[ WP ] When someone is murdered , their name appears on the skin of the killer . You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there .

I woke up from a rough night. I had been drinking and partying and having fun- you know. Young people stuff. I opened my eyes slowly to a *beep beep beep* which I thought was an alarm clock so I groggily reached over to turn it off. 
 Except, it was n't there. 
 I was n't at home. I was n't at a friend's. I was in a hospital. I frowned and looked down at the tingling sensation on my arm. It was a three letter word slowly forming in black cursive. A name. *A name... * 
 It was Jen. I do n't know who she is. It was just, `` Jen.'' 
 I looked around for the nurse when she walked in. `` Why am I here? What happened?'' I was confused. Why was there a name? Why was I in the hospital? 
 She pulled up a chair. `` So first off, lets start with you're in Chester's Mill Hospital. You got into an accident.'' She looked at my wrist and back at me. `` You hit a van bringing home a family from a late night football game.'' I nodded to let her continue. `` You killed a 6 year old girl. The mother is in surgery and the father has a broken leg. They're in this hospital.'' I could n't think. I could n't talk. My mouth felt like a desert. I killed her? I looked to the nurse and her head twisted slowly, soft expression turning into a blank one filled with anger and hatred. The room swirled into darkness. `` You killed a little girl, James... 6 years old.... Her whole life to live... you killed her.'' The nurse yelled in anger, twisting into some melancholy form. No longer a woman in scrubs with blonde hair in a bun. She was a giant force of twisting negativity. The room shook violently, twisting and warping. Things fell off the shelves and there was a silent wailing. I screamed and woke up, like being thrown into a new life. My chest rose and fell, my lungs searched for air. My heart struggled to recover but my mind was cloaked in a constant cloak of this. 
 I had been in this psychiatric hospital for 8 years now. I was 21 when I entered. Today Jen would've been 14. She haunts my dreams, my every waking moments. I catch her staring with a crooked neck and frail body. Tiny arms still clutched to a ragged teddy bear. She's always in the background. 
 The name is still there. On her birthday it gets darker or a new part is formed and I slowly learn about what she would've become. So my friends, the moral I'm writing in this journal at the hospital is, *do n't drink and drive. *
