The Lesson Plan

CW: Murder, violence, child abuse (referenced), strong language

I always thought it’d be difficult to end someone’s life. Turns out it's easy as fuck.

I imagined my morality would sprint in screeching, a blockade to stop me from slamming my blade through flesh or stop my finger squeezing a trigger. That was always the scene in my head when hearing the latest homicide on the news. I’d want to do it, in fact I’d even wish I’d do it. Maybe I would go so far as to try to do it. But in all those fictional day dreams, I would never actually do it. There was no way I could ever kill someone. Not a single reason could compel me. But here I am, standing over a bleeding body, a death of my own design, and all it took was feeling justified. Sure, I may be going to hell, but I’ll bring everyone who validated me on the path to that inferno.

I kick the body again for good measure. Nothing, just the squish of more blood pouring out of the… Shit. How many times did I stab him? Seventeen? Eighteen? I’m reluctant to count the hole with the knife still embedded. We’ll go with seventeen.

“Yup. He’s dead dead,” I groan to myself, knowing there was no coming back from this. Though I wasn't sure that I wanted to come back from this. But what was I supposed to do now? Either go on the run or turn myself in? Were those really my only two options? My hands find their way to my face, massaging my temples. Why did I have to dig? Why did I have to investigate? I just ruined my entire life because of a journey that started with curiosity, except I don’t have nine lives to burn like cats do. Well, it wasn’t just curiosity, there was love too. I’ve got cats beat there.

To be fair, I’m not saying I regret what I did. He deserved every single one of those holes in his chest. But… My knees bend as I squat down to talk to the dead man.

“I regret not turning you in. Asshole. Ruining people’s lives both in life and death.”

No response.

An eye roll for him for not responding, and an eye roll for me for expecting him to. Standing back up, I look around and find a bench. After all, it was a park, benches were a plenty and I needed time to think. As I sit, the wooden ridges poke my ass in the most uncomfortable of ways. You know, for having just killed someone horrible, it would be nice to be comfortable, but we work with what we get. I squish in, trying to find comfort, any amount of it. No dice. If only I had my sister's big ass, then I’d find comfort on this public bench.

Leaning back, I look up at the stars. They always helped me figure my life out before. Maybe they’d help now.

“I should have talked to you guys first,” I tell the glimmering splatter of light in the deep purple and black sky. “You probably would have stopped me…” I whisper, fighting the burn of my eyes. I blink hard and breath swift, no need to get emotional.

‘Converse with the cosmos’, that's what I always told them. ‘If you’re ever having trouble making a decision, wait till dark and converse with the cosmos’. The kids loved it. I’ll never forget all the field trips to the planetariums and listening to their little voices, whispering their concerns to the projected stars above their little heads. It was like a choir of innocence, something I would never be ever again. They all found peace and a solution by the end of those trips. I doubt I’ll find it by the end of this.

A sigh I didn't know I was holding captive escapes my bruised lips. The air turns into fog as it exits, taking with it something other than just my breath. It empties me much more than killing that fuck face did. A pit digs into my stomach, and I can taste my own nausea. Was this guilt? But I don’t feel guilty about killing him. Or did I? No… What is it I feel guilty about? And then their smiling little faces pop into my mind's eye. My stomach knots. Oh. I let them down. Well, that's not totally true, but I’m splitting hairs… I let them down. They’ll never see me again. Unless of course their parents were like mine and left the news on to drown out their screaming matches. Then if I get caught or turn myself in, they might have a chance of seeing Ms. Hensley’s mug shot. Ooo, maybe Principal Goleski will sanction a field trip to prison to visit their favorite teacher.

“Now class, this is how prison visitations work. This here is a tele-phone. This is what we used to communicate back when I was a kid.”

Chuckling hurts my lip. Maybe I shouldn’t laugh. I’m not really sure what's healthy or normal to do after killing someone who deserved it, but here we are discovering. Going on a “journey” they say… But did he really deserve it? My gut gives an absolute rock punch of a yes. Always had a strong sense of direction but I’m starting to wonder if my moral compass might be off. I sigh again and glare at the stars. My forehead aches from my furrowing brows. It's not so much that I’m angry at them, I’m angry at myself.

“So cosmos, what now?”

A star winks at me. Jerk. How could they be so playful at a time like this? Though… I guess I haven't taken this all too seriously either. Why do the cosmos always have to be right?

“Okay, I get it. I'll take it seriously.”

The sharp breath I take freezes the wetness in my nose. I sniffle. If my body is reacting this way then this actually is serious. It doesn’t matter how validated I feel, or what anyone told me in hypotheticals… What I did was wrong. I blink at the stars.

“So what now?” I ask again, this time ready to be the mature version of me.

An image of my classroom pops into my mind. Yeah, I know. I did this for them. But the image doesn't fade, instead it zooms onto my desk. It was decorated as a proper favorite first grade teacher. A bowl of fun toys and treats to reward the kiddos, a coffee mug full of pencils that would inevitably be ‘borrowed’ and never returned, framed photos of my nieces and nephew, and my three-ringed lesson plan. Oh.

“So that's what this’ll be.”

