'KILLER'

Chapter 1

"The left atrium them receives blood from the pulmonary veins, which comes from the lungs, remember? So then the right atrium receives blood from the rest of the body, and arrives through the vena cava,"

"The venus-what? What the fuck you saying?"

"Im talking about your vena cava Jonathan."

"My name is Pretty Boy you little bitch. Call me that again and I'll bash your pretty face in with my bare hands."

I sighed. I was used to the insults of course. It came with the whole package. Today nearly everyone had completely blanked out, not paying the slightest interest to my existence, nor my desperate-laced tone for them to pay attention.
With the exception of mastermind Greg Marshall of course, who blew up his neighbours with a home made bomb. If he wasn't behind bars, Greg would be in some sort of laboratory, earning figures from his discoveries.

People like Jonathan Crepe however, or 'Pretty Boy',as he likes to call himself, plainly has interest for girls and booze. Anyone with half an eye can figure that out by his heavily tattooed arms, full of naked bodies, or by taking a look in his cell, where he holds piles upon piles of Playboy magazines, with beer cans scattered across the floor. Biology was definitely not his thing.

Neither was it mine, yet I was stuck teaching a room full of convicted felons on how their blood flows in and out of their evil hearts.

"I need to piss"

"Go, Jonathan."

"Did you not hear what i just fucking-"

"Yeah I did. Now go."

Grumbling, he clumsily stumbled out, shuffling while his ankle cuffs dug into his pale skin. Accompanied by a parole officer of course. They are everywhere. At least five stood in my classroom that very moment, most of them eying my bored-to-death students, while a 6'5 black officer stood to my right, getting ready to pounce on anyone who came closer than 6 feet toward me.

I struggled to continue, feeling no enthusiasm as I stared back at stony faces. This was probably the worst job I have ever and will ever take up in my life time.

My name is Elaine Jacobson. I am a 23-year-old, with a teaching degree and a master in Psychology. From bagging groceries, to building blocks with kindergarteners, to working at the back of a sushi restaurant, to being a middle school teacher, I have finally made the worst decision yet.

It wasn't like I exactly had a choice. I was about to get kicked out of my four-room apartment, since I'd gotten fired from Chardon Middle School, as parents had been writing complaints on my lack of eagerness and enthusiasm of teaching their precious thirteen-year-old kids.
I was finally kicked out when a girl asked me if I thought her outfit was cute and I replied 'No'. Oops. I forgot your mind hadn't developed enough to the point where you realised your gonna get judged if you wear jeans with a polka dot dress. Then, shortly after that, I was in the cafeteria since I'd forgotten to pack a lunch like all the other teachers, and a boy spilt his spaghetti all over me. So, me being me, I poured my orange juice all over his smirking face.

My last words with the bitchy principal were pretty life changing. She told me I was not fit to be teaching her students, since I proved to lack enough emotion and compassion towards children, and I needed to find a place where I could find people just like me. So I asked her what she had in mind.

"County Ohio Institution. Only a few blocks from where your staying I believe. It would suit your standards just right, Mrs Jacobson." she said with a grimace on her blotchy face.