December 13, 2011

Hi, my name is Wren Christopher. I really don’t know how to start one of these. The doctors said I’m supposed to use this as a “chance to escape”. If only they knew that this was only making it worse. Having to think about all this. They told me to use this to write all my “feelings” or memories from that night. I’m sure they only want me to do this, because they think I’m unstable or psychotic. If they could prove me to be truly mentally insane this case would be a whole lot easier for them. All I want to do is go back home. Curl up in bed and simply sit there. Just to remember how simple things used to be. But they never were simple for me. I think I lied to my self so many times that I had truly convinced myself that I had a normal life.. But why am I even writing this anyways?? I’ve already told them all a billion times that I didn’t do it. That it wasn’t me! But how could they trust me when all of the evidence lined up in my favor. Lined up so perfectly it was almost hard to believe. But they believed it. They probably think I was only an amateur criminal, no experience at all. If only they knew that those pieces that lined up so “perfectly” were set up by someone else. Someone who wanted me dead. But it doesn’t matter if its crystal clear to me. To them its a closed case. And my death is so close I can almost taste it. Nothing I say now can change that.


December 14, 2011

My D-Day is coming closer and closer. Tick tock. There’s nothing to do here for my last few days. But I guess they believe I deserve it. Maybe I do. Something about this place makes me feel guilty for things I know I would never do. Guess this place really does change people. But soon it won’t matter how much I’ve changed cause I’ll be out of here. My body a lifeless lump being set to flame. The sky will smell like my own burning flesh. I wonder if I will feel it when I’m dying. Whether my consciousness will swing in... and out. See the last slivers of life pulled from my grasp. Or whether it will simply be immediate. Like a bullet towards the heart. Thinking about this doesn’t make it feel real. It can’t happen to a girl like me. It almost feels like this is just some really really sick joke. But oh wait, it is. I wonder if I’ll even have a funeral. Probably not. I mean who would want to come to the funeral of a murderer. Yep, nobody.

December 15, 2011

Its strange, that all you have to do is end up in a really bad situation, to really get a chance to think about life. Think about things that never seemed to matter when life was normal. Like existence. And death. Yea, mostly death. I like to imagine that after this I’ll end up in some crazy beautiful afterlife like heaven or something. But the closer and close I get to my D-Day the more unbelievable it sounds to me. And would they even let me in after all this stuff that I’ve apparently “done” to get to where I am now? I just don’t want to think about it. I’d rather go into one of those deep oblivious sleeps. That’s how I want to spend my last days on Earth. Oblivious. Bliss.

December 16, 2011

They started to read this journal. I don’t get why they’d even bother to waste their time on it when they’ve already made their decision. I hope it makes them feel guilty. I hope when I die that they’ll sit there and wonder whether they just killed a completely innocent girl. They probably won’t though from what I’ve overheard people say here. Apparently innocent people get the death sentence all the time.

December 19, 2011

Exactly one week before my D-Day. Now that it has sunk in I start to think about the accident. I know I can’t prove anything anymore but I still want to realize why I am dying. I’m “dying” to know the truth about that night. See what I did there? Corny, I know. I was always the kind of person who joked around in the wrong situations. Never quite that serious of a person. Well look how that turned out for me.

December 20, 2011

I was never really a good kid. I was about a B & C average student. But I had been a little bit of trouble sometimes. Partying, drinking, and other stupid teenage stuff that at the time just seemed fine to me. It wasn’t truly my nature to be trouble. More of just the people I chose to hang out with. And the fact that I always happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I know one thing for sure. I would never, under any circumstance, kill another human being. I just don’t know who would want to frame me. Who would really want me dead that bad?

December 21, 2011

I’ve spent the last day or so thinking about that one night. Nothing seems to fit quite right. Before I die I only want one thing. Answers.

December 22, 2011

It was a Friday. I was out with a group of friends. I knew they were trouble and I knew the things we were getting into weren’t good at all. But being around them, doing these things, it gave me a rush. A sense of false confidence that I could do anything. That nothing mattered but that one moment. It also gave me the feeling of a true family. Something that I’d never really had at home. I knew that if we got caught for what we were doing that I’d have them to be by my side. Always. Well, until I got accused of murder and the those “friends” were no where to be found. But back to the story of that night. I was hanging out with my group of friends at a 7 11 close to all of our homes. As we were all sitting there we heard a scream. The scream of a teenage girl. It wasn’t just one of those normal “I’m scared screams”. It was one of those screams that gave you chills all over your body. Because you could tell that that one scream is the last noise that person will ever make. By then my friends gave me the look saying that we better leave before it gets ugly and looks like we’d been involved. If only I had listened I may not have been sitting here now writing this. And then I heard it. The gunshot. By then my friends had all scattered to their cars before the police could show up. But I was too curious. I had to know. So I followed the echoing gunshot noise in my ear, towards the back of the 7 11. That’s when I saw it. A girl about my age or maybe a year or so younger, lying on the pavement. Blood was blooming through a hole in her forehead. It was gruesome but mesmerizing. My brain could barely function thoughts. I should have run, or called someone. But the next thing I knew there was a pang in my own forehead and the world went black.

Next thing I know I woke up in the police station. They explained what I was being accused with and asked me what I remembered. I told them the story. No one believed me. So I went through trial and was proven guilty. That’s why I am here today. But I know I am not the killer.

December 26, 2011

My D-Day has finally arrived. I should be terrified and nervous. But I’m not. Last night I had a revelation. It was a memory that was probably knocked out of me when I blacked out the day of the incident. There was something I forgot to tell the police that day. A memory that my brain may have even blocked in shear terror. There was a guy that night. Dressed in all black. He was tall and almost had a false sense of comfort to him. He was confident. He pointed his gun straight at her not a single finger shaking. His face stayed straight even while seeing the blood poor from the young girls head. The killer. The one who had framed me. All the pieces suddenly fell together. My blackout wasn’t from seeing her dead, bleeding onto the pavement. It was the killers perfect escape. And I was the perfect victim. Now its time to tell---
And then pain spread through my own head to. I knew this was coming. The killer had finally come back, to finish what he had started. It truly was my D-Day after all.