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A Short Story by Me

Greetings, world. Today I shall share with all you a production of my very own. It was written two years ago for the final project of the subject Written Language III in the teacher trainning college where I study. I got my inspiration for writing this story from a psychological test which became kind of viral back when I was in secondary school. It is more of a legend, I later learned. But it was pretty cool back then. If you are interested in reading this story, I'd recommend you to read it first and read the story of the psychological test later. Once you finished, you will understand why. 

Without any further introduction, my story: The Dark Side of Love.

The Dark Side of Love, by Joaquin Kruel

Cassie was the type of girl who liked to talk. She hated being the centre of attention, but stories were her flaw. She hated when people told stories the wrong way, and as both a scientist and a mathematician, she believed that truth in facts were divine and beautiful. That is why she decided to head to the police station two days after her stepsister’s funeral. As soon as she said she wanted to confess a crime she was arrested and taken to another room. When she found herself locked in those four walls surrounded by two policemen and a video recorder pointing at her, she knew she would have the opportunity to tell a deadly story: this time, her own.
Cassie waited patiently until the tall policeman put everything in order, and then she asked for a bottle of water. No coffee, her body would not tolerate it. She slurped a sip of water and made herself comfortable, knowing what was to come. And then, the question. “First of all,” said the man in a brown suit, “we wanted… well, actually, I wanted to personally thank you for your confession. We had no proofs, not a single clue. You could have really got away with your crime, you know? But yet, you decided to give in, making our job as easy as it gets. And for that, I thank you. You’ve made the right decision, Miss Crimson. But now it is my responsibility, my duty, to ask you something. Why did you do it?”
Cassie took a long breath, and the video recorder even caught a smile on her face just before she opened her lips. “I made it because I believe in love at first sight. Don’t you, officer?” The man in the brown suit was surprisingly unsurprised by this answer. He had been in the field for more than twenty years now, and he had seen and heard all of it. “No, ma ‘am, I do not. But even if I did, that still doesn’t answer my question. Do you really want us to beg you for your story? Because we can close the case as it is and you would still go to jail, even to the chair if you are unlucky enough. So, once again, why did you do it?”
Cassie smiled again, as if she was thinking of an extremely comfortable memory. “Well, as I said, it all comes down to my believing in love at first sight. It was on my stepmother’s funeral, two months ago. I wasn’t devastated as many would have expected. In fact, I had never had a close relation to her. But anyway, there he was. Saw him in the graveyard and then in the reception as well. He was perfect. I got closer and tried to establish a conversation. See, funerals are not the perfect place to meet someone, but I just couldn’t miss that opportunity. I thought I would begin by asking his relation with my dead stepmother or something of the sort. Instead, I asked about his tie button, whose origin I already knew about. But I let him explain to me as if I was a child. Of course the button was a sign of his membership in the mathematics united club, a social club made for nerds, basically. I had already been a member of the club but I found it too boring in the end and decided to work on my documents by myself. Now, what really astounded me was to hear that he was thinking of leaving the club to work on a project of his own, which, according to him, was about a groundbreaking theory on the applications of the Fibonacci numbers, a field in mathematics with a mystic flavor for us mathematicians. I was more than fascinated. I felt as if I was struck by love. But I could not show it, ‘course, since that would have been a sign of weakness among us logical fellows. No. I had to be reasonable. I showed interest in his work and listened to everything he had to say with extreme attention, scanning his words like a picture of a textbook in my mind looking for any mistake in his sayings. I knew everything he was talking about; I had done the same research years ago and knew I was a dead end. He was so naïve to believe in everything he said, just as I did back when I was discovering those results myself. He was just so enthusiastic when he spoke about those numbers and sequences and logarithms. He reminded me of myself, and I had never, not even once, found a person that could make me think that way, a person who would make me wish he had the same enthusiasm for my person. I had made up my mind: I HAD to have him.
