The Psychopath's Choice

"If someone dies in an exam, all the other students pass automatically."
So who's it gonna be? Not Declan, that's for sure.
But what about his sour ex?
The primary school enemy?
The "best friend" who left when he needed him most?
The bullies?
The jock?
The ever-loathed geek?
The ever-loved gay guy?
That kid in the corner that no-one really knows?

The clock is ticking, the pens scratching, time's running out.
When it comes down to it, who's it gonna be?


1. In the Beginning....

~~It was all over. It’s a shame really- most fun I’d had in ages. Blue lights flashed outside, reflecting against the windows, flickering over my face, twisting it into a grin. The teachers shrank along the wall, trying to hide their fear, and failing rather magnificently. The door behind me burst open, as armed policemen crashed into the room, surrounding me as everyone else fled.
“You’re welcome!!” I sang after them, but the doors slammed shut again. One click. Shut. Two clicks. Locked.
“Well, hello there. So nice of you to join me.” I spoke to the policemen, but only one replied
“Declan Samuels-“
“That’s my name, yes.”
“Drop the gun, hands behind your head, on your knees.”
“Tut tut, where are your manners? Ask me nicely.”
“Ask. Me. Nicely.” I growled, teeth gritted, eyes flashing.
“Please, Declan.”
“Fiinne. Do your stuff.”

~~The gun skidded across the floor, and the cool click of handcuffs against my wrists heralded the end of an era.
“Declan Samuels, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court, anything you do say may be given in evidence."
“Suspicion? The body’s right there, mate. We all saw it. It was me, and the best fun I’ve had in ages.”
And as I was dragged through the school halls, I could see the orange shock blankets, the sobbing teenagers, the teachers, eyes wide and haunted. Everyone knew who I was and what I’d done.
Recognition, thrill, freedom and a pass. Life’s good.
“If a student dies during an exam, all the other students pass automatically.”
And in that moment, Declan knew. He knew that he could never pass this exam. Why would I need a decent mark in Religious Shit anyway? If there was a God, the why did he let this happen?
“It’s 9:23am. Your exam starts now.” The invigilator was watching him as he turned the page over. The Problem Kid. He’d probably been told that I’d throw a hissy fit, and refuse to do the exam. That I’m not mentally stable. That I was a troublemaker.
And it would all be true. His eyebrows rose slightly as I picked up my pen, and began to write.
If only he knew what I would say. Without hesitation, I began.
"Dear Mr Examiner and anyone else who reads this,
My name is Declan, I’m fifteen years old, and, yes, I have been moved forward a year. But you probably know me as the Problem Child. The one who will kick up a fuss.
The truth is that I suffer from Anti-Social Personality Disorder. But ‘cuz I’m not “an adult” I’m also unmedicated. Cuz you can’t be diagnosed as a sociopath until you’re a grown up.
So, this is a Religious Studies exam.
Ironically, I’m about prove to you that God doesn’t exist.
Enjoy the show. And don't fret- I’ll catch it on camera, so I can watch it again later.
With that, I stood up. And that’s when the screams began.
Everyone’s got one. The ex who turned sour. The beautiful romance gone wrong. Mine was called Makaylah. The typical beauty, with shining blonde hair, warm brown eyes; you name it, she had it in bucketloads. But of course, the popular girl was never going to stick around with Mr Issues here.
I wasn’t unpopular- far from it. The kid who causes riots, disrupts class, distracts the teacher so that they forget to collect the homework. Or set it. Or forget the test.
Declan Samuels is pretty awesome on the outside.
Once you get inside his mind, however, it’s another matter entirely.
I was the guy who found out that his girlfriend was sleeping round through gossip. When I confronted her, it got messy. And I don’t just mean screaming messy.
She was lucky to get away - that time.
Sleeping round because I “didn’t care what she thought.” Because I was “Heartless.” “Cruel.” “Sadistic.”
I told her that much when we first started dating. She thought I was joking.
But should she be the sacrifice?
“Well, we’re in an exam, folks. SO, question one- is there anything in your skull, blondie? Or are you all bombshell and no explosion?”
Two steps forward, gun pointing at her head, I began the game.
“Shall we find out, Mikki?”


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