AN UNSUCCESSFUL MURDER ATTEMPT ON ROSALIE HALE

Note: This is written from the point of view of Jonathan Smith, a fictional character. I personally have nothing against Rosalie Hale.

Jonathan Smith

Things you need to know about me

1) I am a nobody

2) I am easily frightened

3) But most of all, I hate Rosalie Hale

How her façade leeched into the room. Happiness evaporated from the air. A corner that had once seemed ordinary now oozed cold and hard like the dark tentacles of a soulless creature.

Yet she was distant, always distant, she talked to know one outside of her beautiful family, like none of the rest of us were good enough for her.

Rosalie Hale's dainty steps had swagger about them, a certain arrogance that can only really be achieved by the complete and utter certainty that one is simply better than all the others.

Better. What makes a person better than any other person? What is superiority? Maybe she's better than I am because she is pretty or smart or…or… or is it something else, she was too perfect, it seemed somehow...inhuman.

In a way I had to admire her. To be so bold as to say 'hey! Look at me am I not just great?' She would never say it out loud but we all knew she was thinking it. This was something I could never do. I could never believe that I was in anyway as good as anyone else.

I was jealous of her confidence. Oh so jealous. But as you hopefully can tell from this I'm not completely stupid, I knew I was Jealous. But that just made me hate her more, for making me even more imperfect than I already was.

Who was I to judge her anyway? I was of a nervous temperament. I shied away from people, it had taken years for me to acquire my few close friends and even then I never trusted them. I rarely had much interesting to say, and on the odd occasion that I did, well, it was never nice.

What had started out as a small disliking, had now become a horrible obsession. I could not sleep one night uninterrupted by the constant stream of dreams, and every dream would end the same way, me standing over her lifeless body.

It had become too much, I isolated myself from what little friends and family I had. This hatred had taken over my life, and there was only one thing I could think of to end it, I had to kill Rosalie Hale.

My shell of a home was empty, half eaten cereal boxes and chip packets littered the floor, I could have sworn I saw one of them move. Stupid rats again! I had not seen Nina, my so-called mother, for days. I didn't know where she had gone. All I had was the twenty she had taped to the fridge last week. The place was a tip, but I found what I was looking for. Buried in the back room with all the other junk my dad had left behind when he'd disappeared ten years ago, was an old rusted shotgun.

A careful listener can usually hear all he needs to. It was a good thing really that when I needed to be, I was an exceptional listener. Only after a few hours of cautious eavesdropping at school, it found out exactly what I wanted to know. That this weekend Rosalie Hale was taking a hiking trip, and if I had anything to do with it she would not be coming back.

The map wasn't a particularly expensive one, just the basic trails of the hiking area, mostly for tourists, but it made me uneasy to part with the last of my money. Like I needed another reason to despise Rosalie Hale. But now at least I had everything.

It was Saturday night and while others my age were out have fun, I was planning murder. I had slept soundly the night before, for the first time in a long time. I think my subconscious was finally rewarding me for making up my mind. I had a plan. It was simple enough, sticking to the trails; I would find her by a process of elimination. If I did not succeed that night then I would try the next, and if I had to I could wait until her next camping trip. Armed with a map, a piece of information and a shotgun I set out in my search.

The forest was eerily quiet, A shudder passed through me, I was cold and seriously creeped out. This suddenly did not seem like such a good idea, and I was really considering leaving the assassination of Rosalie Hale to a warmer night, when I heard it. I heard a noise and I found myself running. Tripping and stumbling over low-lying branches, while their higher counter parts scratched at my arms and face. It was a noise Alice Cullen had not known I would hear. So she had not seen its repercussions. The noise was long and loud, it shook the birds from the trees as it echoed through the forest, and it terrified me. It was the howl of a wolf.

I was not running in any particular direction, and I was not sticking to my specially thought out plan that was going to get me out of the woods. All I knew was that I was running for my life, but what I did not realise is that I had stumbled right into the end of it.

I practically fell into the clearing and at first I didn't know quite what I was seeing. Her hair was the same stunning blonde as it always was, her perfect body was also the same, although it was crouched down, hunched over a misshapen something.

I realised that Rosalie Hale would still have been very much as beautiful as se ever was, if she didn't have the blood of the dear dripping down her chin, and the animal's carcass clutched in her hands. I slowly took a step backwards, desperate to put some distance between whatever Rosalie Hale had become and me. A twig crunched under my feet. I cursed in my head.

Suddenly that angelic head snapped up, and I found myself staring into dark eyes. I knew now the source of my obsession, I knew now why I had driven myself to kill Rosalie Hale, and it was not because she was a vampire. It was because in my life of being constantly ignored and rejected, all I wanted for once to be noticed, and by somebody who mattered, by somebody who would make people stand up and take notice, just for people to say, "Hey, he's talking to Rosalie she doesn't talk to anybody!" Jut a little recognition that's all I had wanted, though now staring her in the face, I didn't wanted anymore.

In a blur, too quick for my eyes to capture, she was in front of me, only inches stood between us. Then she did something quite terrible, she smiled, her pearly white teeth stained crimson with blood.

I was too scared to be scared, I could not remember the last time I had taken a breath or the last time my heart had beaten, though it would never beat again, because at that moment Rosalie Hale bit me.

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