“When The Music’s Over”

Part one:

Something about him made me finally realize it wasn’t going to work out. It felt like he had been hiding things from me even though we’ve been meeting by the library every day before and after school for almost two months now. Jim just wasn’t the right person for me, something about him infuriated me, and I'm pretty sure I infuriated him too. It felt weird walking alone to my dads work after school now, which was located exactly at the halfway point between the high school and my home. Within a building complex with brightly painted bricks and windows that spanned the height of its exterior sits a radio station by the name of KMPX. My dad works there as a part-time host and disc jockey. I sit with him every day after school and do homework till his shift is over at 5 o’clock, then we walk home. He’s been working for KMPX, San Francisco's best rock station, since its birth. He always tells me the story of how he was forced to play only jazz music until the new owner rolled in. I’m pretty sure my dad is the reason why the station plays rock music in its purest form now. He always plays new artist during his shift and it’s really the reason why I look up to him so much. Sometimes he even lets me pick records out of the stack of the “unknowns” and plays them no matter how obscure they turn out to be. My dad always gives people chances and the justice they deserve by playing their bands records in their entirety without interruptions. He understood how the world worked and how to make it easier for those with talent.

Thanks to my dad and living in the midst of the San Francisco Sound, I have grown to love artists like Blue Cheer, Jefferson Airplane, and The Grateful Dead. I’m pretty sure my dad knows about my love for Jefferson Airplane and he must have noticed it after he played me Surrealistic Pillow for the first time. Grace Slick became my idol after that, I got bangs like her and even started to copy her outfits from time to time. At the station, one of my dads' friends even calls me Gracie (Slick’s nickname) even though my name is nowhere close to it. Keith always hangs out with my dad and me at the station, which I don’t mind. Keith (who I nicknamed accordingly to his psychedelic hero, Syd Barrett) came to the station for his college internship last year and I think it's safe to say that ever since my dad first introduced me to him, I’ve had a crush on him… or something like that. I can remember the first time I saw him, perfectly resembling the Pink Floyd frontman, his dark brown eyes and long messy black hair was menacing. Besides his interning duties, I feel like his purpose at the station is to make everyone happy. Every day after school when I get to the station, he’s always by the front desk, then we walk together to the studio in the back. I feel like he always understands me, he always gets what I'm going through. My dad, luckily, hasn’t noticed my likings of him because he always refers to Syd as the “big brother I’ve never had”, but that's a good thing, I guess.

As I opened the station door I could see Syd waiting in his normal spot.

“Hey Grace, how was school?” he said in his welcoming voice, as he walked towards me.

“I ended things with Jim, you know he was just such a flake and I couldn’t handle it anymore,” I managed to say in one breath.

“Power to you Gracie, I knew you were too good for him since you first told me about him,” he leaned in for a hug.

Sometimes I forget how nice of a person Syd really is. His mop-top and worn-out bell bottoms always contradicted his personality. Even though no one at the station really knew much about him, I felt like I knew every little aspect about him, I felt like he was the perfect person for me.

“I’m glad I have someone like you in my life, you always understand me Syd, I really appreciate, I'm serious.” We were almost at my dads' studio at that point.

“Anytime,” he said while pulling me aside and grabbing my shoulders “I want you to know that I'm always here for you.”

“Wait here,” he said over Strange Days playing loudly in the background. Fear struck me as Syd opened the studio door to talk to my dad. Lord knows what he was about to tell him. As I peeked through the window in the door, I found my dad and Syd laughing, but only if I could know what it was over.

“I told him you broke up with Jim,” he said while closing the door behind him.

“Thanks man, I probably wouldn’t have told him until he mentioned something and then that probably would have led to a big fight.”

I expected Syd to walk away after I went inside the studio with my dad, but he stuck around with us. For that entire afternoon, Syd and my dad talked over the loudspeaker while I did my homework. I was scared about where their conversations might lead to but Syd played it off well. As I started to put up my homework, Syd ran out of the studio to go do something. My dad turned down the volume of the music in the studio and scooted his chair closer to mine.

