They called me names.

That was what they did.

And whatever they got, well, fuck it all, they deserved it. I don't care anymore, they deserved it.

No one degrades me.

I repeat, * no one *.

They called me a slut, they told me that I'd like it, that I was going to enjoy every moment of it. They took me from behind the school, dragged me, kicking and screaming and crying out for my brother to help me... and of course, he didn't hear me.

He was too busy fucking his girlfriend in the bed of his truck.

That dark night, a football game at school. All I wanted was to smoke a joint and forget about the world for a while. I didn't realize that wanting to be alone was such a crime. I lit the joint, and before I had taken two puffs, the basketball players approached, grabbed my arms and bashed a rock into the back of my skull.

And when I opened my eyes one of them was inside of me, pushing himself against me, and I was tied to the bed of a truck, my arms bound, my legs spread like I was some game bird ready for the plucking. And I didn't cry.

I lay there, and I listened to them talk about me, and I listened to them talk about who was going to ride the slut next. And I got angry.

They were calling me names. They were hurting me. You cannot say that I was wrong. You cannot.

I'll tell you why.

While they were discussing their 'prize' - me - I was grabbing one of their hunting knives that they'd used to cut my skin and make me hurt even more.

God, get that look off your face. No, they didn't fuck me with it - they cut me with it. Jesus, you lawyers - you're all the same. Cold hearted bitches and bastards who don't care about their clients so long as they've got the pocket change.

Are you going to say that I was wrong? I'd like to know. Because, quite honestly, I don't see how I * am * wrong. I wasn't, and I am not wrong now.

They were stupid, and they hurt me. They left a knife in the bed of the truck, close enough for me to cut myself loose and for me to do what I wanted to do to them.

And the Sheriff found me the next morning, wrapped in a football jersey, walking along the stretch of Highway 81.

So, how was I wrong to do it? How was I wrong?

You see, * I'm * not the one who fucked an innocent girl. I'm not the one who did anything wrong. If you think I'm wrong, then tell it to my face, and prove that I was in my right mind when I took their lives.

Quite honestly, I'd do it again. You don't let things like this happen, do you understand? You can't let stuff like this happen.

Oh? Oh, so I * am * wrong because I didn't wait and report them? They might have killed me, and, oh I forgot, you know, they're * basketball * players, they're * athletes *... well, that automatically makes them better than me, now, doesn't it? I'm just a pot-smoking girl who doesn't fit in with everyone else so I'm automatically bad and horrible and wrong, right? Right?

You're not the one on trial here? Oh, but you are. You * all * are. You didn't stop them from doing this - and now you're going to blame me for it? You're going to make me suffer because I didn't wait for * your * justice?

Well, guess what, they called me names.

Slut.

Fuck-bush.

Whore.

Bitch.

Yeah. Yeah, that's what they called me. They were calling me names, spitting on me, pissing on me, hurting me. You ever had a man's dick inside of you and instead of feeling good, you feel violated and filthy? You feel like you just sucked off the Devil himself, you know? You know that feeling?

Bet you know that feeling, Mr. Lawyer - yeah, 'cos one of your sons was one of those boys, is that what you're gonna say? Did you suck off the Devil's Mistress, is that what you did, Mr. Lawyer-Man?

No, no I won't be quiet. They hurt me. They killed me. They made me hurt, and they were more cruel than you could * ever * be.

I took that knife.

I made them pay.

Prove that I was wrong.

Say it to my face.

Tell me that I'm wrong.

What did I do to your sons?

Oh, I did what they did to me.

They don't have livers anymore. They don't have dicks. They don't have lungs.

They didn't have hearts to begin with, so why should it matter if I took those.

All I wanted was to be left alone. I don't see how I'm wrong. Three boys bled out in a field because they couldn't keep their dicks to themselves - how you think that makes me feel, huh? You're saying that I'm a guilty bitch for killing your bastard children.

So, fuck you all. I say I am ashamed to have known you as I do.

Some of you know me. Some of you wish you'd never met me. Most of you hate me.

Some of you - a very silent majority of you - think that I'm right. You think that I have done nothing wrong. I took my justice - I gave myself the justice that you, Mr. Lawyer, can't and won't give me.

So I took pity on your son and I spared him.

He's a eunuch now, but I spared his life. His three friends? Oh, they're dead as hamsters in a toilet, Mr. Lawyer.

Yes. I killed them. But they killed me first.

I'm not wrong, and I'll never think of myself as being such a thing. So, fuck off, Mr. Lawyer.

Let's see someone take you away, fuck you, and you not try and escape.

You'd do exactly what I did.

You know you would.

No? You wouldn't?

I pity you. You don't understand, and you couldn't possibly fathom the evil of your sons. I pity you, sir. I truly do. The knife?

Oh, I kept it.

I prayed to it - I don't believe in god, sir, and that knife is all I have proof of that there might actually be a god. I will not swear on any bible, and I won't swear on god's name, because I don't believe there is such a being.

Why?

Let me think - the slut was raped by four guys four times her size. Where was god?

When I was screaming and crying, where was god?

When I was being raped, where was god?

Oh, save the pity party, counselor. Where was god when your son was being murdered?

Your son wasn't murdered - he was executed, for crimes against humanity.

You see, sir, a true human being doesn't take another by force. It's considered evil, and immoral.

And what I did was not evil, nor was it immoral.

I got justice, sir, and I do not regret it.

So, pardon me, sir, but your son deserved to die. He murdered me, sir, and in doing so he damned himself. What I did was merely your god's justice being done.

So don't flatter yourself - you're nothing better than he was.

I'm not wrong; sir, and I'll stick to that.

I took my justice, and I took what I wanted. I killed them, yes, sir, but it was justice. Justice that you would never give them. You would never give me that justice. You would never mete a punishment upon them that they would deserve.

They fucked me, sir. They rutted like pigs. They sounded like pigs. They smelled like pigs. They were animals.

And animals die, sir, they die horrible, brutal deaths.

Animals attacked me, sir, and I killed animals in self-defense.

You cannot tell me that I was wrong.