This was no longer about me. Shit I don’t know that it ever was. It's not like I enjoyed killing him, I know it sounds ridiculous but seventeen stab wounds was making sure I did the job. It just felt like what needed to be done. A chore, an errand. The taking out of the fully stacked trash. The wiping of dirty ass. The locking of doors before bed. It wasn’t planned, I didn’t think to do it, it was just automatic and necessary. But they didn’t need to know that. They were just innocent little bratty angels I adored and wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to again. I stare at the lesson plan in my mind's eye.

Another sigh. Of course, the last thing I would do as a free woman would be a lesson for my kids. It’d be nice if they were grateful, but I know they’ll never understand any of this. I won't go down as some hero, no teacher of the year award. No more “best teacher ever” mugs to figure out where to store in my mug filled condo. Just a prison sentence and the judgement of everyone, just as I once did. People will naturally ask themselves what they would have done. Hopefully not out of self centeredness but we all know how powerful ego can be. Shit, I don’t know if a lifetime will be enough to process what part my own ego played in this crime. But no matter their reasoning, people will be divided on what they would have done in my situation: ‘I don't care what anyone’s done, killing is wrong.’ True. ‘After what that scumbag did, I’d have done the same, probably worse.’ Also true. I learned that firsthand. And then there will be a few ‘But seventeen times?’ Yes, and I feel the same. It was overkill.

I laugh. But my eyes sting with another sentiment as warm water glosses over my vision, blurring the night sky. I guess if had made someone leak blood, I could atleast allow myself to leak– a quiver shakes my chin, tears. But the problem was I didn’t want to. I’ll have plenty of years to cry on the run or in prison. Why ruin the moment? Why is it so wrong to be so proud of having protected the innocent?

“Because what I did was wrong.” I say out loud.

Clouds move in, blocking my view. Dropping my head I looked at my hands, laying in my lap blood staining into the creases of my palms.

I know what I have to do. If I was going to make this right, leave one last lesson, there was only one thing to do. Pressure built behind my eyes. God, I really don’t want to cry. I focused back at the covered stars and hope aches in my heart as I wish for them back. My billion friends have always been there for me, every single night. Thankfully, the cloud travelled on, revealing an even brighter sky, reflecting the billions of seconds I’ve had to live and breathe freely. Those immortal lights had been there for my innocence, my confusion, my rebellion, and now my sins. I never once felt alone with the sky as my friend. But tonight something in me feels lonely. My chest stings as my mind flashes images of what's to come.

A cell. Barred doors slamming. An isolation room. Resigned human connections. Prison visits with my sister. Prison visits with my mom. Rejecting prison visits from my dad. One color to wear. Two colors to see. Gray walls. Concrete blocks. No windows. And never again would I see my friend, the night sky. This was not only my last night of freedom, but my last night with my best friend. We would never see each other again. Ever. An entire relationship based on my two eyes taking in the beauty of her billion. This was goodbye, and in our final moments I had no idea what to say.

“Thank you.” I barely whisper to my dear friend.

The wind picks up, chilling my cheek. My lips curve up and my eyes fill.

“I guess if I’m going to cry, it would only make sense to be for you.”

A tear rolls down my cheek, warming a stream of formerly cold skin. The stars twinkle, wishing me what full of a life I can attain. I wonder how long I will live, caged, and hope that in my final minutes, my imprisoners might just allow me a glimpse at my dear old friend.

“I guess it’s time…” I say, trying to quiet the melodramatics. My phone feels heavier as I pull it out. Unlocking it had never been difficult until tonight. It was ironic really, unlocking something to lock myself. Of course I find the symbolism in it all. “I should have just studied literature, maybe I wouldn’t be in this…” I glance at the body. I don't think the word ‘mess’ carries the weight of the situation.

One big breath in, a swipe of my password, and I hit the call button. There was no turning back.

9

1

1

Not sure why I expected the phone to ring. They answer immediately.

“911 what's your emergency?”

I try to speak but my voice feels like it's run away. I guess it’s harder to turn yourself in than it is to commit the crime.

The woman repeats herself. I cough and force my voice out.

“I’d like to report a homicide. I killed a known sex offender found lingering at the playground in Placidus park. The police can find a video confession on my phone and all the evidence in a folder in my blue minivan parked on the east side of the park. I’m sitting on a bench near the body. I’m ready to be taken in.”

I hang up as fast as possible, not wanting to hear whatever was next. Judgement? A sentence? I’d rather be ignorant of it all. Though, I have an idea of everything that's going to happen and I’ll be living it for the rest of my life. My eyes dart to the body and I remember what started this whole journey, something my nephew told me when I tried to hug him for his class birthday party. “I don’t want hugs. Not from you, or mom, or the weird man at the playground.”

Don’t worry buddy, he won't be touching you anymore.

Sirens pierce my ears as they echo not too far. Holy shit they’re fast. Blue and red lights shine on the trees in the distance. I get one last look at the body, the blood, the crime, I frame it in my head knowing I’ll never forget. My head leans back and my eyes lock in on the stars for the last time. It’s the brightest they’ve ever shined. A smirk sneaks onto my face.

“Worth it.”