“I’m glad you broke up with that Jim kid Grace, he seemed like a pretty crappy person if I’m going to be honest with you. And if I want my daughter to date a Jim, I would prefer it to be said, Jim Morrison.” He started to laugh and I joined him, but my nervous feelings were noticeable. I was scared of what was about to come out of my dad's mouth next, but luckily Syd walked back in.

“Hey Mr. H, Ray said you have to stay for David’s shift, he called in sick. Also, I can walk Gracie home in a bit so she doesn’t have to stay till eleven.”

“Okay thanks Syd, sorry Grace you can go ahead and eat dinner, I will see you in the morning,” my dad said quickly and unfazed.

I nodded, gave my dad a hug, grabbed my bag, and then started to walk out of the studio. “Thanks for walking me home, last time that happened, I ended up sleeping on the floor of the studio under one of the desks,” I started to laugh.

Syd started to laugh too, “No problem, I was getting bored at the station anyway.”

Once we reached my house, I started to question what I should do, but I trusted Syd and went with my instincts.

“You can hang out for a little if you want, you can eat too if you’re hungry too.”

Syd smiled, “Sweet thanks, I’m starving.”

I opened the door and set my things on the couch, trying to act as normal as possible. I told him to make himself at home as I walked over to the kitchen. I turned on the oven and then walked past him sitting on the couch to the record player. I started to flip through my records when I came across my Small Faces record.

“I know this isn’t your run-of-the-mill psychedelic rock, but these songs always make me happy,” I told him as I turned up the volume and put the needle on the record.

Itchycoo Park started to play as I walked back over to the kitchen. He grabbed my hand as I passed him and got up to start dancing. Never have I felt as much happiness before as I did in that exact moment after he started to dance with me. Our laughter was loud over the music as we danced around the coffee table. Smiles covered our faces. We proceeded to kiss, but that was it.

After the record finished he went over to the kitchen and put the frozen Totino's pizza in the oven. “Have you ever had one of these things? They are freaking amazing”

After another thirty minutes of dancing around, the oven dinged, then we ate our frozen pizza as we watched a rerun of The Twilight Zone, he left shortly after that. In the morning, my dad didn’t ask any questions about the night before. I just assumed he saw we ate dinner and didn’t mind. I didn’t mind either.

The week following my break up with Jim went perfectly. My life was finally coming together to be something amazing. On a Saturday night, while my dad and I were walking home from the station, he told me about his concert he wanted to go to later. He knew I didn’t really want to go and said I could just stay home, which I was happy with. Getting time to myself was something I always enjoyed. Later, while I was flipping through a magazine, I heard a slight tapping noise on my window, but it was loud enough to be heard over my music. At first, I just ignored it, but as it got louder and louder, I started to get nervous. I got up and turned off my record player, then walked closer to my window. Sitting in silence as I held my breath, I heard someone saying my name on the other side. After thinking about the voice for a second, I realized it was Syd. I had no idea why he was at my window, but I trusted him and knew it must be for a good reason. Still shaking, I slid over my paisley curtain and opened the window enough to where I could see his entire face. We looked at each other for a moment before he started to talk.

“Hey,” he said with a soft voice, starting to lean onto the window sill. “I don’t need anything, I just wanted to see you.” He grabbed me and pulled me in for a kiss.

I didn’t mind him being like that. I enjoyed the affection. Jim never treated me like that. No one ever treated me like that before. My only reaction was to smile at that moment. I started to question what I was feeling at first too, but I guess it really is love.

“You can come in Syd, you don’t have to stand out there.” I opened up the window more and climbed in and then he sat on my bed. As he started to fiddle around with my guitar, I sat down beside him.

“Do you want to go somewhere or go out and do something?” he asked while starting to play a song on the guitar.

“I mean sure! My dad is at a concert right now and probably won’t be back till like 4 in the morning so.”