We kept on going until auntie Whispers interrupted us with her speech. I saw how he instantly forgot about our conversation and listened to her words about my dead stepmother, and I realized that he really did care for her when she was alive. Turns out my stepmom had been his favorite teacher back at university. This I did not know, since I never even cared for my stepmother’s career. I mean, I knew she had great experience in the mathematical field, but I never let her speak to me about it. I guess it had to do with her trying to occupy the place of my real mother.” At that moment Cassie took a few seconds off, staring at nothingness while she took a gasp of air, and then continued. “Anyway, after we got interrupted, I lost sight of him. I walked around the house, pretending to mourn as I wandered, slowly, looking for him. But he had left. I asked every single person at the funeral about that man, from whom I forgot to even get a name. Nobody knew him; his relationship with my dead stepmother was outside her circle of family and friends. I did recall him giving a long hug to my step sister, as if they had known each other for some time. She was the only one I saw him interacting with besides me. But I could never talk to my stepsister in that situation, less I could ask her about that man. We had always had resentment for one another since we were forced to live under the same room when our parents met. Also, she was absolutely wrecked by the whole situation. So, without any answers, I went home.
Over the next couple of days I found it extremely difficult to concentrate on any subject. I found that extremely annoying, since I consider myself a person of superior intellect. But on the other hand, I liked the idea of being in love. It had never happened to me before, and I must admit I had always fantasized about meeting that one person would join me on my boring hobbies, and take my breath away at every glance of sight. I had to talk to him again, so that at least I could figure out whether he was the one.
 After the funeral I spent five days thinking of ways to get in touch with him, but none of them would work out for me. I’ve always been a rather insecure woman, so the least thing I wanted was to seem desperate. That is why contacting his university was not an option. And neither was to wander around the places where he might have been, trying to get a chance to stalk him. No, I am no stalker. I had to do this right. It had to look as if fate had made us meet again. But how could I make that happen?
And then it all came crystal clear in my mind. There were many other options that could have worked out, but this was the best way for me. So I did it. It was a piece of cake, I must say. Funny how easy it is to take someone’s life. Just a bit of poison in a dinner plate, and then the long painful wait. I got the phone call about the horrifying news the following day, and I was informed where the funeral would take place. No surprise, it was in the same house as my stepmother’s funeral. And that’s about it.”
The officers were taken aback. There was silence for a while, until the one in the brown suit dared to raise the question. “Why, Miss Crimson, did you poison your step sister, and what does any of what you told us about the man you met in your stepmother’s funeral have to do with it?” “Why, officer,” answered Cassie in a very calm voice, “it was the only way I could make sure I would see him again. He’d been at my stepmother’s funeral, he gave my stepsister a long hug as if they already knew each other, so it was obvious he’d appear on her very funeral as well. And I wasn’t wrong.” The officers were shocked. One of them was about to ask something, but Cassie continued. “I did not like him this time, though. He seemed a bit dull this time, I must say. As if the mental image I had of him had been distorted in his favor all along, y’ know.  But well, what can I say. At least I managed to get him out of my mind.”

I hope you liked it. Here is the supposedly test from which I found inspiration. You will find that it is a kind of story itself.

This is a genuine psychological test. It is a story about a girl.
While at the funeral of her own mother, she met a guy whom she did not know.
She thought this guy was amazing, so much her dream guy she believed him to be, that she fell in love with him there and then … A few days later, the girl killed her own sister.
Question: What is her motive in killing her sister?
DON’T Scroll down until you have thought what your own answer is to this question!
Answer: She was hoping that the guy would appear at the funeral again.
If you answered this correctly, you think like a psychopath. This was a test by a famous American psychologist used to test if one has the same mentality as a killer. Many arrested serial killers took part in this test and answered it correctly. If you didn’t answer correctly – good for you. If your friends hit the jackpot, may I suggest that you keep your distance. (If you got the answer correct, please let me know so I can take you off my distribution list…)

For those of the curious kind, HERE you can read an article about that test and find out its origins and wheter it is real or not. 


  1. I love it! It's like a story written by Joe Hill ( or an episode of American Horror Story). I really like your writing style.

  2. Very nice Joaquín!! Nice, gripping story!! And I agree with Claudio: I like the way you tell it!!


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