Pisaries Creator

It’s funny how the largest city in any state of the U.S.A. gets all the attention when someone gets brutally murdered or the most scandalous politician finds the most beautiful hooker. Sure, he’s claims he didn’t mean to have sex with her or to ever hurt his wife, but things never change when it comes to men, women, and the unfortunate children they procreate in less than ten minutes. In the next most populated city is where the real stuff goes down and if you want to be authentic, then this is where the real shit goes down and stays down.

These brutal actions in any random city have shaken those that live inside. It creates almost too large of holes in their hearts. The betrayal drenches in the lies continues to this day. Anytime you pass a resident on a sidewalk, the energy felt is not right. There is a different kind of madness multiplying. When people open their mouths, good luck understanding what they say. Most of the time, it sounds like gibberish. Maybe after too many instances of banging heads on walls, the brain becomes mushy like soggy cereal. No one can throw a human brain down a kitchen sink. A person is dealt only one. There’s no escaping the brain given to you at birth as much how big your ass will be and the shape of your head.

Given how abnormal people appear partially normal in this city called Pinewall Cattach is where I was born and raised and live. Like my sister, she wondered what was hiding in the deepest parts of the lakes in the city. We described to each other how the fish puckered their lips when they noticed a free meal in front of them. Then we got sad at how they would probably end up as dinner on a fisherman’s outing. Numerous men would reel in small and large fish. Some of them would throw them back into the water as if they were inferior. I loved twirling cattails between my hands and watching the tadpoles in the shallow water.

One day when we were splashing water at each other and getting our shorts wet is when I noticed the hand of someone in the tall grasses and weeds in the dry run. I told my sister to stay put but she followed anyway. When we got closer, a few feet away, there was Miranda. Her body was motionless. I couldn’t tell if she was breathing. My sister scrambled to her knees as if to shake her awake. I grabbed her shirt just in time and yanked her back. I almost her kicked her out of anger.

“What the hell are you doing? You don’t touch a dead body!” I yelled.

“What if she’s still alive? We can help her,” my sister replied.

“That’s what doctors are for,” I said and pushed my sister back. “I’ll stay here while you go and tell the next person you see that someone needs help, that’s she’s really hurt.”

“Why can’t I stay here, and you go?”

I couldn’t take her stupid questions and shoved my sister hard. She fell back and landed in the sand. Without saying another word, she quickly got up and ran off. After I didn’t hear my sister’s footsteps or breathing, I turned back to Miranda. She was in a grade above me at my school. I couldn’t believe I was staring at her bruised face, sunken eyes, and bloody mouth. Here bright blue eyes were darkened from the beating. Who would do such a thing like this? Was it one of our classmates? Or a stranger wanting to hurt someone? I couldn’t believe I was the one to find her this way. I had recently seen her last week. She was laughing and telling something funny to her friends. I didn’t know what she had said but her girlfriends laughed. They blew kisses at each other and scattered in the school hallway like dandelion seeds in nature.

It was hard for me to see any hope in her still alive. What felt forever was only ten minutes when my sister returned with an adult running toward Miranda and me. I pointed at the direction of where Miranda was and like Superman minus being able to fly, he darted away with her in his arms. Her legs moving from side to side as they got smaller and smaller. I could have followed them. Maybe, I should have but I was not a part of her family. I wasn’t even her friend. She never was mean to me or my sister. We were acquaintances and had not paid much attention to each other. My sister had run after the man but returned to me when she got tired.

I took my sister’s hand and looked at the spot where someone wanted Miranda never to speak, eat, or laugh again. This person made her cry and wanted her to suffer. I hated this person for doing this to my acquaintance. I knew no girl would do this to her. It was my goal to find this boy and make him suffer as Miranda had suffered. If no one would help me search for her attacker, I would do it myself. This is what I did. I went out that next day to find this bad person. Even the police didn’t know who attacked her and nothing helped solve the case. Enough months passed for Miranda to be released from the hospital. She didn’t remember any detail of the beating or description of the attacker.

She never let it dominate her. There was fear in her parents because her attacker was never caught. This unknown didn’t stop her from moving past it. Her high school graduation was a celebration for her. Miranda had learned to speak and walk again after the attack. She was brave enough to want to survive. For all the newspaper articles and conversation about what happened to Miranda and those impacted by her assault only dominated the discussions and gossip for a while. Her assault in the headlines and local newscasts was soon replaced by a bigger disgrace. Say what you will but a girl tortured for two days, played with like a wounded mouse for more days, and then killed slowly over hours ignites a fear like nothing else.