April 1, 1991, Friday, 3:00 pm: School’s out. Can’t wait to go home to my idiotic mother and her stupid boyfriend. My mother is the most idiotic person on the planet. She actually had the nerve to name me France Victorian. First of all, she could’ve just named me Paris like a normal person, but noooo, she just thought, ‘How about I just name her a country?’ Pffrrst. I mean just call me Switzerland or Nigeria while you’re at it… And she literally gave me my own new last name - “Victorian”, like she was expecting me to reign over a kingdom. I’ll choose my life thank you very much. But don’t even get me started on her boyfriend. He’ll never shut up and always tries to get in my business. Like, I get it, he wants to get close to me but he can never take a hint! I don’t like when people I barely know try to get close to me. Just stop – you look stupid. I mean, that’s just how I feel. And he always asks me things about my personal life. Well, to be honest I don’t even have a personal life. I don’t have friends. Mostly because I don’t like talking to anyone. But it’s fine really, I don’t need friends. I don’t want them and I don’t need them. Period. Right?

     April 1, 1991, Friday, 3:30 pm: Walking home.  I live in Calabasas, California. My house is just around the corner from school, but I purposely walk slow to think about stuff. Honestly, I don’t want to go home. My mother barely talks to me anymore since she got a new boyfriend, and he’s probably just sitting on the kitchen counter eating up all of my Cocoa Puffs. Plus the TV show “Cheers” season 9 ended, and I’m not even the least bit motivated to do my homework. So now that I think about it, I have nothing to go home to. I chuckled, “Maybe I’ll just run away.” I stopped walking. Wow, what if I did run away? That would be crazy. Or dumb. Or fun! My mind was spinning as fast as a tornado and I thought I was going to faint. I mean, I’d be going all alone, and where would I even go? And for how long? Maybe just for a weekend, or forever, I just don’t know. I checked my backpack and all I had was my English text book and my Biology textbook. In my short pockets I only had 3 quarters and a new pack of gum. I took out every single piece of gum, put them all together, and threw them in my mouth. As I was chewing a size of a steak, I slowly walked and thought. I only had three quarters, and at a phone booth, one call was 25 cents each. That was it – those three calls could determine how my life would go on. But it’s a risk I am willing to take. I just need a break. I don’t even know who I am. I need to figure out who I am! All I want to do is walk, and walk, and not stop. When I reached my house on the corner, I stopped and stared. I stood there, smacking my gum to the fullest, and thought to myself, ‘So long, farewell, auf Weidersehen, good night.’ And I turned and just kept walking…

     April 1, 1991, Friday, 6:20 pm: It’s starting to get dark. We’ve been driving for about 2 hours, listening to ABBA tapes and chatting about our lives and how he’s going to visit his grandmother in Vegas.  I’ve always wanted to go to Vegas. Maybe now is my chance. When I smiled as I looked at him I suddenly said, “Wait a minute, we’ve already been talking a few hours and we don’t even know each other’s names! My name is-” I hesitated. “-Paris. Paris Turlington.” I thought I needed a fresh start. “Paris!” he exclaimed. “That is such a beautiful name.” “I know right?!” I blurted. “I mean, thank you... So what’s yours?” “Guess,” he said. I threw my head back and laughed. We both did. Then we stared at each other for a second. He wasn’t paying any attention and drifted onto the other side of the road. “LOOK OUT!” I yelled. He immediately stopped. When the car jerked, a ‘38 caliber revolver fell in front of his foot petals from under the seat. He didn’t see it, but I sure did. My heart became Speed Racer. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Yes,” I said nervously. “Can you just pull over there to the gas station, please? I wanna get a Coke.” “Of course.” I knew what I was doing, I just hoped I wasn’t gonna get caught. “Actually, I don’t have any money,” I said as we were pulling up. “Do you think you can go in and get one for me?” I asked. He paused as he stopped the car, and just looked at me. I was just about to sweat a river. “Sure Paris, anything for you,” he chuckled in his Italian accent. He left the keys with me…..Ha! Stupid.

     April 1, 1991, Friday, 6:45 pm: It has been 20 minutes since I sped off in his Cadi’. And he left the gun. I stuffed it in my underwear for safe keeping. I kind of feel bad though, he seemed like a really great guy. I mean we were going to have babies! But once I saw that gun, I didn’t know if I could trust him. I don’t know, what if he had that gun and a dozen more hidden at a shaft with a million hostages?! Or maybe he only had that gun just in case of burglars. Who knows. I just couldn’t trust him. I should’ve known though, you can’t trust people who pick up hitchhikers. Or people who hitchhike...hahaha. But I still cannot believe I stole a car. So much to a fresh start. He probably wasn’t good though. Never let a sexy accent fool you!I’m so hungry! But I don’t have any money. Maybe it won’t be so bad if I tried to look for some food anyway. Awe, but I can’t! This whole car jacking experiment might’ve went a long a little to easy – I wouldn’t wanna risk getting found by this guy. It’s also a good thing I never got his name – it probably would’ve haunted me for the rest of my existence. Anyway, I guess I’ll just keep driving.