“I know,” he said while putting down the guitar.

“We can go to my apartment, I just got a bunch of new records, I think you will like them!”

“Okay! Let me go like lock the door and stuff and then we can leave.”  I said while putting on my shoes.

I grabbed my things then headed out. Parked in the street was a yellow 1955 Chevy Bel Air, the type of car that I have been wanting for a while. He opened the door for me and then got in himself. As he started the engine, the radio crackled and then music started to play. As the song came to an end, we pulled into a parking lot.

“Well, this is it,” he said while turning off the engine. Grabbing his hand as he closed the car door behind me, we started to walk towards the building. A quick flight of stairs later, we reached his door at the end of a hallway, all by itself.

“The good old 212,” Syd said while unlocking the door and walking in. I followed him into the darkness that hid behind the door.

“Holy crap Syd, these are all your records? My dad doesn't even have this many,” I said while starting to flip through the records that sat on a bookcase that reached from the floor to the ceiling.

“Yea,” he said while sitting down on his couch located in the center of the bare studio apartment, “I’ve been collecting since I was like eight so.”

“That’s cool man, can I play a record?” I asked him while starting to walk towards him.

“Of course! Actually, hold on, I just got one I think you would really like.” He got off the couch and walked to this kitchen table and came back with a plastic bag. As he took it out, he came and stood beside me. “Here you go!”

“Oh my gosh, how’d you know? I was about to ask you if you had it,” I started to gaze into his eyes.

“I guess I’m just that good huh,” he said while handing me Strange Days by The Doors. I took the black record out of the sleeve, put it on the player and then Syd dropped the needle on it. As the keys started to fade in, I walked over to his couch and sat down.

“Make yourself at home Gracie, do you need anything like water or li-”

“I’m good right now, thank you,” I said while unzipping my brown knee boots. Sitting down beside me, Syd placed his arm perfectly across my shoulders.

“This album is so good, I’ve been obsessed with it lately, I’m glad your dad keeps playing it at the station.”

“Me too,” I said while turning towards him, “Also you’re welcome, he plays it all the time because of me,” I started to laugh.

Love Me Two Times started to play, then I got up and started to dance. Syd joined in too. Even though The Doors always make me think of Jim, at this point I knew it was time to end that. I knew I was ready for this new part of my life. We danced around his studio apartment for almost the entirety of the album. As soon as When The Music’s Over started to play, I walked over to an empty spot on his ground. Laying down on the cold concrete floor, I realized even more than before that my feelings for Syd are real. I really love him. I really want to spend the rest of my life with him. As he lied down beside me, I took a deep breath.

“Syd, I really… really like you,” I said over the music, staring at the ceiling.

“I really… really like you too Grace,” he said while grabbing my hand. Then in his best Morrison impression, he began to sing along to the song, I joined him.

“Very near yet, very far. Very soft yeah very clear. Come today, come today.”

Facing my face towards his, our eyes instantly connected.“Wow, Syd, your impression is spot on,” I said.

“Thanks, I didn’t even know I had that in me.” We both started to laugh and continue to sing along. As we continued, our voices seamlessly harmonized together, even as I kicked my legs in the air to the beat.

“Cancel my subscription to the resurrection, Send my credentials to the House of Detention, I got some friends inside.”

Syd continued to sing the next section, “Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn and tied her with fences and dragged her down.”

“Dude why haven’t you started a band yet or something, you can actually sing really good in freaking impressed,” I said while laughing. Syd didn’t reply though.

He continued to sing,

“We want the world and we want it… now,” he pointed to me to sing the next line.

“Now?”

Syd started to sit up and he grabbed something, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I just continued smiling at him.

