Reckless. That's what I am. Reckless, stupid, killer, murderer, worthlesss, useless, impatient, antisocial, manipultaive, physcotic, and hopeless. Hopeless.

I'll admit I'm not the perfect story book heroine, and don't come to close either, but I'm level headed. Its kill or be killed, hurt or get hurt. I picked up on it quicker than anyone else did.

My finger twitched, eager to pull out my knife and spin it. Once, twice, forever. I could spin it forever.

With conscious thoughts of the blade, I could feel its ghost laying in my back pocket. Every nerve in my body told me to pull it out and watch it twirl. Suicide. That would be suicide.

"Everything okay hun?" The woman next to me asked. I glanced at her. She was stupid. She didn't understand death like I did. She didn't undertstand the world the way I could. Stupid.

"You got you're parents here?" She asked, moving her hand to casually point around the subway train.

"Ik niet spreken Engels stomme ezel." I said, faking an accent. I don't like talking to strangers. Unless I was in the process of killing them. But I don't normally kill people on a subway train with bystanders watching. Speaking in differe,t languages worked well. She shut up.

Smiling to myself, I went back to my own thoughts. I checked the underground map on the wall. 75th avuene- just a little longer to go.

After another stop, a small family boarded. Two daughters and a father, all with the same brown hair and eyes. They sat in front of me.

I've never hated children. I've always killed adults. Mark is an acception, being he has something I want. Something I need. So I guess that made both Henderson boys acceptions.

I looked up to see a small face peering at me. The younger girl. Shy hands waved from behind the seat. I put on a fake grin and waved back. She smiled and slipped back into seat.

My hands folded in my lap and I looked out the window, seeing the lights rush by, eager to leave. My stomach knotted itself and I fought the urge to throw up.

As much as drugs can make you feel better, the side affects only do the reverse. I started to wonder if it was worth feeling like this afterwords. I reminded myself that those short hours where I could really think we're always worth it.

The car stopped. A melodic voice announced we had reached 169th street. I stood, grabbing my backpack. The family did too. What were nice people like them doing in Queens?

Didn't matter, not really anyways. What was I girl like me doing in Queens? Nothing that will ever change anyone - accept for me.

I reached the subways exit and strode into the brilliant light. Bright. I blinked and kept walking, earning odd stares. Then again, a empty eyes kid without an adult walking around in New York isn't the most acceted thing ever. But there wasn't a reason to look at me like that.

I felt my fingers twitch and itch. They were asking for it. Everyone, everyone was asking for it. My eyes darted in a way I couldn't love - glancing towards the weakest people, the injured, the slow, the stupid. The easy ones to kill. Maybe I was a murderer. But that didn't mean I wanted to be looked at that way.

I kept my chin up and strode, shoes scraping along the sidewalk cement. I crouched into an alley, making myself as small as possible, listening and waiting. I didn't wait too long either.

Voices approached and footsteps grew louder. I could hear a dragging and muffled yelps. My heart thudded and I gulped in the shadowy dark.

"Hurry up," A man hissed.

"I am, I am. Just don't hurt me!" I heard leather moving. My knife flew into my hands, begging me to hurt him.

"Faster or I'll shoot you." The first voice said. I heard a click. A gun click. I hated guns, always have, always will. They kill too quick, too fast. You can't watch life leave someone, desert a body that way.

"Please, I have a family." I recognized the voice. The man in the subway train. Where were his children? Were they okay? Didn't matter. Kill or be killed, I reminded myself.

I sprung from the shadows. My knife cut into flesh and my open palm threw the gun to the floor. It was empty. The attacker was bluffing the whole time.

"Run coward," I said as he scrambled to his feet. He sprinted out into the road, dodging people as he tried to put as much distance between us as possible.

"You're the girl on the train." Then man realized quickly. "Are you some kind of spy?" He scratched his head.

I stared at him. He had blood driping down the side of his head. Something inside of me became more alert than ever. There was something, a tiny little bit of me that wanted to see him die. I wanted to see him scream for mercy, and I wanted to watch him suffer. I knew it was wrong. But it just felt so right - it made me happy.

The man with the two daughters. He showed me I was a merciless, ruthless, brutal killer. He showed me I would never change, would never show emotion.

When I walked away from his mangled body, I was okay with being a murderer.

Queens. Ah, the city of citys, the town of towns. That isn't of course what they call it. They call Queens a dump. That's why I chose it. Its always the thing the turns up the most noses that turns to be the most intriguing. At least to me.

Besides that, it's midnight again. Almost April Fools day. Well, right now. Its April Fools right now. Amazing.