We all have ways of making ourselves happy. This one here just happens to have a morbid way of doing it. Enjoy!


I always hated optimism.

The people always insisting the "glass is half-full" and all that. Not that I mind the occasional silver lining, just don't try to make me see it when I simply want to sit under my little rain cloud. Certainly don't insist on it.

That will make me very, very mad.

I scoff at these Pollyanna* clones coming in every shape and size and color. People much like Gina, Lena, Rob and Toby.

Gina, the brunette with white teeth and huge brown Bambi eyes who was always holding hands with Rob, the opposite of her short, chubby frame. Lovely Lena was an average height blonde whose head was clouded with her tangled curls. She was a bit neurotic and clingy as a burr. Toby, calm and green-eyed Toby was closest to her, though no relationship was happening there, due his being flamboyantly gay. They were all the same despite the different looks.

I think we were friends once, but they looked at me weird, talked to me different after a while.

All of them did.

But it is Gina who stands out in my mind, all blinding smiles, annoying perkiness, with a hint of condescension.

She had to be the first to go.

I set up my scheme with my good friend Charlie. We both abhorred the Smile Brigade.

Charlie here came up with the idea that he pretend to be injured, helpless and bleeding in the back of a van.

The gullible pair didn't like long walks on the beach, but they just loved an evening stroll through the forest. They seemed to think that their love would shield them from harm or something. Ugh.

There they go now, all cuddling and being…excessively happy.

I run to them, screaming and waving my arms like a madwoman. "Please! Help, Please!"

"Shiloh?" They cry in surprise. Their eyes take in my bloodied hands and teary eyes. "What the hell happened?"

"It-It's Charlie! He's in the van, and he's bleeding…" I sob, and they come closer. So far, so good.

"Why?" Rob says while Gina asks, "Is it a lot? From his head?"

My hands gesture violently. "From his mouth…So much blood. I-I don't know what's wrong with him!"

And from there, it was easy. I led them to the nice, private part of the road cutting into the forest.

They probably didn't even register the prick in their necks, my fingers nimbly pushing knock-out juice into their veins. Never in New Danbridge has Shiloh Clemens* ever smiled, but here I am, grinning and feeling better than I have in months. Alive. Charlie puts a hand on my shoulder, and we grin at each other.

Then we both get in the van and drive off into the sunset.

This is the first story I've written where the main isn't quite a loner…Hm. How'd it turn out?

Three doesn't count, either (look it up).

*-A fictional character known for her optimism, now used as a term for someone excessively happy/hopeful.

Any plot holes? Point at them, but not THROUGH them.

*-No, I did not name S. after Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain). Both Shiloh/Clemens can be translated as "Tranquil"…It's supposed to be a pun.

P.S.-There's something wrong with Charlie. More so than Shiloh. ;)