My Beautiful Rose

Chapter 2

"Okay, so what shall I have for breakfast?" You ask yourself out loud, walking over to your kitchen. You open your fridge and then look inside. Feeling as lazy as you did at that moment, you grabbed something quick and then sat it down on your kitchen table. You sighed as you thought about yesterday.

"Offenderman is just a fiction character," you said out loud, trying to convince yourself, as you then began to eat your food. Although you knew he wasn't real, you couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he IS real.

Maybe everything that you knew was a complete and total LIE. Maybe ghosts are actually real, maybe everything, EVERY SINGLE MONSTER, you've read and heard of are true. The boogeyman, werewolves, vampires, demons, and every monster and deranged serial killer from Creepypasta is one hundred percent REAL. Maybe... but you didn't want them to be real. They shook your very core.

It terrified you how they can kill without feeling guilty whatsoever. It bothered you that in each story they kill without any emotion. They kill because it is "too much fun". Every time you've read one of those stories, you get this nasty pit in your stomach. It made you so disturbed that they're willing to kill ANYONE. That meant that if they were real, they'd kill you without any questions. Just a quick stab to the heart or feeling your own head being torn off of your body.

Looking at your empty plate, you felt your breakfast settle awfully in your stomach. You felt as though you were going to throw up. Taking deep breaths, you forced the feeling to pass as you then stood up, erasing every thought you had about that monster.

"I think some television might help me to get that stuff off of my mind," you state as you slowly make your way over to your couch. You relax into the soft material of the couch and pick up the remote. You look for the big red "on" button and then press it, pointing it at the t.v. screen. You stare at the black screen, waiting for it to turn on. It turned on, straight into an action scene.

A man with short, spiky, brown hair in a black leather jacket and jeans was running as fast as he could. An older man, a police officer, ran behind him; the police officer catching up with the leather jacket man. They seemed to be in a big city, New York most likely. They ran pass all kinds of tall buildings, running into people and knocking them over. They both then ran into a couple of alley ways; the young man trying to lose the officer. The young man then ran into a dead end in an alley way. He froze with his hands in the air as the police officer pulled his gun our of his holster.

"Please! It's not me, I swear! I didn't kill her!" The young man yelled, out of breath. The officer stood there, catching his breath as well.

"Then why'd you run?" The officer asks, still taking short breaths of air, squinting. The young man paused, looking around, then back at the gun and its owner.

"Even if I didn't, you'd still find every possible way to pin it on me, right?" He states, "...'cause I just fit the profile, don't I? Troublemaker, had a troubled past, "mommy issues" - God, I even own a gun! I can stand here and tell you the truth- that I didn't do it- but, you'll never believe me. You'll find the smallest "evidence" such as a strand of her hair ten feet outside of my place and then arrest me for the poor girl's murder. You cops never serve much justice like you are supposed to," the young man replies.

"Wow," you comment. He sure told him, you thought.

"Look, how about we just have a little chat at the station. You tell me some things and I see if you're telling the truth or not," the officer responded. The man sighed, putting his hands on his head as he got on his knees. The officer walked over to him and then quickly grabbed the guy's hands, putting them behind his back; quickly handcuffing him as he then forced the man to stand.