     April 1, 1991, Friday, 7:15 pm: I started to daydream again. This time something other than space. In the dream, I lived in Brooklyn, New York. I was coming out of my flat on a clear Sunday morning, where the streets were filled with Brooklyn human beings. People hauling cabs, children on swings, dogs being walked, and couples kissing by street lamps. I walked over to my usual coffee shop, with a long line waiting outside the door. I ordered a warm pumpkin latte and a pesto and turkey sandwich. When my order came up, I took a bite out of my sandwich, then blew on my coffee and took a sip to wash it down. Then I paid. I always taste my food first before I pay to make sure it’s my money’s worth. I grabbed a few napkins, and headed for the door. I opened the door and closed it behind me. I looked up to find the streets of Brooklyn, New York completely empty. No cars were moving, because there was no one in their car. The sidewalks were empty, because there was no one walking on them. There were no more people hauling cabs; no more children on swings; no one walking any dogs; and no couples kissing by street lamps. I turned around and entered back into the coffee shop. It was completely empty. But there were just people inside a second ago. There were people reading, and eating, and drinking, and talking, and ordering. But there weren’t anymore. There were workers behind the cashier yelling at the customers who were cutting in line. But there weren’t anymore. What in the world was going on? Was I dead?? I went back outside and- ‘HHHOOONNNKKK!!!!’ went a car. I was so into my daydream I began to drift off and almost get into an accident. Man, that was good! But I think it would be best if I just focused on the road.

     April 1, 1991, Friday, 9:00 pm: I’m so tired. I’ve been driving for hours. And I’m running out of gas. Now I’m starting to cry. I don’t know why I’m crying. It might be because I’m tired. I used to cry all the time when I was little if it were late and we were out. I remember I used to go out to dinner at nice restaurants when I was little, and I would go with my mother and her girlfriends. We would always have such a good time. But if it got late, I’d start to throw a fit. Then I would begin to cry. And every time I did, my mother would say, ‘Oh, you’re tired.’ But I always debated her, ‘No I’m not.’ But she’d never get mad though, she’d just give a little laugh. I admire her for it. I think it was cute to her. Then I’d start to cry again and she would hold me and say in her sweet voice, ‘We’ll be leaving soon okay?’ Then she’d lay me down in her lap and graze my head. I remember that when I’d lay in her lap, I would look at everyone’s feet under the table and quietly pick who’s pair of shoes I’d rather wear. But my favorite part of laying there was feeling my mom’s vibration on her legs against my head when she would talk. I loved it! I loved listening to her sweet voice. Then I’d slowly turn my head and look up at her as she talked and smiled. And it was the warmest feeling. I felt so safe. I always felt so safe with her. She was my rock. The one I’d go to for anything. We were so close. She was my best friend. But then I grew up. And we started having differences. And those differences turned to arguments. And the arguments turned to fights. Bad ones. We’d always have bad fights. She doesn’t agree with me that we always have had bad fights, but we did. And we still do. Sometimes they get so bad I feel like I don’t know who she even is. A complete stranger. A complete stranger that I’m living with. I never told her that. I also never told her that I think she’s bipolar. The woman drove off and left me alone in a public garage for 3 hours once just to teach me a lesson to not leave my trash in the car door pocket. I could’ve been kidnapped even if she left me there for 10 seconds. I was 8. But the security guard there kept me company and cheered me up by letting me win every hand in UNO. I was fine when my mom came back, but from then on I saw her in a completely different way. I never lost my love for her, but I’ve just felt different around her ever since. But in this moment, riding in this car on this warm night,with my hair blowing in the warm wind, I never wanted to be held by her so much in my life.

     April 1, 1991, Friday, 9:10 pm: I need gas. The car just stopped. 'How did I end up here?’ I thought. I guess I’ll just sleep in here and find a gas station in the morning. Darn it! I can’t get the car top back over. Oh well…. Darn it! I didn’t bring a jacket.

