The Misplaced Knife

There I was, being picked up by the FBI and then placed in a zip-lock bag labeled “evidence.” The Poetic Killer, a name given by the media, misplaced me. I’m normally tucked into a boot or placed in a backpack after the Poetic Killer commits the gruesome crime. I don’t enjoy it, but what control do I have?

Fortunately for me, I was misplaced during an attempt to murder. The Poetic Killer put me down on the ground and I slipped under the table as I was accidentally kicked. I heard the police sirens, saw the hands of the killer pick up the army green back-pack that I’m usually carried in, heard stomping as the killer ran, and then the door slammed. There was silence, but only for a second.

“Police! Put your hands where I can see them.” I heard a deep voice yell.

“Alice Jay Jennings.” The victim that was left behind whispered.

“Alice Jay Jennings? Are you Alice Jay Jennings?” I heard the deep voice of the officer ask.

Alice Jay Jennings is a woman who was reported missing over 8 months ago. She was the first victim to be attacked by the Poetic Killer. There were 4 more attacks after her disappearance, not including this recent one; and all the victims had 1 thing in common — they were all writers.

On the night that Alice went missing, as reported by the media, she was leaving The Garden Café around 10pm. The cameras showed her closing up as she was the last one working that night. Then, she is seen walking away — and that’s the last anyone saw of her. The cameras don’t reach the full parking lot. Unfortunately, Alice parked where the cameras weren’t watching.

Again, as reported by the media, it seemed that the Poetic Killer had planned on striking. It seemed the killer had been watching Alice for months or knew her in a personal way. It is assumed that the killer was hiding on the side of Alice’s vehicle. As she entered her car, so did the killer through the passenger’s side. It is believed she was threatened, refused to comply, was stabbed, and then dragged out of her vehicle. Evidence shows blood smeared from the driver’s seat and onto the car door. It’s possible a fight had occurred as some blood was also found on the concrete near the parked car.

No other evidence had been found. No fingerprints, footage, witnesses, or footprints were left behind. The Poetic Killer didn’t get the name for no reason, though. The only thing left behind was an envelope. Within the envelope, a poem dedicated to Alice Jay Jennings.

Alice Jay Jennings

I’ve watched you from near and far.

I’ve read your poems and I adore your stories,

I’m obsessed with who you are.

I’ve heard you say that you’re not the best,

Your confidence is low.

But here I am, my darling girl,

I’m here to help it grow.

To build you a bigger audience,

To show you that you are more.

Writing for these little minds,

You should be writing for the world!

And if you decide to turn me down,

Then regretfully I must say,

Your blood will quench my very thirst,

And together we will stay.

Your brilliance will consume my being,

Your creativity will flow through my veins,

So, what do you say, my dear Alice?

Are you ready to grow in fame?

Some say Alice went with the Poetic Killer as her body was never found — unlike the 4 other victims. Their bodies were left behind with a poem attached to their hands. Others do believe Alice was killed after being taken. It’s said that Alice’s blood was indeed a powerful fuel for creativity and that it could clearly be seen within the poetry left behind at the murder scenes.

The poems were shared in the articles. It seemed the killer had enough time, or enough creativity, to rest and write a poem after murdering the innocent victims. The poems were full of passion for both Alice and the enjoyment of the murder process. It was sickening, yet — brilliant.

Each poem was infused with a love for Alice while making 3 specific points. Number 1, no one could ever be as brilliant of a writer as Alice. Number 2, they needed to be removed from the game to help Alice be seen quicker, each victim was referred to as an “inconvenience,” and number 3, the world would be reading the brilliance of Alice Jay Jennings.

“Ma’am, are you Alice Jay Jennings?” The police officer asked again. I watched from under the table as the paramedics moved in to help the victim with her injuries.

“Alice Jay Jennings ran through the back door. She is the Poetic Killer.” The victim whispered as she turned her head to notice me under the table. Pointing with her finger, a police officer got on her hands and knees to also take a look at me. To which, here I am — gratefully done with the murders and safely being placed in a zip-lock bag to never be used for bad again.

I watched as Alice Jay Jennings wrote a love poem for herself and sealed it in an envelope with a smile of insanity. I watched as she dropped the envelope on the ground of the passenger’s side of the vehicle to then slice her hand and smear blood everywhere.

I watched as she hid for a few weeks to color her hair and brows at a place she had prepared to run away to. I watched as she yelled at herself in the mirror for allowing others to win the writing challenges, for allowing others to refuse to publish her writings, and for allowing others to tell her she wasn’t good enough to keep them interested. I watched as she stalked her victims and read their writings with anger racing through her blood; and I watched her smile as she noticed the world was reading her poetry on articles titled “The Poetic Killer Strikes Again.”

Continue reading:

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4