This is a story. Actually, it's more of an angry parable, but it's still 100% fiction. It never happened and never will. The General Disclaimer is incorporated herein by reference.

This is going to be very hard for me to write, but I've decided that the risk to me is outweighed by the chance of saving a life. I am still going to do everything possible to prevent you from finding out who I am, while giving you enough information to hopefully prevent a tragedy, although it has probably already happened anyway. I was walking on a biking/hiking trail (and I can't tell you which one because witnesses might remember seeing my car, which might lead you to me) a little before sunset three days ago. I took a loop of the trail most people don't take. There was a car parked on the trail, blocking half of it, and cars aren't even supposed to be on the trail at all. I was a bit angry so I stopped by the car to cuss out the driver. The driver was gone, but just as I was about to leave I saw a movement in the back. The car was an old station wagon, a sort of brownish-cream-yellow-icky color with simulated wood panels. I glanced in the back and there were two girls there. I looked around to see if the car's owner (presumably their parent) was around, but didn't see anyone, so I went to the back to say hello to them. I was very surprised and horrified to see that they were both tied up and gagged. One girl, who was six to eight, had her arms behind her, I assumed tied, and her knees and feet were tied together also. The other girl was about seven to nine years old. Her wrists were tied together behind her neck, and her ankles were tied together. She was partially covered by a towel, but I could see she was bare from just below her armpits and up, and from her knees down. When they saw me they started struggling and it looked like they were trying to yell, but I don't remember hearing them. As the older girl struggled, her towel slid aside a few inches and I could see she was completely undressed. I quickly tried opening the back door, then went around the car trying all the doors, but they were all locked. The windows were tightly shut. So I tried a trick from a movie, I hit the back window with my fist. I think I may have broken my knuckle, but the window held solid. (Don't bother checking around, I'm not going to see a doctor about it, no matter how much it hurts, so you can't find me that way). I knew I didn't have enough strength to hit again hard enough to break it. I looked for anything I could use to break it, but there wasn't even a rock handy. Then I lost my head, I thought of my tire iron in my car back in the parking lot, and took off at a run to get it. I didn't stop to get a licence number, or make or model of the car, or distinguishing marks. I ran as hard as I could, but my car was at least a quarter of a mile away and I am not in very good condition. What's the speed record for running a half a mile, about two minutes? It must have taken me at least four minutes, and probably more like seven minutes, to get to my car, get the tire iron from the trunk, and get back to the other car. It didn't help that in my panic I made a wrong turn in the trail and had to backtrack a hundred yards. I stood there and cried when I got back and saw that the station wagon was gone. I went up to where I thought it had been and looked around, not knowing what else to do. I had a sickening thought, and walked down from the trail into the trees, hoping against hope that I wouldn't find anything. I searched for a few minutes, finding nothing, feeling a mixture of grief and failure, but growing relief. Then I saw her body, laying face down in a small depression. I ran up to her. She was no longer tied, but she wasn't moving. I've had a little bit of first aid training, so I turned her over, checking for bleeding, found only small wet stains on a few places on her head, checked her pulse and found none, and checked her breathing and found none. I knelt beside her and started giving her CPR and artificial respiration, knowing that I had seen her alive only a few minutes earlier. I was no expert, since I've never done CPR before, but I hoped I would be competent enough to save her.

Here's the part that just tears my guts apart. I am crying as I write this, and wishing that this was all just a nightmare, that I could wake up and be a completely different person, that my entire life would just go away and be replaced by a normal person's life. I was kneeling over this murdered naked little girl's body, with my tire iron on the ground beside me, desperately trying to save her life, praying hard for help, when I heard voices coming down the hiking trail. I absolutely panicked, much worse than before, only this time I was concerned for my own life. I threw her back into the place I had found her, hidden from the trail, and ducked behind the widest tree I could reach in time. Two men passed by above me, I could hear them talking but couldn't understand the words. When they had passed, I grabbed my tire iron and ran back to my car, through the trees instead of taking the trail. I made sure no one saw me get into the car, and hoped like anything no one had seen me running with my tire iron before. None of the following passed through my conscious mind at the time, or maybe all of it did and I don't remember, but you should have some explanation of why I didn't just call out to the men for help, have them call an ambulance and the police or something. I have no more respect for the police and the courts than I do for the person who killed that girl, and they have no more respect for me than they do for the murderer. I have been arrested, tried, convicted, and jailed for several counts (I won't tell you how many charges or how many trials or how many years, you can smugly believe in at least 5 years per charge, and you'll be close) of the so-called felony of gently and lovingly undressing, hugging, kissing, and caressing two smiling, giggling, and completely consenting girls, age five to nine (that's as close as I'm going to say) over the course of several months or years. They undoubtedly have records of the charges that were dropped because some other girls resisted being forced to testify against me. I knew subconsciously that if I was found kneeling beside that little girl's naked body, regardless of anything I said or did, I would go to jail for the rest of my life, even if she lived. The police would check my arrest record while questioning me, and I would never breathe free air again. They'd get a search warrant, tear up my home and find all of my so-called child pornography, all the articles I had saved from newspapers, all the pictures I had taken and collected since getting out of jail, all the dreams I had written down in a diary, all the little girl's clothing I had bought at rummage sales. Everything I cherished would all be used as evidence against me. They'd find my footprints by the body, wounds on her head that could have been inflicted by a tire iron (and for all I know that's exactly what killed her), they'd find my tire iron right there with only my fingerprints on it, they would find my saliva on her lips, and skin from her breasts under my fingernails. There wouldn't be one single person on the face of the earth who would believe my story for an instant, not even my own brother, and especially not the public defender. I had no choice at all. The police, the judges, the jurists, the lawyers, the senate, the house, the governor, even the little girl's own parents and grandparents, all of them together forced me, under threat of being tortured to death by my so-called fellow criminals, to run away and let that little girl die, when I might have saved her precious life. Now I sit here with my heart breaking for her, wishing there was some way I could take back what I did, wishing that I had had the courage to throw my life away to save hers. Even if she had lived I would have gone to jail. After the police checked my record, they wouldn't have hesitated a minute to search my home, and I would have been charged with at least fifty felony counts of the harmless act of taking pictures of girls who frolicked and giggled and played for hours, unashamed of their nakedness and completely unaware that they were being photographed. Of course if I have somehow given you enough clues to find me, the very act of writing this letter could destroy my life. All of you are again forcing me to choose between a little girl's chance at life, and my own survival, but this time I can be more in control, so as I said at the start, I've decided that my risk is outweighed by her chance at life.

