O2

Psychopath

Krys' POV

  I shoved open the rusty cemetery gates. The world was like a barren desert, save for me, the flowers I had planted before Greg's grave, and a man dressed in black holding a bottle of beer. I choked on the smoke from his cigar combined with the smell of scorched earth.

  "Is there a problem, sir?" I asked, trembling slightly.

  "I'm afraid I must ask you to leave with me, ma'am."

  "Wha-- why?"

  "You know perfectly well why, sweetheart. Scientists have discovered oldarketite mixed in with our oxygen. You should've been underground with the rest of mankind a long, long time ago." A slur came with every word.

  "I'm sorry sir, I was visiting . . . an old friend."

  The man pulled out his cigar and blew a cloud of nicotine in my face. "Lady, are you insane? There ain't no people up here anymore, nor will there ever be again."

  "He's dead, sir. My friend is dead."

  "There isn't time for tears and prayers up here, babe." He threw his cigar down, buried it in ash, and took a swig of ale.

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm from the government, girl."

  "Are you really, or are you just drunk?"

  "Both at the same time." He winked. I didn't believe a word he said.

  "And what do you mean, 'no time for tears and prayers?!" I snapped. "My fiance is dead, and all you care about is getting drunk and possibly high?"

  "Spot on," he laughed. "Say, how 'bout a kiss?"

  "A kiss?" This guy was the last person I wanted to flirt with.

  "Yup. A kiss from you. Since your boyfriend's dead and all."

  "Hmm . . ." I leaned torwards him. "You know what I think about that?"

  "What?" He moved close to me."

  "I think . . ."

 "Yeah?" He panted.

  "You can . . ."

  "Yeah?" His eyes were wide.

  "Kiss my FIST!" I punched his revolting face with every inch of strength I had, sending him shooting like a rocket into the cemetery gates. He landed with a thud, blood dripping out of his nose. He whimpered. "What's wrong, you poor thing? Never gotten in a FIGHT before?" I stepped on his stomach, grinding it into the burnt soil. "You're pathetic. A loser. How could the government have hired a dunderhead like you?" I yanked the bottle out of his shaking hands and struck his forehead with it, the impact so strong that the bottom broke into pieces. Shards of glass sliced his skin.

  "Please, stop!" He begged. "I'm sorry! S-O-R-R-I-E!"

  I dropped the broken bottle. I could see he was suffering. I could see his sincerity in his glassy eyes. "I'm so sorry," I whispered before dropping the bloody broken bottle.

  I sat him down right next to Greg's grave, beneath the last remaining tree. I took bandanges from my knapsack to help mend the damage I had done to him. Then, I removed my soft, thick winter cloak and wrapped it around the drunkard to keep him warm. Examining the bag he had dropped, I found drugs, cigars, and a few bottles of whiskey. I destroyed it all; I couldn't let him harm himself after this.

  Then I ran. I ran for hours until I thought I was free, but then I was circled by vultures. Vultures from the government. They took me away, underground. I wished I was out, away from these people.

  How could I have been so selfish?

  Had I gone insane?

  I nearly killed a man, for God's sake!

  The underground world was basically Hell. We were starving, the air was poisoned, nothing could allow us to survive. It grew to the point that we all had to shut ourselves in our rooms carved out of the dry soil. Even then, we were all slowly dying, getting sick, coughing up our own selves. And I deserved it; I deserved every little bit.

   When I was called to the United Scientists meeting, I felt like I had another chance to redeem myself from my psychopathic ways. From then on, I knew everything would be much better.