"Me, me, me, I love myself. I have my own little picture on my shelf."

My name is Adri. My first crime was when I was eighteen. I like thinking I
am unique. I definitely like individualism and feel pride on the fact that many people would never link me to doing what I do. I was never noticed my whole life, I’m not loud vocally or declare my emotions through facial expressions, It just isn’t me. I am fairly ugly, not hideous mind you, just not notably. I also appear dumb. I know this because I have seen it to be true when I look in the mirror. Sometimes people who seem like retards get negative attention but I never did.

I craved attention. I wanted to be noticed badly. What was life worth if I did not
get anything? It would be better if I were dead and since we are all going to die anyway, life is expendable. In a hundred years you will be no more. Many people believe life is sacred, I do not. I think it is better to of not lived then to be someone who has dealt with hell all their lives.

So…how do you become a criminal without letting you identity become known?
I was silent, observant and even my performance of self behaviour was well acted on.
Once I started getting into serious crime, it was hard to stop. It became an addiction. It is so easy to kill. I liked hearing about a murder and knowing I was the one who was the murderer. I was being noticed finally. You would probably consider me cold, sick, and selfish. I don’t mind because that just shows that I am really something. Why should standards matter? I see no point, so I do what I like. I killed a guy I saw in the field for my first crime. He was dumb, outside in the dark all by himself, so I stabbed him over and over again. I enjoy the feeling of having done something many people haven’t done. It makes me feel powerful. Then it gets worse, and I get sloppy in my desire to kill, and I become obsessed.

Last night I killed my mother. I hated my mother my whole life. The one
person in the whole world who should have noticed me my whole life did not. She didn’t pretend to notice me because she didn’t like me or anything, which would have been bearable So… she is dead. She is lying on the floor. I put arsenic in her drink. I know I will be found out now. There is no way to not be found out and not be sent to jail, so since life is expendable here is my end.

~This short story that I had to do a week ago was a bit of a mistake as I misunderstood the teachers directions, and the teacher was a creeped out and I ended getting talked to. I recieved a fine mark anyway. This story was pulled out of the hat. Which makes for some of the weak writing- arsenic is so not imaginative, but then the character isn't as much so as she thinks.