“NOW,” Syd screamed while I felt a sharp pain go through my chest. My instincts kicked in and I tried to scream, but he covered my mouth in time, after that I knew what was happening was real. Looking down, I saw my favorite yellow dress start to turn red, then Syd stood up and turned the volume of the player up as loud as possible. As tears started to drift down my cheeks, he stood over me and stared into my eyes. The once sweet gaze of his was gone, he looked relieved, he looked happy. As it became harder and harder to breath, I tried to reach my arm to him. He grabbed my hand one last time. After kissing the top of my cold pale hand, he threw it back onto the concrete floor. As I gasped more and more for air, my vision began to blur out. As the darkness took over my eyes, the music became louder. A ringing noise began to cover the music. As it intensified, I started to let myself go. The song was approaching its end and it started to synchronize with my last breaths. My memories of life faded away with the music. While my body began to grow colder and colder, Morrison and Syd sang my last memory of my time on earth,

“Until the end, until the end, until the end.”

Part two:

Her lifeless eyes stared back at me as I wiped the blood off of my hands. A sense of relief filled my body, the type of feeling I always yearned for. Her blood was spread across the cold concrete floor and puddled at the edge of the shelf. I knew this was going to be an easy clean up though, she was a small girl, smaller than my previous prey, less blood than what I'm used to. I was glad that I got it over with, I never liked anything she did, I just went with it all because I knew if I acted like everything she ever wanted in a boy, she would fall for me. The younger they are, the easier it is to get them under your thumb, the easier it is to get them to devote every moment to you. I love that feeling, the sense of someone being hopelessly in love with you. Getting to fake the feelings back was the most fun part besides the killing to me, another senseless way to get my urges pleased. I knew she loved me but I couldn’t say the same back to her. Ever since I saw her, all I wanted was to see her body lying lifelessly on the floor, her blood puddled around her cold torso. She was pretty but not pretty enough to stop the burning desire inside of mine. It's eternal, I don’t think anyone could ever stop that need I felt, I can only feel it more and more with preying on the young and radical.  

I grabbed the Strange Days record off the player and started to break it into pieces. I liked to keep smalls things that reminded me of my prey, nothing that could risk me getting caught though. I put the rest of the pieces of record on top of her bleeding torso and put my one piece inside of the empty Doors record sleeve and put it back on the shelf. I then put on something I actually enjoyed for a change, Frank Sinatra. I know, its surprising, but his music has that innocence, he reminds me of times where people respected each other. The times where everyone had their positions in the world. The women in the home. The men in the workforce. The children playing in the backyard after school. Consumer culture and everything that comes with it. Hollywood Glam, Big Band Music, even Playboy. As Come Fly With Me began to play, I began to wipe the blood off the floor. Gloves on, squeegee in hand, I had a routine for this sort of thing. It's fun for me, satisfying, almost entertaining. With the blood now out of sight, I began to clean her body, removing any masses of blood puddled upon her chest. I took out the knife that was lodged into her sternum, cleaned it, and put it into the dishwasher for sanitation. I cleaned her wound and then I began to stitch it up as neatly as possible, making it invisible under a shirt. Luckily there was no struggle after I stabbed her and the wound was very straight and a clean cut, making the cover process easy. With her wound now stitched I went over to the bathroom and drew a bath, but a cold one to preserve the body in the process. I grabbed a woman's pajama outfit from my closet and laid it on top of the bathroom counter then went over to the living room, picked her up, then lugged her to the bathroom. Dropping her into the tub, I began to cleanse any remaining blood from her skin, clothes, or hair, then I drained the bath and ran the shower as I removed any remaining evidence in the living room. With her now fully cleansed, I changed her into the outfit and put the old wet clothes into a plastic bag.

I wanted to go ahead and cut my hair at that point, it annoyed me to an extreme extent, the hair dye too. I missed my short, blond, neat hair. I missed my dress shoes and trousers, I missed my look. I missed my real self,  but luckily with her dead, I could slowly become it again.

