A/N: I don't know about you, but I remember that I was watching Outfoxed, episode eight of season five of Criminal Minds, and I really felt sorry for Miranda Jakar despite what she done, I don't know why, I just did. So, shoot me, I tried to do a little fanfic about her.
She lied down on her bed and sighed.
Every move, every thing she felt, like feeling soft fabric against her pale skin now, seemed irrelevant, followed by constant reminder of what she just did again, less than hour ago, again, despite promising herself so many times she will stop, or turn herself in, or kill herself to keep herself from killing innocent people, innocent children crying and begging her to spare them, scared and confused, only knowing for sure that they don't want to be in pain, that they don't want to die.
She can't decide how that happened. She remembers she was nine when it started, that one day everything normal and next day war officially broke out. She remembers lying in her bed awake so many times, unable to sleep due to sound of bombs and gunshots and people crying and screaming while smell of gunpowder and blood was sending cold and sudden shivers down her small, frightend body; she remembers looking outside through window in order to see some sign of peace, some sign that this terror would finaly end, but instead she would see dead people lyng on the ground, dead children eaten by dogs, people crying over bodies of their loved ones, with that haunting, almost inhuman facial expressions... She remembers the noise, terrible noise of bombs exploding and gun firing and airplanes flyng and crushing down, and headaches she would have before and during and afterwards and terrible crying while her small lungs would strugle to breath, smothered by tears and gunpowder...
And when war was finaly over, she tried to be the same again, to be normal, but there was no use: she was allways scared and carefull, way to carefull, always scared that four year long horror would happen again.
She can't even remember how it escalated to murder. She knows she was sixteen, and visited Zagreb, Croatia with her parents, that she went in local store to buy chocolate, that owner was doing some work in storage room and that young woman and her baby were the only one there; she remembers that she heard loud, disturbing sound of airplane and that memories of war and fear of war suddenly re-appeard in her head, and next thing she remembers she was runing down the street with her pocket knife in her hand, now covered in blood. There was also blood on her hands. Her T-shirt was back, so she couldn't see is there blood on it. There was no visible signs of blood in her jeans. She panicked so she sneaked in local cafe, with hands and knife hidden in pocket of her jeans, washed knife and her hands in sink, and returned in her hotel room. She later gave T-shirt and jeans on wash.
Later, she found out that woman and child were found stabbed to death in local store.
She cried a lot, she wanted to confess, but she simply couldn't. She couldn't look at her parents and say that she murdered woman and child. She couldn't even say it out loud. And it hurted, it hurted so much to hear her parents talking about that crime, about monster who done such thing, knowing that she, their little girl, was the one who commited that horrible thing, it hurted to see people being grossed out and horrified by that crime. She couldn't look them in the eyes and say: "Mom, dad, that was me. I did that. I am that monster you talk about. That's me, your little girl, your Miranda."
She would like to be normal, to have someone to love, to have family and friends, but she feels she already sinked too far.
Can I love? Can I smile?