Dedicated to those who love fiction and to those who love violence.

If we, the youth, were to treat this as the bible then rapists would flee the world or go out like Heaven's Gate 20 years ago.

That's still kind of funny to me.

Dedicated to Brock Turner

    I found her cold lifeless body on her bedroom floor, her head was unidentifiable due to Dad's shotgun had taken it away. My stomach couldn't handle the sight, not one bit, I threw up in the middle of her floor from the sight of fractions of skull and brain painting her walls and some of her throw pillows on her bed. Mom and Dad were both at work around this time, I knew Claire was faking sick to get out of school today; I didn't know it was for this. I had no words, no emotions, and for some reason I couldn't cry, it was like my body was punishing me for something I didn't know about. I couldn't let Mom and Dad see her. I wrapped her body up in her sheets and comforter and carried her limp body downstairs, I laid her on the dining room table and went back upstairs to clean up what Claire had left for me. I would have to force myself to suck it up and swallow my vomit whenever I'd come across a piece of cheek, teeth, an eye, or even brain matter. I don't even know why I'm describing this to you! I only wish I could have given her a kiss on the forehead as a sign of a goodbye, but I suppose wrapping her in her warm bed linens and cleaning her room for her is good enough, besides, there's no forehead or anything to kiss anymore.

    When my parents got home they were very skeptical at first, they thought it was a prank, sad to say it was not. Dad was more skeptical and gave her corpse a look before covering his face and crying into my mother's breast, the muffled sounds of his cries still couldn't get me to break a blank expression. I'm not a badass and I'm not heartless, I guess I'm in just in such shock that my brain doesn't know how to process it. No one is really prepared for this in their life and honestly I didn't see this coming from a mile away. She'd been acting so "herself" for the longest time, that I didn't notice any sense of depression in her at all. 

"Where's the note?" my mother asked me while dabbing her eyes with tissue.

    "The what?" I asked.

"The suicide note, the thing that all people leave to tell someone why they chose this!" She explained.

    "There wasn't one, I cleaned her room and didn't find one left for us..." I said.

My mother was so confused and hurt why Claire wouldn't leave a note for us, I suppose she had had enough for one night and just quit questioning me. After all, what did I really know? I had only just come home to find the sister and bestfriend I had known my whole life just dead on the floor. The only thing I could think about was why she wouldn't come to me to talk, have I failed as brother? Mom called the mortuary and had two guys come over to bag and pickup my sister to get her out of the house for her later funeral. The guys had little to no emotion to this just like me, only I don't do this for a living. They took her out of the sheets and put her in a body bag, I also handed them the plastic bag of remains from her head. They tossed her in the back like a deer that had just been shot, it was so strange to see how they treat the bodies of other's loved ones. Their faces expressed the long day they've already had and how this was just another part of the job.

I still couldn't get the note out of my head, the fact that there wasn't one makes me believe that it was obvious why she did it, but it really wasn't. Just the other day, she was with our next door neighbor, Mrs. Jennings; she's a transgender. I'm not entirely sure if I'm saying it right, let's just say it was a guy who's now an ugly woman. I saw her talking with Mrs. Jennings on her front porch and couldn't exactly hear anything and, to be honest, didn't care enough at the time to really eavesdrop on their conversation. I usually only see Mrs. Jennings out when she's checking her mail or working on her car. However, now I'm going to have to talk to her knowing she was one of the last people, not family, that she really talked to. I'm too afraid to talk to her sometimes because one time I accidently called her a he and she got really upset and slammed her front door on me, I was so little that I didn't really understand the big deal. But she knew something I didn't, and for that I'll have to pay a respectable visit; just not tonight.

