A Pretty Justice

         He was every piece of perfection rolled into one. Girls would meet him in their wishful thoughts and reveries, guys, up the recesses of their envy. He was good-looking, like a movie star, as most people would say. He was the most popular guy in campus. Didn’t everyone know ‘bout him, fanatics would often brag, haters, mock him just like that. Didn’t everyone know he’s dead, just right now, as the news had just circulated, or as just everyone witnessed what everybody was talking about. Mulligan High’s soccer field, face down, and literally scatterbrained. Kendrick Johnson was found dead. He was the most popular guy in campus. Indeed. He was good-looking. No, not this time.

-o0o-

         “I-I don’t know. He’s a good son. He’s good to everyone else. He’s dead now! Puh-please, leave me alone!” Paula understood the signal. All she had to do was to leave the chapel. She went out and sat beneath the willow, checked on her notes. Not enough for an article, she muttered. She threw the notebook inside her bag and headed home straight.

         “So, how’s my pretty daughter-journalist?  What’s the recent scoop, honey?” As she entered the house, it was the usual smell of oranges that welcomed her. Her father loved oranges more than his family. And, how she loved the term pretty daughter-journalist. It was derived from the time her father discovered her treasure box of news clippings, and from the time he caught Paula working on an amateurish, biased news article about a boy she hated when she was six. From then on, she had to be termed like that. The boy had been gone, but the treasure box was still hanging on, right under her bed.

         “His… mother was…  grieving. I was even yelled at,” Paula blurted in between chews, her cheeks blushing from embarrassment, her apple almost half-done after a single bite.

         “What happened to Ken was totally unthinkable. I knew the boy, worked for the hardware store. Good guy, bad fortune.” He picked up the anchor-shaped remains of what his daughter had been munching on, and put it directly into the waste basket. “You’re a big girl now. Learn how to dispose things.”

-0o0-

         “Single shot. That’s what it required for his demise.” Mr. Morgan Accuse from the Mulligan Police Department held an imaginary weapon in his hands and made a hoarse (it had to do with the voice) Bang!  Paula, and the townspeople, always knew that this police officer in front of her disliked mustard. Now, she was seeing the falsity of that belief on his chin. Why lie about it, she asked herself in utter confusion. She suddenly remembered he had to, because Paula, and the townspeople, always knew that this police officer in front of her had few other mistresses other than his wife. One of the recent, a mustard-maker. Good riddance, she resolved.

         “Suspects?” Paula asked, as serious about business as ever.          

         “He was with his girl two hours before his death. That two hours?  We don’t know yet. You know, huh?” he asked Paula as if she was involved.

         Suddenly, Paula felt eerie. She noticed Mr. Accuse’s eyes traveling all the way her body, then right at the moment his disrobing-like gaze reached hers, “I gotta go. I think, I’ve gotten enough infos for my article.”

         “Wait, please. I’ve still got a lot to tell you.”

         “Police officers do want the best reputation in the world, don’t they?”

-o0o-

         “I’ve always dreamed of this, Ken. Look at this. Look at this! It can take your brain off your head. It can take your precious life.”

         “We were kids. Forget it now!”

         “Shut up! Still remember?  You led me to this hidden, dilapidating gazebo one summer day, and you just took advantage of my innocence. You’ve taken all away from me! My childhood, you ruined it. You were the monster, and you’ve eaten me all up. You were a criminal at nine. You left nothing of me!”

         “God, please. You’re crazy! Please, put that down. Give it to me.”

         “You’re the one who’s crazy. I thought you’re already gone, but you’re back, to study in the same school where I do, too. Kendrick Johnson, you’re pathetic! Your coming back here is a stupid mistake. Now, you just got me remembering the past. I’m gonna give myself justice. ”

         “Don’t go near to being a criminal at 13 , you, bitch!”

         She had it all planned. She had it muffled. No one heard. No one will know. She chuckled.

-o0o-

         After seven years, justice was served. She no longer had to remember every single scene that one summer day. Kendrick Johnson had already died.

         A week after Johnson’s death, police officer Morgan Accuse from the Mulligan Police Department said they were still missing the lead in solving the case.

         Sometimes, justice in Mulligan can be centuries far. So, in Ms. Preston’s case, she had it near her. She had not just waited. She helped in solving her own case.

         “I have the right to do what I want,” said the 13-year-old victim in an interview.//Paula Preston

         

         “It’s been done.” The paper had aged, she noticed. It’s been a very long seven years, she whispered. When she folded the paper four times, she was even nervous she might tear it. It didn’t happen. What happened was the realization of everything she had been dreaming of. It took me seven years to finish this article, she tried to remember. “Sealed with a kiss.” Ecstasy were like fireworks inside her.

         She pulled out a box from under her bed, opened it and put the folded paper at the bottom of the other pieces of paper. Where’s the gun, she thought. She got startled. She felt something cold. She felt relief. Metals really get cold these days, she weaved a happy thought.

-o0o-

         The smell of oranges welcomed her arrival. “Where have you been?  I’ve been calling you.”

         “Sorry, dad. I just had to do some research stuff.”

         “You’re wearing all black. What’s up with my pretty daughter-journalist?”

         “Trend.” She noticed she was Catwoman in a baggy day. “Gotta change my clothes.”

         “Wait. What’s that bulge on your jacket’s pocket?”

         She swallowed. “A gun.”

         “Don’t you kid on me, honey. Get lost, dinner’s ready in a minute.”

         “Sure.” She smiled as she turned her back from him. Her dad didn’t believe she had a gun.