To Define a Criminal
Rapid Eye Movement: part of the sleep cycle where an individual’s body becomes temporarily paralyzed, yet the body’s internal functions awaken. Here, most bodies process information and both short and long term memories. It is how the body rests. My body is different. My muscles never paralyze; although my bodily functions still persist. Everyone thinks that this only causes a lack of true rest and relaxation. They’re not wrong. I roam my house in the darkness, punching, kicking, and running from the villains in my nightmares. Dreams, good and bad, become reality — my own virtual reality game except my mind is in charge. Yet sometimes I escape. I escape the boundaries of sanity and even the walls of my own home. This is why I am writing to you from Park Valley Penitentiary. I want you to know the whole story behind the murders of the Stevenson family. I, Clara Deighton, am guilty.
Clara Deighton: a Latin name meaning clear royalty. My parents bestowed this name upon me as a manifestation. I was born the family princess. Surrounded by brothers, I gained dominance while learning how to survive in a cutthroat world. We spent mornings preparing the horses on our Wyoming ranch, afternoons running through the Rocky Mountain Forest, and dinners on the porch of our home, reminiscing about the adventures we had encountered. We were the epitome of an American-bred family. I was an American-bred princess. Yet I was a prisoner to my own body, and I remained isolated from the outside world.
Independence Day: the day of the accident. I realize this name sounds morbid and psychotic. It is. Yet, I felt a release — not sadistically — from the weight of societal boundaries. No longer was I tied down to my bed or knocked unconscious by tranquilizing sleep medications. My mind was free and my limbs followed it’s commands. That night I dreamt of a family’s blood in my hands. When I woke up the next morning, I found myself shaking and reeking of lighter fluid. The commotion around me went silent and a subtle ringing in my ears grew louder to the point of insanity. Exposed flesh on my hands was numb with guilt and my head throbbed to the beat of my drumming heart. My only instinct was to run. Away from the burning of my flesh, smell of fear, and wilderness that surrounded me I would go. Where I was, I did not know.
Arson: the deliberate lighting of a fire for criminal use. Our ranch was surrounded by big oak trees watching over us like guardian angels. Once a year my father would lead us to a patch of trees that we would cut down for firewood, construction, and as a christmas tree. Back at the ranch they were cut or burned. The smoke choked my lungs, but I grew used to its effects.
“Watch it burn”, my father would insist. My eyes were glued to the hues of crimson and gold that filled the sky. The smoke and heat were normalized for survival— a ritual. I trembled as if being burned. Now the burning came from my bare hands.
Lamentation: the act of expressing grief. At this point you can come to the conclusion that I am a sociopath. I have all the qualities: detachment, medical history, and even impulsivity. However, I know you have a soft spot in your heart for me. That is what makes our relationship so special. Remember that I am just a young girl, isolated and burdened. Running away from the world was nothing new for me. The further I ran the more I realized that I enjoyed the chase. I cannot be tied up to my bed any longer. I will not lament. Instead let us rejoice in the victory. Freedom’s bell is ringing even in confinement.
Penitentiary: where I belong. My name is Clara Deighton. Choose to define me however you please. Daughter, sister, psychopath; I have heard it all. The news blares the name of the arsonist who burned the Stevenson family alive. I define myself as noble for this very reason: I have chosen to turn myself in. For I seek freedom from my illness — as minor as it may seem— I will rest peacefully in the Park Valley Penitentiary for as long as I live.
