I was wearing gloves, so no fingerprints. Check. My weapon of choice was hidden safely in my boot. Check. I smiled. I was nothing but careful, and tha...’s what kept me from being sent to death row. I opened the door and half stepped out, looking back at Jessica Winthrope, beloved fashion model of New York, and my fucked up mind’s latest victim. I suppose that I could tell you my name. But then I would have to kill you. Ha, just kidding. Maybe. The name plate on my desk reads ‘Lucy Morris’. But. By nine o clock, it looked like it was going to pour down so we went to the toilet block for the last time that night and had to run back as it started to rain, my mother having to hold on to her breasts as she ran back. “I’m cold mam,” I said after ten minutes of sitting in the tent“It’s not the warmest is it; get in your sleeping bag”“Do I have to change?”“Just take you mucky trousers off and put some clean one’s on” I crawled in to my sleeping bag and sneakily watched my mother take her. More

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