Friday 13th

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Recommended: Tragedy in literature

The whole predicament was unknown; something unexplainable, still to this day. My name is Olivia. I am sixteen and currently serving a fifteen year imprisonment. The ironic thing is, I don’t remember how, why, or what I did. Just that I have the distressing scar through my stomach to prove something happened that night. The even more ironic thing is, it wasn’t I who did it, it was her. I lead a normal teenage life, just six months ago; at least, as normal as teenage life can ever be. I went to school, I had a best friend. Yes, I had my ups and downs, but it never resulted in anything so gruesome, evil or sick as what happened the night of Friday 13th five months ago.

It all began the night my best friend Daisy killed herself. Not to mention her five-year-old twin brother and sister seconds before. She butchered them with a kitchen knife, before turning the blade on herself. All three of them were left to be found by their mother. I was uncontrollably hysterical when I found out by an inevitably shaken-up father to Daisy, who was reluctant to playing the bearer of bad news; excruc...

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