You know, it's funny. I feel like I've spent my whole life being bullied, but that can't be true. How could he have been there when I was a baby? Does my whole life count the future? Would he be there later? These were things I didn't know. They were questions I asked myself everyday when I walked home from school, questions I asked when I was pummeled for no reason.
But today was different. Today I wasn't asking questions, I was answering them. He wouldn't be beating me in the future. No, because I would fight back. I wouldn't let him boss me around, hang over me my whole life. He was going to pay for what he's done and make damn sure he won't do it again.
I could hear him walking behind me. I turned around. "Just stop. There's no reason for this." He stopped. He didn't say anything. He just looked at me. Then he ran. Towards me, he charged. His shoulder his me in the chest, winding me and knocking me to the ground. He got on top of me. "What was that? I couldn't hear you." I gasped and tried to say something but he punched me in the jaw. "C'mon, spit it out!" I spit in his face. I smiled for a second before he began to punch me, full force in the face. The pain was unbearable. I reached out my hand, into the street, looking for anything at all. I felt something cold and smooth, and produced a glass bottle, which I smashed ofer the back of his head. He collapsed on me, and I pushed him off.
"What was that you were saying, huh!?" I kicked him in the ribs. I grabbed him by the back of his head, lifted him up partially, and smashed his face back in the the pavement. Repeatedly. I pushed him on to his back with my foot and laughed at his bloody face and crooked nose. I noticed blood on my hands, the back of his head must've been bleeding. This made me angry. "You got my hands dirty you bitch!" I stomped on his mouth. The crunch made me smile. I got on top of him, grabbed his ears, and began to slam the back of his head into the pavement. Over and over again, until I was too tired to do it anymore.
I got up and took a look at my handiwork, and noticed a pool of blood under his head that was rapidly increasing in size. I watched in horror as I realized I had just killed someone. As I ran the rest of the way home, I thought about what had happened. That person was bad and he died. I was doing the world a favor, right? It was a good thing, right? I knew it wasn't. I knew that he was only making me as miserable as someone else was making him. I knew I was going to go to jail for this, and my life would be over. "Then why not make the most of my time?" When I got home, my Dad was still at work, and my Mom was sleeping. Quietly, I took the keys to her car out of her purse. I was only 14, but I'd been learning how I drive. I carefully removed the handgun my Dad kept under his pillow, and left the room quietly. I went to the basement and took a screwdriver out of my Dad's toolbox. Gun in my waistband and keys in my pocket, I got in my Mom's car. I stopped at the nearest gas station, and un-screwed the liscence plates on my Mom's car. I approached a parked car out of the way I people entering and leaving, and unscrewed those. I switched the plates, filled the tank, and drove off without paying.
I called my friend. "Have your parents take you to the Dairy Queen on the far side of town. Tell them you're waiting for John to get there to meet up with you, and he'll take you home. It's a lie. When they leave, meet me by the park, got it?" I hung up without waiting for a reply, and sat in the car by the park, surrounded by trees.
"What the hell is going on, why are you out here? Where's your mom, why are you in her car? Is that a gun? Are you crazy?" My friend asked these questions, and I gave him a single answer. "I killed a kid. I'm leaving the state, and you're coming with me." My friend's jaw dropped. "No, no I can't.... What!?" I took the gun from my waistband and out it on the dash. "You can and you will. Now watch what happens." I pointed to the park, where a larger boy took a box from a small child and pushed him over.
I got out of the car, and took the gun with me. I approached the larger boy, and pointed the gun at him. He dropped the box and put his hands up, and attempted to plead. Before he could get a word out I shot him in te chest. The smaller boy screamed, and crying, he yelled, presumably to me, "That was my brother!" I just looked at him as I put the gun back in my waistband. "Your brother was an ass."
I ran back to the car, and found my friend gone. I left without him. As soon as I was out of state, I switched license plates again. Now my plates were registered to this state. I had no money, but I could sleep in the car. For gas I could keep driving off at the pump.
I didn't know where I was going, but I had four shots left in my Dad's revolver, and I intended to out them somewhere meaningful.
I heard my name on the radio and turned it up. They were talking about the kids I killed. My friend must've called the police. But now I was out of state and had different plates. My friend was nowhere near me now.
Or so I thought.
To be continued..... (Don't'cha just hate endings like this? I'll get more up later.)
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