Okay so I just thought that this would kind of be an interesting little story. It won't be that long. Well this is it.

She Was Just A Baby

Katie went missing on a hot muggy day. July seventeenth. She went for a ride on her bike and never returned. We called the police that night when she hadn't returned. They said that we had to wait forty-eight hours to report her missing. We searched for her that night, and that morning to make sure she hadn't slept at a friend's house. We even called down to Minnesota, making sure her father hadn't taken her. They obviously didn't care that that innocent little girl could be out the city, the state, the country, or even out the world by the time they deemed it appropriate to look for her. There is a ninety nine percent chance that the victim will NOT be alive when they are found. If they are found that is.

She had been missing for two months; we had to postpone tour dates, photo shoots, guest appearances, everything. We put our whole life on hold. We only did interviews to appeal to her kidnapper. The amber alerts and interviews were fruitless however, and soon she fell away to the Wal-Mart bulletin board where you know no one would ever care if she was found.

She showed up on our doorstep at the beginning of October. October Ninth. Her hair was curled and laced with ribbons, pretty white ones intertwined like lovers. She wore a cute pink dress with white polka dots, white knee high stockings, and shiny black Mary Janes. She was like a little angel. A little doll. Whose shining eyes would never see again. Because she lied on the threshold of our home, cold and beautiful, like a fallen angel. Our fallen angel.

We all cried however, my crying was the worst. If you could imagine my crying being worst than a grieving mother. I cried for the little girl who would never love or feel loved again. The girl who would never get married, never fall in love, have children. I cried for the girl who would never live. I also cried for myself, for my love that never had a chance to come to fruition. A love and life both cut short at the hands of a merciless executer. A man whom no judge or jury could touch. A man whom would probably never be caught. The bastard that killed hope, joy, innocence.

We went through the process of burying a kid. We even got her one of those White ash caskets that you could write on in sharpie (see profile), so everyone could adequately say goodbye. I took up my own little spot on the back, confessing everything I could to her. No one read it out of privacy, which was great because they would probably hate me.

The day after her funeral her snatcher turned himself in. The day after that he requested to see each of us, to explain what happened, to give us closer. So naturally we all went, to hear the monsters absurd reason.