Invisible Guilt.

A Story by Jess Holden

I sat, slumping my face into the palm of my hand, scribbling down the small amounts of words that I could understand from what the teacher was saying. His english was perfect, but an accent lay heavily on his voice, having to force myself to focus on him and him alone.

Today was not a day that would consist of focusing in class; my mind was content in other places, frolicking amoungst butterflies and rainbows, and most importantly him.

To the rest of the world, he seems like the single, amazing, star student and volleyball player, but I knew what he was. Why he was mixed in with my happy thoughts made me wonder about my own sanity.

Falcon Greene and I had known one another since kindergarden, and we lived close by. It was hard to ignore our parent's dear wished for us to elope, and marry one day, giving them grandchildren they would be proud of. I went with their words, went out on dates with him, even kissed him a few times, but nothing sparked.

Falcon was nothing special when it came to the personality, which was something I was growing to hate. All he would do was hate; he would range from such extremes such as racism, sexism, and everything in between. He wasn't as beautiful as the world saw him to be, because what was inside made him ugly.

I sighed and shut my eyes, intending to drowned out the rest of the class in my thoughtless oblivion. I tried to focus on silly little things, like erasers and shoelaces, but again my mind would not leave Falcon Greene alone. Memories from the previous night's party came back, sending a shiver down my spine, as the smell of alcohol drifted through my nose, and the chill of the night seemed to surround me once again.

It was as if I could hear the blasting of the music, and the bass vibrating my every body part, as teenagers screamed and laughed on. It all felt so real again, that behind my eyelids, I saw Falcon Greene, just as he was: white shirt, blue jeans, red cup in hand. He seemed so relaxed and at ease with his evening and surroundings, but their was a hint of pain in his eyes. I had never seen him look so much in pain as I had, and I regreted not asking what was wrong.

The sound of the bell screeching knocked me out of my own mind, causing me to jump in my chair. The rest of the class began to pack up, as the teacher screamed over them to do their homework. I scouped up my books and ran out the door, wondering how far I'd make it before my thoughts begain again. I saw Falcon walking up the hallway, the same smile on his face and pain in his eyes. I paused for a moment, and quickly ducked into the nearest bathroom door to avoid his sight. I found myself in the third floor girls bathroom, both empty and clean, as I slammed my books down on the ground. I slid down the wall and sat there, thinking once again about Falcon.

He had never been rude to anyone about anything, nor had he gotten into any arguments with anyone; though he was ugly on the inside, his bare beauty and popularity made him very well liked.

I guess I wasn't the only person to see his true ugliness however, because now Falcon Greene was dead, and his ghost was walking the hallways of our school.

I felt a tear stream down as I remembered the screams of terror, and the same look of pain that was in his eyes, in hers: Lacie, his now ex girlfriend. That was one relationship that he wanted to keep secret, but everyone knew. They knew how he'd hit hurt, hurt her, do things to her and not regret them. You could see it in her face daily; the black eyes, the limps... It wasn't hard to tell that someday, someone would get him.

I just never figured that it'd be me.

I could still feel the blood, running red through my fingers as the world blurred. It didn't feel real, as I looked down at my hands and relived the feeling all over again. It couldn't have been me, I thought, I left early. I got home at 9:30, I couldn't have... Could I?

I knew how ugly he was, how horrible he could be, but... I wasn't a phsycopath or anything like that.

I looked down at my hands, still seeing the fake blood covering my hands and flowing through my fingers. "This isn't real," I said aloud, "I didn't do it." I watched as the blood still remained there, flowing faster, and darker than before.