With a solemn expression, I stare at this person sitting beside me in a room full of people. Laughing and talking merrily without a care in the world. This person who had been with me for thirteen years. This person who had lent me a shoulder while I cried when they lowered my mom's casket. This person who held me in his embrace when I woke up one morning to find the police flooded around my dad's limp body. This person who had opened his arms and home to me when I had nowhere else to go. This person who had always managed to make me smile after a night of silent sobbing. This person who was my rock. This person who had been a beacon of hope for countless other people.
This person who I'm about to kill because I have to.
I just have to.
In a split second, I cock my gun and aim at his temple.
There's blood on my face and a body thumps near my feet. I hear screaming in the distance. A siren ringing in my ears. There's panic and commotion around me. Though, to me it feels like time has frozen. I feel numb. My hands are shaking. I try to move, let alone run, but I can't stop staring at the chunks of brain splattered on the floor. My feet are soaked in his blood and gore. His favorite white T shirt quickly turning crimson. I spot a tiny marble around his neck that I gifted him on his 26th birthday.
Fuck that marble.
Slowly, I come to and finally feel the warm blood trickling down my face. I see the gun clutched tightly in my hand and I feel nothing. I have no guilt, remorse or sadness inside me. I'm void of emotions. I would like to scream, even laugh, at the sight before me. The beautiful sight of this horrible man covered in his blood, slumped down like he's sleeping peacefully. He might as well be.
But I don't feel shit.
I yank the marble necklace from around his neck, shove my gun back in the holster and run out of the establishment.
And I run. And run. And run until the screaming and sirens are nothing but mere faint noises behind me. I run until it hurts to breathe.
My head is empty. I can't think straight. I just blew someone's brains out. I don't think it's completely sunk into my mind yet. It seems so surreal.
Did I really shoot someone?
I slow down my pace to a jog and eventually stop.
What the fuck do I do now? Where do I go?
I scan the premise and find myself in a sketchy neighborhood. I hear laughter die down in the distance and look over to see a couple of men gazing at me. A couple of predators.
They can sense fear.
I pull my hood over my head and enter a nearby building. Immediately, a putrid smell fills my nostrils and I gag. I cover my nose with the sleeve of my jacket and head to the back of the building. There are rats scampering along the dimly lit green hallway. A little boy, in his underwear, pokes his head out of curiosity. He seems intrigued and opens his door a little wider to step out. I catch a glimpse of his mother crushing white powder with a card on a glass table. Their place is littered with bongs, lighters, empty alcohol bottles and pills. Before I could further pry, the boy is roughly pulled in by his father who glares at me and slams the door shut.
Well, fuck you too.
I hear slow and deliberate footsteps approaching behind me and look over my shoulder to see those men inching closer. I turn around the corner, take off my shoes and quietly hurry upstairs. My socks masking my footsteps.
See, I knew they were my lucky yellow socks.
Funny how a small meaningless decision could later help you get away from possible predators. I chuckle to myself.
I didn't even have time to hide when I heard the men run out the back door of the building below me. Four men with rotten teeth and draped in dirty clothing. I heard them say something along the lines of whore, but I'm pretty sure they were talking about their mothers.
I mean, who else could it be?
Why am I so calm? Is this a normal reaction after blowing someone's brains out? Do I wish I was feeling something right now? At least a little scared? Or even anxious?
I have pills of my own. They help me relax. They help me think straight. I don't blame that woman for snorting some with a husband like that.
Men.
I turn around and see a pregnant woman eyeing me. She looks down at my yellow socks and then back up at me. I quickly put my shoes back on and approach her. I notice the woman slightly tense up, protectively putting her hands around her big belly.
"I need to use your bathroom." I state.
She points to a wide open door. She seems scared but determined enough to stay put and watch me.
I wonder what I'd look like pregnant. Would I willingly want to ruin my body for a baby that could potentially grow up to be those men I encountered earlier? You never know with children, or people in general.
I shake my head and enter the bathroom.
Fuck.
I'm covered in dried blood. Taking off my bag and jacket, I stare at myself in the mirror. You would have been able to see my sharp features; my tan skin, thick eyebrows and a small nose; my dark brown hooded eyes and full lips; the way my long ebony hair fell over my shoulders and covered my breasts. I'd have put my looks to good use had I lived a happy and carefree life with no responsibilities. But now all I see is a tiny aged face with wrinkles in the corner of my eyes when I attempt to smile. The dark circles letting people know of the countless restless nights I've had. My hair is short and unevenly cut. And I'm weak. So weak and small. I splash some water on my face and arms to remove the stained blood and filth off of me.
His filth.
Still nothing, though. I killed a person and I'm nonchalant as ever.
Should I pop a pill?
No.
I stuff my jacket in the trash, steal a shirt off a clothing line, grab my bag and rummage through it to check for my passport and cash.
Hmmm. This will do for now.
I need to escape.
I hoist myself out the window and jump.
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