A couple days later, I walked into Claire's room to see if I could find her phone, it had to have something on it to help me. I memorized her passcode before she died: 27388. I was in, she had her photo gallery already pulled up on her screen, I guess she was looking at all her pictures of us before she decided to do what she did. I looked through all her recent apps and only found two, Twitter and Instagram. Instagram had nothing but people's Christmas vacation pictures and some couples trying to be cute but really just being ugly as dog shit. Twitter was weird, I don't use it so the search took a couple minutes. Sooner or later, I started finding tweets about this party that Claire had went to three weeks ago. I found pictures of drunken teens, people making out, and I even saw some kids passing around a bong; I recognized some but not all of the faces in the posts. However, the path to finding her undoing became shorter but darker, I found a short video of Claire being touched and raped by a guy while she was unconscious. In the background I can hear the people laughing and complimenting themselves on finding such affective drugs to keep her down for so long. They were dumb to post this, but smart enough not to say anyone's names while recording. My fist clinched in rage as I realized what was the reasoning behind all of this, I can't believe I was so blind, I can't believe I never dared to ask her if she was alright. How could she hide it so well? She shouldn't have bottled it up until it was putting a gun in her mouth just to keep her quiet, she should've came to me, God dammit! 

I didn't feel anything when I found her on the ground with no head, I didn't feel anything when I carried her body down the stairs and sat it where we shared dinner together, I didn't feel anything when two emotionless men chucked her body into the back of their vehicle, but now I feel something. It isn't sadness, regret, or denial... It's anger. I'm going to find the person who did this and I'm going to kill them in front of the ones they love, and I'm going to punish their friends to avenge my sister for the humiliation and death she found so recently. I don't care if I have to become something I'm not, I'm not letting my sister just become another statistic in this world for rape or suicide, but I will make the offender another number that raises the death toll for this year. Let God stay my witness as I destroy this man's life and strategically take everything from him until he is nothing but a morose being who hides in every shadow he can find by day, because by night I will rule his sanity and I will castrate the very human being that took away the sunshine in my family's life.

I'm going to kill you.

Insomnia- habitual sleeplessness; inability to sleep.

    I've been up for three straight days. I can't sleep anymore with this churning in my stomach, at first it was a faint feeling but now it's legitimately started to hurt. Sometimes I wish I could stop thinking for just one damn moment, but that's impossible for all humans to do. Claire was able to stop thinking, all she had to do was die. I knew that no sleep would result in hallucinations and that it would be bad for my health during this tragic moment in my existence, but I secretly hoped that if I didn't sleep enough that I could see Claire again and ask her who pushed her to this. More specifically, who raped her at the party? I use to watch those phony paranormal shows on TV and even I know it won't work. Maybe it's just the idea of seeing her again and being able to actually say goodbye. My heart sinks heavy into my chest and it weighs me to my bed every time that I'm home; I haven't talked to anyone in weeks. My closest friends have become rather distant at my expense. It's not their faults, I just couldn't stand to sit at a noisy lunch table where nobody can understand what you're feeling or even offer any advice in return. After the school week, I just spend most of my weekends just laying on top of my covers listening to Jeff Buckley's version of ​Hallelujah. ​Sometimes I can almost feel the sweet relief of tears on the way to help soothe my aching soul, but they never come to my aid.

    Monday.

    I'm so grumpy from the lack of sleep that I'm just praying someone says just the slightest thing to make me tilt just so I can have an excuse to gouge out the eyes of someone in my class. I'm so tired of listening to the teacher that I just want to scream that no one in the room actually cares and that she should commit a sexual act to herself. I sit so far in the back that I could probably just go to sleep and  not face any consequences... then again I'm failing this class and don't need another thing keeping me down. 

I can't do this whole investigation on my own, I'll never get farther than one name and then my path will grow short then fall of a cliff and never come to a conclusion. I'll have to build a team of allies to help me with whatever dirty work I have to do. I think I know exactly who I'll ask, I only have two close friends in this school alone. Their names are Paul and Thomas, they're two guys in my grade that I've pretty much known since Middle school around 7th grade. I don't have a lot of friends around here since I usually keep to myself, but these two are pretty much the closest thing to what friends are, I guess. I'll invite them out to breakfast this Saturday and talk over the goal of our gang and how we'll put an end to the malicious crowd with malicious behavior. I know that there's a long line of hypocrisy in the making, but at least it's being done to criminals in our community and not innocent people just trying to live their lives. I think with a team my chances to find the son of a bitch that drove my sister to suicide is higher than it was alone; I pray they join.

Saturday.

