I wish I didn’t have to tell my story in the first-person. To be honest, I wish I didn’t have to tell my story at all. My one hope is that my tale will somehow reach you. When it does, please don’t judge me. I am not crazy, paranoid, nor manic. I am simply a twelve year-old girl about to be executed for a crime that I did not commit.
I have been convicted of Murder in the First-degree. Yes, my killings were deliberate and premeditated. Yes, I feel no remorse for killing them. Yes, I would kill them all over again.
There is one problem; however, murder is defined as killing a human being. The Monroes were not human, they were vampires. But the prosecutor didn’t care about that. He had my fingerprints, my motive, and most important of all, my confession.
You might ask yourself, “How did they give the death sentence to a child?” Well, there’s sort of this “Technicality” as I like to call it. You see, I was born in 1896, officially making me 112 years old.
My name is Cleo. I am a vampire and a vampire hunter. This is my story.
Saffron stared despondently at the collection of pressed flowers on her desk. Oh, why did she always get assigned show and tell on the same day as Cleo the Overachiever?
Opening: R. Lyle Wolfe.....Continuation: Anon.