With the site now cleaned, I grabbed all of her things, and put them into a backpack along with gloves, a few records, and empty bottles of liquor. I turned off my record player, picked her up and positioned her to look drunkenly passed out on my shoulder, then headed to my car. Luckily, I had no encounters with anyone, but I played off the whole drunk girlfriend act just in case someone was looking from their window or was in the parking lot that I didn’t know of. Arriving at her home, with still time to spare before her dad returned from the concert, I again played off the drunk girlfriend act and stumbled into her home. I laid her on the bed, put her wet clothes into the dryer, put her shoes in the closet, and then changed her into clothes of her own. I laid the empty liquor bottles around her bed and onto the floor as well as taking a small bottle of Jack Daniels, putting some into her mouth, and then pouring some onto the carpet to spread the smell. Walking through her home, I looked for a rope, and luckily found exactly what I needed near the back door, a pink jump rope. Going into her room, I tied it to the base of the ceiling fan, made a noose, then picked her up and hung her from it, making it look as natural as possible. I took the records from my bag, scattered them across the floor, as well as some from her own shelf, breaking them to look like they were destroyed in the midst of a mental breakdown. Lastly, I took in my duty and wrote a suicide note. Luckily, there was a typewriter on her desk.

I'm sorry. I really am. I just can’t handle anything anymore. Medicine stopped helping. Music stopped helping. I can’t even drink the pain away. I knew this was my only way to end this bottomless feeling.

Dad, I am so so sorry it came to this, I want you to know that you had nothing to do with this, I love you so much and I want you to be able to live on without me. The reasoning behind this is so much more personal, none of it is you in the slightest bit. Please keep playing music, please keep spreading joy for me.

Syd, my first real love, I am eternally sorry leaving you like this. I loved you like I never have loved someone before. Your sweet smile, your cute hair, your adorable laugh, I loved every piece of you. My sweet psychedelic love, my one true hero, please forgive me, please never stop loving me.

To everyone else, sorry, sorry I disappointed all of you. Sorry I was annoying. Sorry I was a failure. Sorry I was never what you thought I should be.

Goodbye

-grace

I hated when she called me Syd, I hated Syd Barrett, God, I hated Pink Floyd. They are just another group of psychedelic douche bags, with pothead personalities and lackluster talent. All of the music that damned station played was pure idiocracy, those months of work killed me, but they also brought me one of my best killings to date. Grace was my favorite by far. She was young and innocent, yet still had the hippy personality that pissed me off. The type that fuels my urges, the type that gives me the opportunity to please them.

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It all started in 1963, I was just finishing high school and was beginning my time at Washington State University, where I attended to major in psychology and minor in theater. People started to trip out, get more opened minded, but worst of all, girls started to have free spirits. They started to destroy the Cult of Domesticity, they started to speak their minds, do what they want, wear what they want, even work. The moment I started to witness that around the campus, the more and more my rage increased, then this itch started inside of me and nothing would make it go away. I joined the colleges hunting club shortly after, then I felt the itch stop temporarily, but it would keep coming back stronger and stronger. Then I met Jennifer Nesmith. She had long brown hair that she parted in the middle, which perfectly framed her round and tan face. She wore colorblocked mini dresses with knee boots and always had beaded necklaces lining her chest. What drew me most to her was her position in the political activist club on campus. Something drew me to her, like the heavens wanted me to stop the radical and crude women she was becoming. I joined the club even though I strongly imposed every little thing they supported, but I knew it was the only way to get to her. As we grew closer and closer, my hate for her made the itch become a burning sensation. I knew when I first saw her that I wanted her dead and I wanted to be the one who did it. I knew it would be the only way to stop the feeling inside of me. I knew it would be the only way for me to remain sane. I used a knife on her, it was the first time she ever came over to my dorm, and after I did it, I knew I started something wonderful. Even though Jennifer was my first, my experience with hunting made it almost a routine from the start. No one figured it out that I did it either, hell, no one even questioned me about it. After I did it, I dumped her body over a freeway at midnight with some political statement strapped to her chest. Shock struct the campus shortly but then soon after that, people praised her for her strong political views and dedication. That was the point that almost broke me. That is what fueled me to keep going. I put in hard work and no one appreciated the counterculture being one step closer to extinction. As I continued to make my way through college more and more girls fell for me, but luckily for them I only ended up killing 4 more ; Anita Wesburg, Sarah Dolenz, Evangeline Leitch, and Valleri Jones. All were luckily believed to be the suicides that I staged them to be, some even believed they were fraternity fueled incidents. It's safe to say I made it out of there in the clear.

