said in her above-it-all voice. “It’s not a very funny joke to be telling.” My therapist is awful. She treats me like I’m five years old. Anyway, aren’t therapists NOT supposed to question the truth of what you say? Or at least they’re not supposed to flat-out tell you that they think you’re lying.

            “It’s not a joke!” I tell everyone this fact over and over. I witnessed a man being stabbed and then him being left in the alleyway. I hid so the big one holding the knife wouldn’t notice me. The police were called right away and I told them what I saw. But, when they arrived, both men had disappeared. How could that even happen?  Just my luck, I guess.

            I got in trouble for “lying.” I was told by the officer, “That was a very stupid thing to do, Amber. It’s illegal to report a false crime to the police. This is very serious.” Thankfully, they let me go with a warning, I just had to go to the therapist and “talk about my issues.” What issues? You mean the one about how no one will believe what I saw? This is my only issue, proving to everyone that I wasn’t being untruthful. IT HAPPENED.

            I set down my journal and pull my long, fiery hair into a lose pony tail. At this point, no one will ever think I am telling the truth. My parents now think I am a pathological liar. At least they think I’m something. That’s why they send me to that shrink, along with it being court-ordered, of course. The cops think I’m just some dumb fifteen-year-old kid trying to pull a prank. Yeah, it’s a real funny one, isn’t it? I lie back on my bed and let out a long sigh. I am alone with this knowledge and it’s driving me insane.

            I’ve lost the few friends that I had because of this situation. They don’t want to be friends with someone who has “all those problems.” Whatever. Who would want to be friends with them anyway? Every one of those girls is too snobby for my taste. That’s the problem with dancers. All of them think they’re better than everyone else. Although, I guess I used to be like that too. But what I saw changed me. It made me look at reality, and people don’t like it when you’re not oblivious to the world surrounding you.

            I just want to know what happened. How did that man’s body just vanish?

            An idea pops into my head and I sit up on my bed quickly: “I’m going to go back to the scene of the crime,” I say aloud. This has to be the only way to find out more.

I grab my phone and purse and slip on my flip flops. I pause to look in the mirror and fix the eyeliner that is smudged under my bright, green eyes. Before I decide I’m good to go and leave my room, I glance at my chewed up fingernails. It’s a habit I started only recently. I figure when I get back I should put some polish on them in an attempt to prevent the chewing. Not that that ever really works. I exit and walk past my parents to the front door.

            “Where do you think you’re going?’ my mother asks me.

            “Out,” is my response as I close the door behind me.

            I pound down three flights of stairs and then I am out of the building. The alleyway is only four blocks away so I decide to walk so I don’t have to waste money on the bus.

            Avoiding eye contact with everyone I pass, I walk through the noisy streets of Chicago. I pull my light jacket so it wraps tighter around my small frame. It’s muggy outside, but I cannot bring myself to take it off. It’s the item of clothing I always find myself wearing, no matter the temperature. When I reach the alleyway, I look around at my surroundings to make sure no one is watching me. When I know the coast is clear, I head to “the spot”. I search to see if I could find any evidence. And that’s when I saw it, or them to be more specific. There are two very obvious rust colored blood stains. One is on the concrete ground and one on the wall of the building right behind the first. This is my proof. I look to my right and see more blood, not a lot, but a slight trail that looks like it has been washed away somewhat by rain. It leads to a ground door of a cellar. I pull out my phone and snap a few pictures. My heart racing with excitement, I realize I have my evidence. I can show these pictures to the police and they will know that I wasn’t lying. They’ll have to believe me.

            I’m relieved to have found this, and turn to leave the scene. Blocking the only way out of the ally, stood the man who had the knife that night. My heart starts to pound so hard that I think it’s going to burst out of my chest. My mouth is gaping and a squeak manages to escape from it.

            He smiles a crooked smile and says, “Oh. You’re back.”

Author's Note

Hey guys! I am completely open to constructive criticism. I just want to know what you guys think!

Reviews

[Samantha Morrow]

I can really hear the voice in this story! The biggest thing is that it seems a little bit fast. I would love to see interactions with other people and Amber, to see how she might act different, and how it changed her. Especially leading up to when she decides to return to the alley. The cliffhanger is not fair and I definitely want to know what happens, and if it develops into something bigger. Overall, it's great!

[pancake_monster]

I enjoy the narration in this story, it has a lot of character, making it easier to connect with and sympathize with the protagonist. Although I must say I wish I knew what happened after the end, seems like so much opportunity for further fleshing out, although that's not really criticism, so much as my natural curiosity speaking. Overall great job!

[Katherine P. Haley]

Thank you so much!

[Korin]

The description in this story is well done. I'm glad i read this. When you said the cops arrived and the men where suddenly gone, all i could think of is why every time there is an issue or something going wrong when you want to show someone what you mean it always falls short. Literally every time this happens to me. lol

[Katherine P. Haley]

Thank you so much!

[Samuel Dickens]

Just 18, huh? Well, I'd say you've got some very good talent for writing. Better than many on this site who fancy themselves as writers. It could use a little editing, mostly for punctuation, but it's not bad at all. You've got a wrong word here--"They alleyway is only... "

[Katherine P. Haley]

Thank you so much! And thanks for pointing out that error. I really appreciate it!