poetica

● prologue

POETICA
- PROLOGUE

"mommy, i'm so hungry." the little girl pleaded. her mother rolled her eyes, hiding behind a glass of scotch and a cigarette. "are you, now?" her mother cooed sarcastically as she crossed her bare legs over one another. the little girl, whose stomach was howling like a wolf would to a full moon, looked over at her mother with tears swelling in her big, baby blue eyes. "yes, mommy, i haven't eaten anything since yesterday." the little girl, also known as estella, pleaded again, but jumped the second her mother opened her mouth.

"you little dumb piece of shit, you mean last week. you want to go to school. everything is all about school, school, school, and it's not even making you smarter! you're still as dumb as the day i gave birth to you." she took a drag of her cigarette, blowing out the puff of toxic smoke as estella balled her tiny fists together in pure rage. her teeth gritted together harshly, causing everything in her small, frail, mind, to go blank.

while her mother's back was turned, estella found her way into the kitchen, her body still moving normally as her mind was somewhere else far more peaceful than that dirty, smoke-filled, alcohol-scented, house.

her small hand wrapped its way around the handle of a shiny, sharp object just as her mother said, "look at you, stella, you're finally doing something that matters for once, aren't you?" the remark was followed by a taunting laugh. as her mother took a sip of scotch, estella slowly and quietly inched her way out of the kitchen, gripping a large butcher knife at her side.

minutes later, her senses came back to her, just as if she had been reborn again. her eyesight came back first, and the only thing she saw was the blood. the blood all over the floor, the blood covering her hands and her favorite blue dress, and the blood staining her weapon. she then saw her mother's still body, lying face-first on the ground, blood still seeping through her cheetah-print bathrobe that was too short to be wearing with nothing under it.

the half-smoken cigarette lie steaming on the carpet floor, inches away from her mother's now cold fingertips, as well as the spilled scotch that slowly seeped its way towards the slight flicker of the cigarette. once the flame caught a taste of the alcohol, it ignited into a hungry, vibrant monster, and estella only watched as the flames began to consume her mother's corpse.

she soon walked from the house unscathed, clutching her favorite teddy bear in her bloody hand as she stood along the green grass of her once-was home. she soon turned to run towards a neighbor's house, banging on the door, and when they answered, she would tell them that a bad man broke in and killed her mommy.

about a week later, she would be living in an orphanage in queens, where she would find that her life will only get worse. miss dotty, the director of little flower, was a straight up bitch. she could care less about the orphans that were living in her orphanage, she only cared about the money that she was making and where to put it.

people never figured out what happened to her when she was found hanging from the ceiling by a phone cord, blood pouring from her wrists. they had thought that it was potential suicide, that there was no other way that could have happened, considering all witnesses had claimed that no one had broken in. estella lied through her teeth, though, with a couple of innocent tears to seal the deal.

she was a deadly asset to herself and only herself, and when she finally had gotten old enough, she moved away from the orphanage.

her best friend that she had bonded with during her time there, kennedy graham, decided that they would work together to pay rent for a crappy apartment in buffalo, new york , and live together, and even do dirty deeds with teamwork.

to estella, kennedy was her personal computer. kennedy lived her entire childhood reading of murders, fantasizing a life to get away with, and yet estella was her own novel. kennedy didn't know it, but she was writing her own serial killer.

they even had their own band of bandits that they had met in high school, who, surprisingly, had the same motives.

one was named dylan, another one eric, another one ted, and the quiet, creepy, cute one was named jeffery. kennedy had already excitedly pointed out that all of their friends were named after famous serial killers, and the group seemed to eat it all up.

to any outsider, they were just normal teenagers, looking for fun, but they all knew that on the inside, there was much more to it than just fun.

there's revenge, pleasure, and satisfaction. the feeling of being so impowered over someone else aroused them to a point of no return. it convinced them that they could get away with anything that they wanted, and they did. they can, and they will.