Indigo Children

Written Statment #7 Charlie

I, Charlie Sayner, make this statement of my own free will. I understand that I do not have to say anything but that it may harm my defence if I do not mention when questioned something which I later rely on in court. This statement may be given in evidence.

We have issues like wet tissues. We are good for nothing, youths. Flush'um.

Dirty fridges of society with pockets full of blame—empty-headed people lacking boundaries, guidance, and the knowledge to obey you like a civil person.

Don't expect us to come out clean and grateful for your lack of fundamental rights and judgmental comments as if you know me well.

I'm more intelligent, interesting and integrated than any cop in the shop.

You should listen. This system is falling.

If my youthful mind ever wanted to prove you wrong, it's now more than ever. I will do everything I can to reveal and then silence your doubtful voices once and for all.

You flashed your lights at me on my way home as if you were looking for me.

You know, the school therapist once told me that my trauma will live with me forever because, in my head, it still feels like it's happening to me. I don't ask for help because I'm used to hiding alone. I act out as a means of self-protection. I have a heightened sense of my worth because if I don't value myself, who will?

I stopped for you both to get out your shiny blue and white, remembering I used to play with a police car as a child. Fairy tails are what they are, I guess. You both smirked at my Nike Air Max trainers while thumb-ribbing your means of ammo.

Without your uniform, you're just like me. You've made mistakes, you've got issues, and you most definitely use your male energy to win. That's what I know, too: to fight, intimidate, and ensure the man beside you is always weary. That constant need to be ready for anything. That ability to act first. How every feeling you have has a colour of red behind it.

With how many times you two have hunted me down in the past four years, I get you wanting to rip my shirt and teach me a lesson, but that makes you no different from me. I'm a pest, and so are you. I'm the threat in the room, and so are you, except you go by the police, and I go by Charlie Sayner; I ain't under nobody's union but my own.

After I stuck the nut on Gable's massive Swede head and just a second after that, when you both threw me to the ground, I heard your radio going off. You both ignored it—too busy proving your manhood to my chest. Pfft, it took the two of you to pin me down. You were so desperate to cause me pain, to hear me struggling, that your job, your responsibility, went way out the window—it flew out.

Kids like me shouldn't be on par with your Witt, but I seem to be the exception. I am enough for you, two well-established law officers, to break all you believe in. Your anger towards me had you by the balls at that moment. And then all hell let loose.

Police cars came from everywhere. I was cornered and held at gunpoint. My immediate thought was, what the fuck has Chase done now? I may be a pain in the neck, but I'm nowhere near desperate measures.

The coppers that pulled me up for no reason looked dumbfounded while I was being searched. I was open about wanting to make a formal complaint, but I will never see that form.

Sargent-old dude turned to his merry squad of men and hand-jesters to lower their weapons. They had the wrong person, yet they still put me in bracelets and raged me into the police car.

I sat there unbothered by the commotion going off around me until I heard one officer shout Lockwood, and that's when I sat up to hear more. A riot van appeared to the left of my car, and I couldn't hear anything.

I'm mad at Chase, so I don't give a shit. He can get himself out of whatever hole he's dug this time.

What did he do now? Has he killed someone? Drove someone over the edge? Has he robbed the wrong person?

Nah, it's hard for me to watch him spiral down like this. Chase is more than a friend - he's like a brother. I would do anything for him, and that's why I can't accept the path he's on. I refuse to walk by him in a few years and see track marks up his arms. I couldn't bear to find him living on the streets in a box, soaked with urine, with no recollection of us.

We have an empire with the Indigo Children shit. He is the brains behind all of this. Yeah, Rudy thinks he's the boss, and Western believes his name is the definition of fame with his dance moves, but I know Chase plants all the seeds and lets everyone grow from afar. He's the person that carries all of us.

He's fearless, never shying away from standing up for what's right. He possesses an unparalleled understanding of the world and its shortcomings, which makes him acutely aware of the people's foolishness.

He sees beauty in the dirt. He finds an opportunity in our youth that was at one time bound to burn. He shows us there is power in vulnerability and that we should never regret not speaking out loud and clearly.

But sometimes, loud and clear isn't enough. I've listened to Chase on the phone to social services, begging them to help Quinn. But there was nothing. Nobody took her away in the middle of a lesson or came looking for her.

Quinn was in the hospital two months ago with three broken ribs and burn marks on her thighs. Doctors and nurses didn't have suspicions—no questions asked. She was patched up and sent home the same day.

All this shit is breaking Chase down. What's happening to Quinn is messing with him mentally and physically.

Chase is gifted with every gift, and he's letting everything go for...

He started smoking weed. Now he's moved on to heavier stuff.

We have this ongoing joke that Chase is a geek stuck with the hot boy hashtag, and man, does it wind him up. Deep down, he is the boy who loves his own space and a chemistry set. Chase loves books. He can play the guitar and write like Bob Dylan, and he is so sensitive that it's unreal. Recreational drugs are his way of keeping out all the thoughts in his head. I know it is.

I knew that on Sunday morning, he was robbing sheds. He's doing just about anything for a bit of cash. Yeah, I'm grassing him up for a time in prison if it means he'll get clean. If that's the only way, I'll do it. I'll tell you whatever you want to know.

Seventeen years old and probably about to do a second stint in prison. I mean, I never saw this coming when we were five years old kicking a football on the streets. I never thought my best mate would become an addict. I never thought I'd see him fading away like this.

He and I were unlikely mates, as I've always been the arrogant one with a body calved from marble and happy to be stroked all summer long by girls, but it's because of the differences that we became best mates.

He keeps telling me everything is under control, but is it fuck. He's ignoring his problem.

I saw Anna on Bankwood on the phone before she turned around and ran off somewhere. Suddenly, the two cops got in the car, and everyone started to move towards the pit.

I was in the car for hours, not knowing what was going on. Nobody will tell me anything.