The whole difficult situation was unknown; something inexplicable, even today. My name is Olivia. I am sixteen years old and currently serving a fifteen year prison sentence. The ironic thing is that I don't remember how, why, or what I did. Just that I have a painful scar in my stomach that proves something happened that night. The ironic thing is that it wasn't me who did it, it was her. I lead a normal teenage life, barely six months ago; at least, as normal as teenage life can be. I went to school, I had a best friend. Yes, I've had my ups and downs, but it has never resulted in anything as horrible, evil or sick as what happened on the night of Friday the 13th five months ago. It all started the night my best friend Daisy committed suicide. Not to mention his five-year-old twin brother and his sister just seconds before. She slaughtered them with a kitchen knife, before turning the blade against herself. All three were left searching for their mother. I was uncontrollably hysterical when I found out about Daisy from an inevitably shaken father, who was reluctant to play the bearer of bad news; excruciated...