Nice to see that there's Hell Girl fiction going around! I love this series, and sometimes wonder what it would be like if I managed to get on that website (not that I can stay up that long). So, as homage to those of us who would like to get a-clicking, I will write this story about someone who uses the site but get this, my story will be in second person. Yeah, whoa. Anyways, let's start this story.
You wake up, but instead of being in your usual pajamas, you're in a straightjacket. Okay, freaky. Your head is throbbing, but that doesn't really matter right now. What matters is that not only are you in a straightjacket, you're in a padded cell. As in, nice, fluffy, only crazy people get this kind of, cell. Since when have you been crazy? You sigh, and look around. No windows, and only one door. There's a small vent in the room, but considering you have trouble fitting into size six jeans, good luck trying to escape through there.
You start to wonder when somebody's going to bring you something to eat, when a man walks into the room. He's wearing a trench coat, a fedora, and a shiny badge. Of course. In every story with a mad person, or, at least, someone falsely accused of being mad, like you. You turn to face him. "Nice to see you, Mr Detective. Say, mind getting me out of this place? Any longer in here and I really might go crazy." He gives you a crazy grin. "Aw, ain't that cute. The murder suspect is trying to make me let her go free."
You stare at him, mouth agape. What's he talking about? A murder case? He continues as if he's been practicing this speech. "You are being tried in the murder of one Karin Uzumaki. 17 years old, last year high school, and, according to her journal, your best-" You snort, and rather loudly, too. "Oh please. She was never my best friend." The detective nods. "So that explains what you were ranting and raving about. Sending her to hell, ad all that." You start to nod, then stop. "Wait, what? I never…I mean, I didn't…Um, well…" The detective stares you straight in the eye, his cold black eyes locking in on your warm brown ones. "That's why I'm here. To ensure that you have your say in this, Miss Amayo." You shake your head. "Please, just call me Amy." And so, with those words, thus you begin to tell your tale.