FICTION (Essay Sample)

shackled
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Shackled
Danielle was my number one hero, but she was not famous in the ways of lifestyle magazines. She had a slight sense of fashion, and it would be hard to say we did not like one or two of her rocking outfits. Danny was not the kind to crouch. She held her head high up, and if Dionysus needed a character to remind ladies of agendas each morning currently, Danielle would have perfectly fit the role of no crouching, no sobbing. The events that passed in the last six hours left me torn in between; we all had those googly frog’s eyes and nothing seemed to add up about the allegations thrown at Danielle. she had been my roommate for one and half years. Looking back, I cannot seem to shake off the mental picture.
I try to stand, but my legs falter wish I could cry for the girl I once knew. But there are no tears enough for what I have lost. A soul once joyful and full of love but now filled with something else. Something dark and spiteful. Desperation. As I crawl off the bathroom floor, I can only hope to find some semblance of the Danny I knew. As I sit on the bathroom floor drowning in the relentless beat of the shower water, I heave. Dry sobs rake my body. The tears don’t flow. I know my body is finally betraying me deep down, as I have betrayed it the last six months. I am the one they ought to have taken to the police station. I hit the wall and look at my bleeding knuckles in frustration. My braids fall heavily on my back. Wet. Cold clumps of desperation. The cold water keeps hitting my back. For a moment, I worry about the water bill. But I shrug as a tiny voice inside my head asks how many times I will keep collecting my broken pieces if I will have the strength to do it this time. I have lost the best parts of me already, and this time I don’t know if there is enough left to piece together.
Here I was, totally wrecked and with a possibility of being charged with murder. I had drawn Danny to anger motivated her, and now it was all her fault. I do not know how long the authorities will stay in the dark, but my determination to dig myself in a hole is too immense. I look at the papers on the floor, and the headlines scream back the most significant errors of my life. “Cold blood murder” echoes the standard gazette. They are blaming Danny for what I had started. She only finished the job. My father believed in the right way of doing things. That meant; school, internship, work, death. Well, I added that final part. But isn’t that