I wrote this small piece for an English assignment, and it turned out that it got nominated to be printed in the yearbook. o.O I don't mean to boast or anything, but getting your first published work is really exciting. And since we have to buy the yearbook, I suppose it is kinda commercial.

(I changed back the names, though. I used different ones in the original.)

Disclaimer: I legally disclaim all characters used in all my fictional works.

The police detective sighs, shutting the small notepad close. “It’s such a shame,” he says, shaking his head at me. “You seemed like such a nice kid.” I blink, feeling confused. “‘Beg your pardon?”

He nods toward the other two policemen and murmurs something I can’t hear.

They nod, and advance towards me with handcuffs.

“Hold on,” I splutter, feeling rather lost in the situation. “What are you doing?”

One of them reaches behind me and secures the handcuffs around my wrists. I struggle, but then he twists my arm painfully and I cease.

“Rachel Roth, you are under arrest for murder and human slaughter.”

I am stunned, then recover and say, “W-what? Who?”

The detective’s eyes are hard and wintry. “You are charged with the murder of Noire Anderson.”

I cannot believe my ears. Noire, murdered by me? I think angrily. She’s my friend’s sister, for God’s sake!

I kick and wriggle and bite, but nothing deters them. Slowly I am forced into the police van, with much ado.

My hair is uncombed, my face bruised. It must have been a week since I was first thrown into the cell. I keep track of the days with the wall and a small piece of chalk.

My father has never cared much for me, and my mother fled from him several years ago. It does not come as any surprise to me that he refused to hire a lawyer, which is why my trial has been postponed.

It is silent, and I am alone. I do not have inmates. I used to, but since they discovered me with bruises two days ago, I was moved to a cell by myself.

Still I cannot get over Noire’s death. Nothing is certain to me now, except that I hadn’t killed her. Oh, Cor, I think miserably, what do you think of me now?

“Visitor for number 723,” a voice says, and I stand up, startled. Who would visit me, after all?

A lean man donned in a suit, complete with a hat, appears before me. He walks over to me and, to my surprise, a familiar voice greets me.

“I specially requested a private room, so we should be able to talk freely.”

Is this a lawyer? I think, feeling incredulous. From my father, of all people?

The door closes and is bolted behind us, and the man smiles with a menacing edge to it.

“I suppose I shouldn’t keep you waiting any longer.” He reaches up to his hat and pulls it off. To my shock, long black hair tumbles down.

The sight of her is the last straw, and I let loose everything.

“What do you think you’re playing at, Noire?!” I yell.

She smirks and sits down. “Quite easy, really. Coriander is the one in the grave, not me.”

Stunned, shocked, I listen to her.

“I hate – no, I despise her.” There was no mistaking her loathing. “It’s always her this, her that–”

“Police!” I scream. “Here is your murderer, not me!”

I keep shouting as they drag me back into my cell.

Author's Note: If you didn't understand, this was what happened, in a nutshell:

A female body, with black hair and a face battered beyond identification, was found in the Anderson household. Since Mrs Anderson is alive and well, it is automatically assumed that Noire (Blackfire) is dead. Rachel (or Raven), Coriander's (Starfire) best friend, is accused. However, as she later finds out, Blackfire was the culprit, and the victim was Starfire, who had had her hair dyed black by her sister.

I hope that clears everything.

Regards,
Athena