my name was Jenna Price

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A 17 year old girl tells the story of what happens to her, and how she is not able to experience anything anymore because everything has been taken from her.

Submitted: September 03, 2015

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Submitted: September 03, 2015

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The End…………………….

My name was Jenna Price, born on February 17, 1997 in Brooklyn, New York to the parents of Kilby and James Price. What I’m about to tell you happened to me just before my eighteenth birthday and because of what happened to me I am not able to live and experience anything anymore. What happened to me was brutal to say the least, and what happened to me I would never wish upon my worst enemy. So let me begin with the night it happened.

It was the night of January 11 it had been just like any other night for me. The finals were coming up and I had been studying till midnight in the city and then crashing at a friend’s nearby, but that night I decided I was going to catch the subway and go home since it was the weekend and I had only seen my parents once that week.  It was around eleven at night and the park was weirdly empty, and I had this strange feeling that I was being followed and watched. I heard footsteps behind me and as I passed under the old brick bridge, the footsteps grew faster and louder and I started to run when a hand grabbed my shoulder and pushed me against the brick wall. I didn’t see his face but I felt the weight of his body press against mine, and the roughness of his hands on my skin. At that point I couldn’t do anything, and I was so scared. I knew I was going to die, the moment he pulled my pants down.

He had raped me and strangled me till I was unconscious; he then withdrew his knife and started to stab me. With every push and pull of the knife, with every exit and reentry I was glad I was going to die. I started to mumble for help inaudibly and that is when the first strike of his fist struck my face, as if with a brick. It seemed like every bone in my face had been crushed like a chain reaction pain slowly reaching every inch of my face. I got to the point where I couldn’t count how many times he had hit me and when I started to feel nothing and see black I knew it was happening. Mutilated, stabbed and raped, I lay dying in a puddle of frozen blood on the now crimson stained snow.

As I lay dying I couldn’t help but think, who is going to find me, who is going to be telling my parents what happened to me, how much of life was I missing out on? I was never going to be in love, or have kids, nor would I have a career that I loved but would also get frustrated with. I also thought about all the good memories I had, like the tree in front of my house that I would swing on for hours and climb till I had calluses. I thought about all my childhood friends and how our favorite thing to do on the weekend was fishing, there wasn’t anything better to do on an early Saturday morning than cast that line and just wait for the excitement to begin; The first pull was always the best the excitement in everybody’s eyes as we scramble to the pole and grab it to pull back, hooking the fish and knowing I got it when the line started to sound and I’d yank the rod back for the second time and start to real as hard as I could knowing I got the fish. Thinking about those memories and knowing I wasn’t going to be able to sit in that tree when I got sad or was just enjoying the weather, nor was I going to ever be able to fish again. My attacker had taken everything from me, literally from my very first memory to my last, from my innocence to my life.

Had this been my fault, did this happen to me because I had been walking in the wrong place at the wrong time or had I been stalked and prayed on like a rabbit being hunted by a wolf. Had I just not noticed someone following me, was I not attentive enough. Either way what happened to me was not fair to me or my parents. I had died and I didn’t have to live with what that man did to me but my parents did.

I thought when you died you went somewhere, like heaven or hell. But I was stuck it seemed to be in the same world but another dimension, I had seen the dog and the jogger find me. I had seen my face, once flawless and porcelain, now swollen, unrecognizable and stained red from all the blood. I saw the police take pictures of my lifeless, beat up body. And now I had even seen the detective tell my parents, what had happened. To see my mom and dad’s lives ruined in one second felt like death all over again. To see my mom devastated, crying and screaming to the point of hyper-ventilating and not being able to comfort and tell her that it might be best that I had died, because I don’t know if I could have lived through surviving. But I couldn’t tell her anything, I was dead and she was alive, I didn’t have to deal with what happened to me like she did. I didn’t have to live with knowing my killer got away, but my parents did. 


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