My name is Jennifer Wikrent, and this is my tale -- for it was the best of days, it was the worst of days. Kingdoms rose, empires fell, and my life, oblivious to the perils of the world, continued on as though it were but a midsummer's dream flying away upon the swallow's open wing. And I was but a woman, ensconced in my own mind, consumed with my own life -- I was Jennifer Wikrent, and I was but a teacher of children.

With the coming of September, my heart raced with passion, my mind was fired with the passions of schooltime. Again, I would return to this tortorous profession. And yet again, I would be forced to contend with roving masses of idiots, of malignant tumors which simply needed to be excised from life.

I would return -- oh yes, I would return to this nightmarish school, this satanic prison brought unto the Earth. Why? I need not question such matters, for I had simply to return. And upon the day of the consummation of my fears, I stepped through the double doors of Newport High School, and I seeked not to return to the comforting, secluded safety of my humble abode but to step into the Chemistry classroom, to again take upon my role.

I was Jennifer Wikrent, aged 27, Chemistry teacher.

And as the rivers of bodies flowed passed my open door, tributaries would stream into my room; and I taught them well. For in my classroom, there was no disobedience. There was no error. This profession, this destiny, was mine. And my soul flowed forth, and my heart of black was borne unto this classroom, and this was my domain, and all who stepped forth would be damned.

And still, my compassion resided in the deepest recesses of my heart; and these were cancerous cells, despicable things which I strove to utterly destroy. But all that is irrelevant -- for I am here, in jail -- and this is my life.

Disorder was sinful. Disorder was blasphemy. Disorder deserves death; disorder must be destroyed. In my classroom, in my domain, there was no disorder, and those who would dare to propogate it were rent asunder by my anger. I took the heretics, and they bled to death as I impaled them, one by one, with questions they could not answer. I took their grade, their future, and I held it over their collective heads, and I twisted and bent it to my will. It was my power. It was my life.

And one fateful day, I struck forth, in anger and in malice. For one student -- by the name of Brian Liou -- had taken me, and summed my demonic wrath. He had dared to complete his homework incorrectly; he had dared to show contempt for me in my very own classroom, akin to blasphemy in a church. No -- it was worse. And I reached out with my heart, with my soul, and I consumed his being; for in that act of hate, I destroyed him utterly.

Chaos ensued, confusion reigned free -- and still, I sat on my stool, in a cocoon isolated from the cacophony of sounds which consumed the world outside. Brian Liou's dead corpse lay before me, and I clasped but an innocent vial in my hand -- a vial of Na3As(CN)2. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times -- and this was but a simple poison, a simple acid, a simple murder weapon.

And in my heart, I knew I had taken him and excised his very being.

No more.

Once again, my classroom was pure.