Categories > Original > Drama1 Reviews
I haven't done anything wrong. Can't they see that?
I know that for sure. And it won't be long until I'll be able to see him again, a few days at the most. Maybe even a few hours if I'm lucky.
It's only been twenty-four hours since he left. For the past twenty-two of those hours, I haven't moved. I haven't slept or eaten at all. All I've been doing is sitting here and staring at the clock on the wall across from me, outside of this box. I've been thinking about what happened. My fingers are starting to hurt from gripping this bench for so long, but I don't care. It's not going to matter.
Now that I look back on it, both of us were pretty messed up. He sat in his room and smoked pot day and night while I wasted away on alcohol. Maybe it's just as well that I'll be leaving soon, too. If I had bothered to get a lawyer I could be in a mental institution right now.
But I'm not stupid. I don't want to stay here. I want to leave.
I can feel the others staring at me. On the outside it looks like they feel sorry for me. Sometimes I can hear what they're saying, too. "He's just an innocent kid; he shouldn't be here." "They should give him another trial." "Aren't there pills for mental people? They just put him on some of that stuff."
Idiots. I'm not just a kid, I'm a teenager and proud of it. I never wanted any trial in the first place; that's why I didn't go to mine. And there's no cure, no prescription, for people like me. People who actually care about others.
Most of all, I know I'm not innocent. But contrary to what anyone might say, I don't have a problem. I have a solution. I recognized a problem and I solved it. There's no crime in that, no punishment for it, is there? Apparently so, since I'm sitting here counting the seconds until my destruction. So far I'm up to eighty-one thousand and two. Three. Four. Most people wouldn't have the patience for this, and normally neither would I. But I've got nothing else to do.
Besides, if I ever lose track I can just do the math in my head. I've always been good at math. He was always good at English, and we traded homework all the time. That's how we became friends. Best friends. I'd never had a best friend before. It was like having a twin brother, someone who dressed in black and listened to the same music as me.
Great, I just remembered I don't have my iPod. I've been focusing on the silence, hearing the sounds of the desolate, dark world around me but ignoring them completely. I wish I had that little music player right now. It would make the time go by so much faster, just like it did for me in school. No matter how many times they would take it away from me I would get it back. Forge a few signatures and it was mine again. Maybe if I'd had a lawyer I could've proved I needed it to concentrate, and I could've stayed there, too.
But I didn't want to stay there. Neither of us did. That's why we left.
He drove. I would've, but I knew I was hard drunk at the time. I'd been like that so many times that I could tell when I was at the point of not being able to walk a straight line, unlike most people. I'm just special that way. Neither of us had our licenses, but it only takes common sense to drive a car. Maybe that's why so many people crash every day. They're just retarded, I guess.
We took his dad's truck and tried to get to the next state, but we didn't get far. Unlucky for us, that truck had some kind of GPS thing in it in case it ever got stolen, ironically enough. They might as well have put tracking collars on us. I knew the people searching for us were probably laughing themselves to tears, because they knew what would happen to us. They knew we would be placed in rehab and shipped off to separate military schools, and while they were at it they were probably placing bets on who would get killed first. They thought they knew what would happen. But they were wrong. They were all wrong.
Oh, look; they're trying to feed me again. Some kind of gray slop on a plate. I don't trust it; they probably threw in some cyanide to make it taste better. I'm not stupid. They'll have to try some other way to get rid of me.
Five. Six. Seven.
The one thing I don't know or remember is how the gun got there. His was a family of vegetarians, so I knew his dad never went hunting. We were the only real threat to our neighborhood's peace. It wasn't a dangerous place, so they didn't need it for protection. Maybe he found it. Maybe he stole it. I don't know and I don't care, because however he got it, I know he got it for me.
We heard the police sirens not far behind us, and we knew we'd be caught. He told me he felt horrible about the drugs, and I knew he was sincerely sorry. He said he wanted to be free of it all, that he wanted to get out of it. He wanted to leave. I know I wasn't drunk at the time, whatever the breathalyzer test might have said. I was completely aware of what I was doing when I told him I had a solution. 'I'll do anything,' he told me. 'I'll do anything to stop being addicted.'
So I shot him. He might as well have told me to do it. He fell to the ground with a smile on his face, because he knew he was finally free. I felt no remorse then, and I don't now. I didn't do anything wrong; can't they see that? I saved him from killing himself with those toxic drugs. It would have been slow and painful. A horrible way to go. I knew I couldn't let that happen, so I shot him. It makes perfect sense.
They're opening the door to my cell now. 'You have one last chance,' the lady with the thick-rimmed glasses says to me. 'You can still escape the death penalty if you choose to go to rehabilitation and counseling.' But I know there's nothing I need to escape from, so I shake my head. I'll just sit here until my time comes. It won't be long now. I'll get out of here and be on my way to Hell before the day is over.
Eight. Nine. Ten.