Shortly after finishing college in Washington State, I made my way down to San Francisco in the middle of 67’ . Something about the destination drew me in. I knew I would have to get out of Washington as soon as possible and San Fran seemed like a tangible place to go. It was a big and busy city and I knew it would be the perfect place to continue to please my urges without having to worry about getting caught. When I first arrived, I thought it would be fun to utilize my majors, so I looked around the city and found out what type of people were there. I first went for the surfer boy type, it was close enough to my real appearance but not exact, and I knew with that, I wouldn't risk myself being caught in a tough situation.  So I bought a home on the beach, got a surfboard, and let my blonde hair grow. As I began to hand around the beach and wondered around the town, I began to make more and more friends. I got a job at a corner diner and then I met Sarah Lewis. She wore her blonde hair long and wavy, always had a bathing suit under her work clothes, and always would play the Beach Boys on the diner jukebox. Even though she was not as politically radical as the others, her personality still pissed me off. She flaunted her “surfer girl” personality to an extravagant point, all it could do was make you annoyed. We grew close and I began to pull her under my wing, she fell for me, but luckily for me, I didn’t fall for her. I took her over to my house after almost a month of getting to know each other, then I continued my spree into my “new” life. Again, I played off her as a suicide, I threw her in the ocean with her surfboard and left a note in her car on the beach. With another disappointment to society gone, I continued to make my way through San Francisco. As I made my way from Sausalito, I discovered the Haight-Ashbury district, the hippie center of San Francisco. Whether it was pure luck or just a coincidence for me to end up there, I was happy with it. Really, really, happy. When I first arrived, I went straight for the beauty store, bought black hair dye, and then scavenged for some of the horrific attire. I knew that was the only way I could make it there and I knew it was the only way I could get any impurities of society to fall for me. After settling in an apartment complex, I found KMPX, faked having to do a college internship for media, then instantly was immersed into the putrid hippie society. Then I met Grace.

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After setting up the scene, I headed back to my apartment, prepared lines for me to say the next morning, and tried to make myself prepared to cry over another girls “suicide”. The morning came and I knew exactly what I was about to get myself into.

“Where is Mr. H?” I said cluelessly to whoever was at the front desk that morning.

“Syd… please go talk to Ray he needs to tell you something, I am very… very sorry,” they said while beginning to sob.

I prepared myself to cry, luckily for me though, I took a course in my theater program on how to easily do that.

“Hello Syd… It will be easier for me to just flat out tell you this but… Grace killed herself last night,” Mr. H said while beginning to sob. Gosh those people were so sensitive it made me sick.

I cried, went back home, then slowly began to pack up my apartment. I knew that I needed to visit her dad so suspicion wouldn't be drawn to me, so I did exactly so. I visited her dad, cried some more, and then told him that the semester was almost done and I would have to go back to college soon. With that out of the way, I went back to the station a few days later and told them the same. That page of my spree ended up being the most interesting and drama filled one of all, but it still did what I needed it to do. As I made my way out of San Francisco, the itch started to come back, and I knew I needed to do more. Long story short, I made a quick escape to New York, more specifically Greenwich Village.

I knew that New York was far enough from the west coast for me to risk not getting caught and I knew that Greenwich Village was another wasteful hippie epicenter where I could continue to please my urges, but little did I know that a nationwide manhunt was about to come for me. On my way to the east coast, I killed a girl in Utah, Kansas, Ohio, then Pennsylvania, and I was still out of the clear. I left no trace of myself, I knew at the time that I made it to Greenwich that I was still in the clear. I went into the new year there, with another new appearance, surrounded by every type of person I hated, but I had never been happier in my life than that very moment when midnight struct onto 1968.