    We all met at a Waffle House not too far from our school. Our booth sat against a window that let a nice beam of light in that warmed the area around it. We weren't exactly the most average looking trio of friends but we all shared interests. Paul was probably the biggest one out of our group, he had shoulders more broad than any football player on our team and had biceps big enough that he could probably put me in a sleeper hold and kill me. He was sort of a loud mouth amongst us but we still enjoyed his presence, he always had a dirty joke up his sleeve that could lighten a room. When I first sat down he had already had me laughing for 4 minutes straight; it was the first time I laughed in a long time. He has messy brown hair and ratty clothes because he was a little poorer than the rest of us, but we didn't care. Thomas was a shy character with a mind made of textbooks and coffee beans. He had an almost perfect score on his PSAT and showed how he was a force to be reckoned with when he grew to the top 10% in our class. He was a huskier kid than me and Paul and always smelled like cheap cologne and whatever he brewed that morning for breakfast. I knew from the start that he had a sister and that it would give me an upper hand for sympathy and possibly some fears that what happened to my sister might happen to his. Paul was just a tough kid with no siblings so I figured maybe I'd just involve him because he was physically stronger than me in every which way.

"I have an offer for you gentlemen." I said.

    "Woah, Mr. Formalities here! Cut down the fancy shit Richard, what's up?" Paul said.

"Did any of you know my sister, Claire? I asked.

        " Wait, that's the girl who killed herself!." Thomas added.

"Yes, she killed herself because she was driven to it. I found her on the floor the night she did it. I had to clean up what she did..." I spilled.

    "I'm sorry for your loss, Richard. But in all do respect, what does your offer have to do with any of this?" Paul asked.

"I need help finding out who drove her to this." I said.

        "Someone pushed her to suicide?" Thomas asked.

I knew from this very moment that I was putting all of what I knew on the table, if these guys didn't know by now then maybe I could just change the circumstance; give my sister some dignity. No, I have to tell them, if I'm going all in then I'm all in. There's no longer a line to be drawn in the sand anymore, the line was erased when a brother had to walk in on crime scene that would then label him as an only child and then place a vendetta into his lap that he would have to figure out how to deal with. I'm all in now, God!

"She was drugged and raped at a party that happened no longer than a month and a half ago. I found the pictures and videos on a Twitter wall post, I didn't get any faces or hear any names but I know I heard more than just guys. I need you guys to help me find who did this so I can put an end to all of this so my sister may rest peace and teach those around us a lesson!" I badgered.

The whole table became so quiet from shock that it was almost unsettling just to still be sitting there in the awkward silence. Thomas took a sip of his coffee and looked away from me. Paul looked away as if he were in a train of thought. His face didn't say that he was shocked, it looked more as if he was weighing the options of living a normal life or moving on to possible acts that could lead to felony offenses. Thomas put down his cup of coffee and looked at the menu he had in front of him, it was obvious that he could no longer keep up the act of drinking and looking away without appearing too distant from us at the table. Just before I could break the silence with a rebuttal to possible bad feelings, Paul slammed his hand down on the table.

        "I'm in, let's get those rapist fucks!" Paul cursed.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He took a big look around to see who was listening before he gave me a solid answer.

        "I'm willing to kill these bastards if you are, Richard!" Paul said.

Thomas was the smartest guy at the table and frankly no one would blame him if he said no and didn't want to take part in a small gang that would lead to teenage casualties, he surprised me when he put down his mug and answered the way he did.

        "Never in my life have I ever acted out, I've had a clean nose through all years of school and never talked back to my parents. I've stayed up for the past couple of nights just cramming for a chemistry test that is literally the most boring area of study that one man could think of. I'm in, I need the excitement and I need a promise from you that if things go South then you'll take the bullet." Thomas said.

I nodded.

From then on we were no longer friends who sometimes didn't talk or acknowledge each other in the hallways of our part time prison, we were vigilantes with a mission set out to kill and castrate those who had wronged my sister and many others just like her. We're coming to get you- you sick bastard, and I'm going to not kill you with bullets nor poison, I'm going to carve you with a knife so I can savor the screams and horror that will take place when I learn of your identity.

I'm going to kill you.

We're going to kill you.