Murder Yours Truly

Remember

I guess I should've expected it.
Then again, I always kind of did, didn't I?

My name is Kathryn.

    I've been a decent person my whole life. My parents cared for me even though they were away on business for most of my life. Their absence led me to being a bit of a thrill seeker. At least, that's what they'd all say about me. I think it's because of how boring life can be when nothing changes. Same day, same people.

I'm a solo part-time cop for a small agency on my block. I walk to work because I live so close, do my shopping and everything in town that's just an hour ride away, and otherwise stay inside. It was a boring life, but the occasional chance to catch a vigilante roared excitement inside my chest. I pick out murders people avoid or shrug off just to have an excuse to go out somewhere new. I think I've seen all of the buildings there are to see in this part of the world. They keep making new ones but it all seems to stay the same. We still need to look around the same slums and gutters to find people who hide. They'll do that part of the searching and, when they tell me they've had no luck, I'm supposed to go out and inspect the parts of the forest that stay.. hollow.

They call it the The Thick of It. Really heavy trees and underbrush everywhere that's hard to not get lost in. "Can't I just stay in the car? You know what you're doing!" Paul, the guy I'm supposed to train, is slacking somewhere behind me. "Go." I called back with a huff. He grunted, pulled his shoe out of the thorn bush I pointed out to him, and turned around.

    Paul's always been a slacker. He likes desk work. Who, god willing, likes desk work? He has only been in the field with me because it's mandatory. He has to know how to handle these situations, and we're low on men today. "Hold," I called back to Paul, pushing his entire body weight on a tree so he didn't step into the mud again. His shoes were already covered in dirt and grime, but he still tried to save the untouched parts of his pants. "I hear something..." I pulled a low-hanging branch down to my shoulder and hopped on top of it. There was black smoke rising where the mining shafts were. They've been there since before I was born. Workers go in and out occasionally. We've already inspected the whole joint, but they wanted a second look. It was built on Thick of It grounds because some oil-lovers came along and bought all of the land for an exceedingly cheap price. That's also why these lands stay relatively empty and full of trees. 

    There were some screams coming from within the dark drop-offs and tunnels. A blonde girl with neon yellow hair and a white dress on was squirming and screaming senselessly. She was easily highlighted among the gray worker outfits that held her down and forced damp rags on her nose and mouth.

If I remember correctly, that's when things went blurry, and I dropped to the ground. In any case, my memory fades there, and the pictures don't connect. When it gets too hard to decipher dreams from reality, I start over. My name is Kathryn. Over and over again, until the memory returns to me. It never will, and I know it well, but I can't stop now. If I do, I'd really start to take it all in, and this would be reality. My name is Kathryn. If I took any of this in, I'd start crying, wouldn't I? I'd just start crying. Like any normal person would. There's no helping it, I'd be petrified. My name is Kathryn. Rule number one, keep calm. What's the next rule? Is there a second rule when you're in this kind of environment? Is it talking to them reasonably? What would that accomplish? I mean, I guess I shouldn't be surprised...

My name is Kathryn.

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