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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1108682
story of the girl next door...and the boy who killed her...
They say she went missing,
the girl next door.
No one knows anything,
the police are floored.

I talked to her one day,
the pretty girl next door;
I liked her a lot,
so we played store.

Whatever she did,
I happened to do.
If she jumped up and down,
I jumped too.

Maybe it's coincidence;
we both had blonde hair.
Hers was so long,
I could only stare.

Everyday,
for a week or two,
we played nonstop
'til we had nothing to do.

One gloomy day,
we went to the creek.
Behind my house
was where we would meet.

I told her quietly
we would play some games,
we would swim in the river
until the night came.

Our parents weren't home,
not until 4.
If we got caught,
we would say we were bored.

So behind the house,
and through the white fence,
we walked slowly
through the forest's dense.

It was not until 2
that we arrived at the creek.
The water was still,
but we knew it was deep.

Since we were tired,
we sat on some logs.
All was silent,
except for the frogs.

And that was when,
we deeply confided,
about our lives
and our families divided.

She told me that
her mother was dead,
and that's why every night
she's afraid to go to bed.

"Why is that?"
I quickly asked.
Her face was so distorted,
it looked like a mask.

"I don't want to talk about it,"
she retorted very quickly.
"My father would beat me,"
she said very fickly.

"What kind of father
beats his child?
I get scolded,
but it's very mild."

"If I told you,
promise not to tell,
for if someone found out,
he'd surely be jailed."

And at that moment
when I crossed my heart,
the trees started blowing,
the very presence was dark.

"Tell me now,
it's almost about 4.
You must hurry now,
or you'l tell me no more."

There were tears in her eyes,
the color of the sky.
She closed them up
and began to cry.

"I saw my father
murder my mother.
They always argued
and fought with each other.

I watched him make
his way to the roof.
I heard some noises,
and then a big poof.

The chimney is
her final resting place.
I remember that day,
the pleased look on his face."

There were tears in my eyes,
and running down my face.
I felt her pain
in that beating place.

Something came over me,
the spirit of the night.
The darkness came out,
the hatred of my might.

I pulled from my jeans
the shiny blade of a knife,
the one my father gave to me,
the one I kept in my sight.

The girl next door
let out a shriek,
the echoing of it,
heard throughout the creek.

"Be quiet," I say.
"It's for your protection,
against your father's
evil direction."

"What will I do with it?
How do I use it?
Why give this to me?
I don't aproove it."

I told her that
when her father beat her,
she would use the knife
and become the teacher.

I told her to stand,
and showed her the way,
the way to use the knife
on that awful day.

I was swinging and pointing
the deadly blade,
and all of a sudden,
the red stuff was made.

I looked at the knife,
I wanted to dart.
The shiny blade
had gone through her heart.

Her eyes were closed,
she dropped to the ground.
I looked at her body
and then I knelt down.

"Wake up, wake up,"
I began to say.
"This cannot be
your passing day."

She never made
a single move.
I knew just what
I had to do.

With tears forming
in my eyes,
I pulled her body to
the water's side.

For His understanding,
I looked to the sky.
The sky turned dark--
there was a boy to hide.

"Lord, I didn't mean
for it to happen this way.
You know I didn't mean to do
what I did today."

I pushed her body
into the water's deep.
I watched as the body
began to slowly seep.

I ran home
through the dense thicket,
and I burst out wailing
upon the white picket.

That night,
I mentioned not a thing,
as the police searched the area,
and continued questioning.

Now I sit
in my chair,
slowly rocking
with a steady stare.

My secret will be kept
in my misery,
until my cold grave
beseeches me.

I will now be known
as a murderer.
To myself,
I killed the girl next door.

© Copyright 2006 RedScorpion (scorpiochild14 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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