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NOBODY really ever tells you how to live. You're born, unwillingly at that; and you live, just to die. You spent an average of eighty years just breathing to eventually die, turning into nothingness. People around you expects you to finish high school, go to college, get a good nine to five job, then just die.
I don't want to live like that, I don't want to be another average person. I feel like if I was to truly make something out of myself, I would put that shit to good use. I refuse to be just another person in this world who made maybe three hundred grand a year; then waste away into the air year by year.
The day that Fez's house got raided, the day I murdered, I made a choice. I had the choice to just wash my hands off, ridding that stupid fucking rats blood clean off me, or I could go to war about it. I went to war, because I would fucking die before I see my family being dragged away in handcuffs for something I did.
Seeing Alex laid out on the floor, his body slowly going pale and all the blood draining out of him; it fucked me up, bad. I've seen people die, my parents were drug dealers and they didn't fuck around with that shit; but seeing my brother, I don't think I will ever recover from that.
And god, the look in Ash's eyes when the cops kicked in that door, the way he looked at me, it made me regret everything. The pure horror in his brown eyes of seeing me with that gun in my hand, shooting the officer down. I don't regret shooting the cop though, he was gonna die eventually just with the occupation he chose; I just regret everything else.
If I could go back to that day, I promise you I would change everything. I would wash my wands, and sit the fuck down like I was supposed to. I would keep my mouth shut, my hands put behind my back as the cops blasted through the front door; I would have did what I was supposed to do. That way, Fez and Ash would be here and I wouldn't be sitting in my room talking to you.
I was raised around drugs, guns, murder, violence. Being violent is all I know. I was a sweet little girl, who ended up having two kills on her record at seven. I can see everything as it happened, the burning building, my screams, the burns covering my body that never really healed; it's all flashing in my mind as we speak.
If time travel was real, I would go back and turn that fucking stupid stove off. My parents didn't deserve that. I didn't deserve that. Seeing my childhood home burning to the fucking ground as I scream on my front lawn, neighbors surrounding me as I kick and cry, just wishing for nothing more for them to get out the house.
People say it's my fault, and they're right, it is. I was young, but I wasn't stupid. I knew that I needed to turn the stove off, and it just slipped my mind. Who doesn't turn the fucking stove off? It's not rocket science.
I felt threatened that day. The way Custer started stuttering over his words, shaking his head and looking around nervously, I knew shit was about to get real. You're probably sitting there wondering "why the fuck did you kill him?" It's a simple answer, because I didn't want Ash to get in trouble.