     April 2, 1991, Saturday, 7:03 am: I woke up to the sound of police cars. I sat up from the white leather seat of the car and 4 policeman cautiously walked towards me with guns. I don’t need this right now. I’m only half awake. “PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND  SLOWLY HOP OUT OF THE VEHICLE , MA’M!” I did what the officer said. But I wasn’t so scared about being arrested surprisingly. I was more scared because I looked around and didn’t know where the heck I was. “YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT. ANYTHING YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU IN A COURT OF LAW. YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO AN ATTORNEY. IF YOU CANNOT AFFORD AN ATTORNEY, ONE WILL BE PROVIDED FOR YOU. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE RIGHTS I HAVE JUST READ TO YOU? WITH THESE RIGHTS IN MIND, DO YOU WISH TO SPEAK TO ME?” After the bald headed officer sprayed me with his skunk breath, I asked, “Where am I?”

       April 2, 1991, Saturday, 8:00 am: Las Vegas. I drove somewhere around 300 miles from Calabasas, CA to an interrogation room, on the 3rd floor, in a building, in a small town in Las Vegas, Nevada. I am very much impressed with myself. In walked the chief -  a tall chubby man with a long white mustache attached to a long white beard. He also had long white hair, and thin, clear, small, circular reading classes. And I won’t forget the red rosy cheeks and black boots. All he needed was a Santa suit and he would’ve been all set. He sat down across from me and stared deeply into my eyes and I slouched in my chair like a chimpanzee. “So St. Nick,” I started. “Whatt’ya wanna know?” The guards laughed – but he didn’t. He looked down at a report and said in his southern accent, “Miss Turlington, is it true you stole a 1953 Red Cadillac from a man named Lorenzo Moretti?” “So that’s his name!” I said sarcastically. “Wait, how do you know my name?” “Mr. Moretti had the niceties to tell us, now just answer the question, Miss Turlington.” “No, I didn’t steal it,” I answered. “Don’t lie to me now, missy.” “Honest to God, St. Nicky! I did not steal a 1953 Red Cadillac from a man named Lorenzo Moretti!” “LISTEN LADY, I AIN’T GOT TIME TO WAIST! I NEED YOU TO TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED RIGHT NOW, YA HERE?” I sat up straight, took a deep breath and said, mocking his southern accent, “I don’t like school. I don’t pay attention at all. It ain’t gonna do a thing for me. I don’t care about it. And things I don’t care about aren’t important to me. They’re not important to me at all. My mother is a 45 year old reck who fights with me about every little thing and lets her alcoholic boyfriend run all over her and tell her what to do, and did I mention he eats up all of my Cocoa Puffs? Also, I have no friends. And I choose to have no friends. I choose not to talk to the people at my school because all they want to do is screw people over and plan when to skip classes to hook up with each other. Most people I meet are complete fools and don’t give jack about love and respect. Most people want to follow other people just so they don’t look weird. Everyone cares about what other people think about them, even though they write songs and books explaining about how they really don’t. This world is so messed up, I didn’t even want to be a part of it. I still don’t want to be a part of it. I’ve been depressed for years! All because God doesn’t help the world the way that everyone knows he should. Is he even real? I never really thought so. Innocent people die everyday for absolutely nothing, little kids grow up poorly and will never have memories of a real childhood, and careless people screw up and it can turn from a big fight into a big war and no one will ever know when it will end. Someone said, ‘if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.’ Well, it has never stopped raining since the day Earth was born. And if it ever does, that just means the world is finally dead. And yesterday, at about 4:00 pm in Calabasas, CA, I hitch hiked with a really hot Italian and he was the first person I had a real conversation with in the longest time. And then I found his gun and freaked out for a little bit. But then I realized, ‘Nope! Not today! I’m gonna have all of the power now.’ And I felt like one of those villains I used to hate watching on TV growing up. But, I didn’t care. This whole world is a villain. I took the gun and I took the car. My goal was to get to Utopia, and I’m still gonna get there, you’ll see. Now right now I don’t have the car but I still have the gun that you and your foolish cop friends obviously couldn’t find. Now I’m gonna kill each one you, including the guards asleep outside, bust out of here, and find my Utopia. But can I ask you something? Do you believe in God? Like, that he’s actually here? ‘Cuz I do. I believe God’s here, I just don’t think he really wants to be. But that’s okay. I’m fine with being my own God. You know what? If one day, someone actually finds a way to change this cruel world into a good one, I’ll call you and tell you I was wrong. But right now, I gotta go rob a few stores so I can book a few weeks at the Bellagio. Then, tomorrow mornin’ I’m gonna search the town for some workers who’ll help me build the biggest Mafia the world has ever seen. This city is crawlin’ with these kinds of people. There are 6 year olds who are bosses of this sort of thing. Well, it was really great talking to you St. Nick – please don’t put me on your naughty list – oh, and one more thing. My name is France Victorian. As the chief and the two guards in the corner stood with shock on their faces, I jumped out of my seat faster than the bullets in my gun, and shot each man in the room one time in the left side of the chest, and each bullet sang with a loud ‘BANG!’