I lived undercover in the village, I played out the folk hippie character, then half way into the summer of love, all hell broke loose. Breaking news struct the nation of a chameleon killer. I knew it was me, the victims they showed on the news were the ones I killed. Before I could even get a chance to get a killing routine at the village, my spree was ended. I knew the police were tracing my roots down, I knew they knew what direction I was heading in, I knew they knew what my face looked like. Even though I may have changed my clothing or hair, I never changed anything on my face. Just because I was in such of a haze, my urges could no longer be pleased. I knew I was going to have to do something to get out of it or just to live with the itch raging inside of me for however long I lived. At that point, I had given up all chances of running away anymore, I was running out of my parents money, I couldn’t find a job, I was just plain old screwed out of luck. After that I just decided to live my life to the fullest in Greenwich. I killed three more girls and didn’t even worry about elaborately disguising them. I tripped out a few times. I did stuff I would never even think about doing, I gave into the disgusting hippie culture for that one last week of freedom I had.

When the heat finally got me, I was alone in my apartment. I had Sinatra blasting over the player as I sat on my naugahyde sofa. That’s Life played as my door was busted through. All I remember was being thrown onto the floor and then a sharp pain in my head. I woke up in a jail cell with a knot on my head and my ankles chained to the ground. I knew after that, everything was over. My court trial took over a course of two days, February 6th and 7th, 1968. At the trial, I saw the faces of Jennifer Nesmith, Anita Wesburg, Sarah Dolenz, Evangeline Leitch, Valleri Jones, Sarah Lewis, Catherine “Grace” Henburg, Lisa Davies, Mary Daltrey, Susan Pallenberg, Karen Wilson, Donna Thorkelson, Maria Qualfe, and Debra Stills, for one last time. Seeing the photographic remains of the 14 disappointments to society gave me this warm, fuzzy feeling. A sense of accomplishment fulfilled me during the trial, I felt complete even after being convicted guilty of 13 homicides. My murdering of Debra Stills was not completely accounted to me since it was still under investigation, but all the others were attached to me in the court of law. Most of the girls parents were there too and what they all said to me went over my head, I felt no sympathy for them, their trashy kids deserved it. I denied the accusations all as much as possible, so did my lawyers, but nobody believed us. No one cared that I was doing those things for the better of the nation, for God, for the purity of society. I knew in the end as the trial came to a close that I was right, I was always right.

On February 8th, I was put on Death Row at Manhattan House of Detention. I requested for a notebook and writing utensil, they fulfilled it, and then I began to write this. I started with the Grace case because that was the one I remembered the most. Stabbing her in the chest is always replaying in my head, soothing my everlasting itch from time to time. With this confession I am hoping people will see my point. I know I need to tell people of the good I was trying to spread. I want people to see the greatness I was going to eventually fill if I didn’t get caught. I wanted to return America to the state where everything was perfect, where there was no rebellion, where there was no counterculture. People need to know that. I'm hoping with this, someone will continue my destiny and finally return the country to where it belongs. Maybe in my next life, I will continue it along as well. All i’m wishing for is easy and hopefully whoever reads this will understand.

My sentence date is February 17th at 6:00 am. It is currently February 16th, 1968, 8:43 pm. In a little, they are bringing me my last meal, I simply requested a crown roast with green beans and jello for dessert. Nothing too spectacular, but at least in the morning I will be living with the greats. I will get to see my parents again. I will get to continue my legacy from above. I know I did nothing wrong. What I want is right. Everything I did was right. I am always right. I will soon be ended with electricity and it is time for me to say goodbye. Goodbye to everyone who agreed with me. Goodbye to everyone who didn’t.  As electricity fills my body tomorrow, I hope every single one of those disgusting faces cross through my mind one more time. I hope my legacy continues on. I hope I go down in history.

-Godspeed

Greg Johnson