It was luck. It was fate, that I saw her. I was driving down Santa Monica boulevard with more than a few drinks in my system. All night I directed all my fears, all my insecurities, all of my rage at her. Brooke McQueen. The epitome of perfection. How I hated her. How I envied her.

I had imagined the scene before me many times. My favorite scenario involved a razor blade. 'Lil Miss Prom Queen slitting her wrist wouldn't be hard for people to believe. It couldn't be traced to me. No one would know. I'd stare straight into her eyes as I cut hard and deep. I'd see her fear. I'd her disbelief. I'd see the life drain from her body as the blood slowly poured out of her body.

Oh how I wished of her ruin. But my dreams have never come true. But on that night everything changed. I sped down the blvd in my car, numb to the world around me. Then I saw Brooke McQueen step out into the road. My first reaction was to slow down like any decent driver would, but then my vengeance took over. I pressed down on the gas pedal as hard as I could. I saw her flinch and a smiled tugged on the corners of my mouth. She didn't have time to move.

When I hit her, the whole car shook. For a split second I thought it might turn over but it didn't. I felt her body under the wheels. There was no way she could survive it. After the car ran over Brookie I slowed my speed. People from the dance started to line the street. I took off speeding, satisfied with my work. The bitch was dead.

THE END?
(Should I continue?)