The first murderer I ever met was tall and awkward, with curly hair. But this was sixth grade, and we were all a bit awkward. Every one of us.
This kid didn’t grow up to stalk the streets and slay prostitutes until the TV stations gave him a nickname.
He didn’t buy an AR-15 and shoot up a lecture hall or a nightclub.
This boy became a killer that same year.
One day he was in school. The next day he didn’t show up, and the next, and the next, until we finally learned the truth: he’d been charged with murder.
Continue reading “The killer beside you”
The Red Pen of Doom 