’ ‘Well, why not?’ I asked. ‘Well, I thought I did everything I wanted to do here, but I realized I really haven’t.’ ‘What haven’t you...done?’ I said. ‘You’ll see soon,’ he said with a smile, getting up and walking away. The next week, after graduation, I got a text from John, asking me what I planned to do that day. After telling him I had nothing planned, he asked if I wanted to hang out. I said sure. We both agreed to go to the park down the street from my house, and hang out for a bit. I got. It’s as if cold tendrils of some Lovecraft-like beast is slowly draining the life from my body, willing me to be as dead as Lisa. And she is dead. Despite the fact she stands outside my bedroom window, Lisa is (no matter what the National Enquirer might like people to think) as dead as Elvis. I should know. I’m the one who killed her. I’m the one who strangled the life from her and buried her deep in the woods behind the house. She loved those woods. And now, by all rights, she should be. More

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