Of course I'm talking about the other little girl in the car, just in case you've forgotten her. I went back to the trail two days later, after reading and hearing nothing about a body being found, didn't see any police near the place, and searched for another body. I only went close enough to the first girl's body to see it was still there. I searched the area enough that I am quite sure the other girl was not killed and left there like the first. Since she may still be alive, I am writing this to tell you to look for the station wagon. PLEASE don't dismiss this as a hoax. I'm going to give you as many details as I can without telling you anything that might lead you to me. Blame yourselves if that isn't very much. You so delightedly go about destroying the lives of harmless people like me that you force some of us over the edge out of desperation. I can understand exactly what led the murderer to commit his crime, you've got so many children brainwashed to never let anyone touch them or see them naked, and you're so efficient at guarding every child every moment, that there is only one way left for most of us to get the physical affection that so-called normal people take for granted, and that's by using force. I would never hurt a girl under any circumstances, I believe, but I know that the more frustrated people get, the more unpredictable their actions become. If you would just leave people like me alone, and let us harmlessly create mutually enjoyable relationships with children, without teaching them that we've done utterly horrible things to them by gently, lovingly touching them, then there would be a lot less people driven to despicable acts such as threatening, raping, or bribing children, and none of us would ever be driven to kidnap and murder. I doubt I'll ever see such tolerance in my lifetime. I should tell you what I remember about the car and stop wasting my time pouring out my troubles that none of you give a damn about anyway, except to gloat over. It's just that you're stuck reading the rest of this letter to get the information you want, and I finally had a chance to say some things I have wanted to say for all of my life, in a way you can't ignore. As I said before the car has simulation wood panels on the side, and the paint is indescribably blah, something like sand dyed yellow then faded in the sun. That's not right either, but I can't think of a better description. There was something small hanging from the mirror inside. The interior was a little darker than the outside but about the same color. I remember one taillight was cracked, diagonally down to the right. The back door was one where the window rolled down, then the gate could open, I think, but I can't be sure because it didn't open or roll down when I tried it. Just great, I even left fingerprints on the murderer's car, so if you find it, you catch me, too. Damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it. Well you people think you're so righteous and perfect and so much better than pedophiles, now you have to live with the fact that two little girls may have died because of your obsession with destroying my life. Because I changed my mind again, I'm not going to send this letter until I'm sure the weather has worn my fingerprints off the car, and by then that little girl will probably have been murdered and left in the woods like the first. I wish this society would let me help prevent real felonies without crucifying me for committing imaginary felonies. I guess she's getting what you've earned for your intolerance. I hope you have a heart attack when you find the bodies, even then it won't be half as much pain as I'm feeling right now.

I'm adding this to the letter much later. I haven't changed anything I wrote above. Everything I wrote about happened last year and I never did send it because I was afraid for my safety. I almost killed myself. (Go ahead, you all say, the sooner the better, one pervert less is the world's gain, shoot yourself, can I lend you a bullet?) How would you feel about yourself if you knew that everyone you pass on the street hates your guts and wants you dead, even though you've never hurt anyone? How much would you want to help them? Why shouldn't I kidnap and murder too, no one would hate me any worse or treat me any worse. A felon is just a felon, after all, unless he's a goddamned perverted child molester too, like me. If I finally turn to harmful illegal acts, it will be because the harmless acts I really want to do are just as illegal and far, far riskier. And you'll have only yourselves to blame for all of the harm I do. Nobody cares about the pain we feel, but if you cared at all about the pain felt by children and their parents, you'd stop molesting the harmless pedophiles. Then you'd see how few of us are harmful by choice.