For the next few weeks are going to be a lot of mixed emotions. I’m so happy and excited to be finishing my masters degree much sooner than I anticipated and walking with my amazing cohorts that I haven’t seen in a whole year. (Oh, how I miss you all so much!) However, this is the end of my amazing journey that I will forever remember and cherish with all my heart.
Siren has been coming along very nicely. I’m quite proud and impressed with myself on how much I’ve accomplished in such a short period of time. I can’t believe that I’m almost done with my short story. I cannot wait for the final copy to be submitted. I’ve been send out copies to family and friends and the feedback that I’ve received so far has been tremendous. The positive feedback has defiantly boosted my confidence to a whole new level and it’s pushing me to go further and push my boundaries.
Here’s a little snippet of my latest writing:
“Please don’t ever feel ashamed of anything you wish to tell me. I’m not here to judge you. I’m only here to listen to your story and your story alone and that you receive the proper help that you’re required by law,” I reassured her. Afterward, I can see the relaxation in her face and her mouth wasn’t as tight.
“That’s very reassuring Dr. Greene, thank you so much. Even though I’ve just met you, you’re one of the only people who have been so kind and compassionate towards me during this entire process,” she began to choke on her words while holding back tears.
“That’s very kind of you to say, Lorelei,” I thanked her. She also shot a quick smile from her rose-pink lips. She began to move around in her seat to get comfortable and she also started to play with her fingers as those with anxiety do when they are anxious about something.
“As you can tell, I have a love for writing and expressing my thoughts through writing. I would like for you to have my journal. It might be able to help during this process and hopefully see my side more clearly,” Lorelei said so softly. She reached behind her and grabbed her journal. The rusty copper leather-bound journal looked like it’s been through hell and back. There are pages falling out, the cover has a massive tear in the bottom right corner, and she has a large purple rubber band wrapped around it like a stack of newspapers.
I carefully picked up the journal and removed the rubber band that held the journal together. I placed this delegate piece of evidence on the table and gently opened up to the first page.
Saturday, August 31, 1996
High school is supposedly the best years of your teenage years. I never quite understood why, girls who say they are your friends end up talking behind your back, boys trick you into loving them, you experiment with drugs and sex, then you’re stuck with this image for the rest of your life; as long as you live in town.
On the other hand, high school is where I’ll grow as a person and learn new and helpful strategies to survive out in the world. I didn’t have great role models for teaching my brothers and me any real-life situations, just ones that aren’t acceptable. However, despite my mom being “an amazing role model,” she showed how you could get far in life with your looks and to use what your mama gave you. I never really had to search for any attention like your typical teenage girl has to; all the attention just gravitates towards me. I never had to try hard with my appearance. I’m what they call “a natural beauty.” That’s probably one of the only things I can thank my horrible parents for; my beautiful looks.
That I can definitely agree with her on, she is a natural beauty and looking up her parents previous to this interview, they were both very attractive as well. On the other hand, I wonder why she hasn’t been shown as much attention. I mean, if high school is anything from when I went, she would be considered one of the popular girls with the quarterback boyfriend and the huge group of friends following her around like the president of the United States of America.
Well maybe, she gives off the impression of “bad news”, but they wouldn’t make much sense despite her recent passion for killing in that time span. You would think a serial killer would want to lore in their victims one by one, but that’s not in Lorelei’s case. She seems to be more complex than that, more intelligent than the average male psychopath.
Emily Morris 