The Fetus
09-20-2007, 9:26 AM
I wrote this in summer school. A friend of mine liked it, but I think she was just flattering me. I think it's okay. It's kind of long and I know there are a few grammar problems, but unfortunately, I didn't have the time to find them. I tried not having him be too Holden Caulfieldish. But, some of the traits reflect on him.
It was a year ago, maybe around mid to late February. I left the local mall a little after 8:30. A bag of jellybeans are in my front pocket. I slipped them into my pocket when nobody was looking. I hadn’t stolen anything in years. I even had the money to buy it. But I didn’t want to waste 6 dollars on a small, half-pound bag of jellybeans. So anyway, I’m outside, and I light a cigarette. Marlboro Reds is all that I smoke. I remember looking at the front of that stupid, dull building. The sign read “Mall” with dimmed lights from rain and the sun. It couldn’t get anymore generic. It looked so old. A Famous Barr was connected to it. It was all so plain. So dull. So incredibly depressing. I bet that they added the Famous Barr so it would look less as bad. I walked across the parking lot. I felt so sly walking down it, hitting my cigarette.
Most smokers say they wish they never started smoking, I didn’t. I loved it. I quit, but I miss it. Especially Reds. They were really thick and it was like you had to eat the smoke when it came in your mouth. I went to my car. My sticker from my high school was peeling off on my window. I graduated after that year. I took it off and crumbled and put it in my pocket. I would have liked it if someone was with me at that moment. I sat down in my car. My Sex Pistols tape wasn’t rewound all the way. It was about the middle of the second or third song. I really can’t remember. So, I started rewinding it and pulled out of my parking spot.
The car I drove was a Chevrolet. I hated it. I mean, yeah it was fast and all, but I wasn’t too into that. I listened to Johnny Rotten singing while I finished that thick cigarette. I was feeling relaxed. I flicked it out the window and imagined a diesel truck was behind me, full of gas and explode and I’d look at it in my car window, not the rear view, and I’d just glance at it while it burst into an explosion of flames and keep on driving. Like it was nothing. And the whole time I was still listening to the Sex Pistols. I was taking it down through the back roads. I didn’t feel like going home for a while. There really wasn’t anywhere to go, so I ended up driving around like an idiot and listening to the same tape I listen to everyday. It didn’t bug me though. It did only until that moment when I thought about it. I lit another cigarette after that. I flicked my ash and parts of the cherry jumped off and looked like tiny fireballs. The houses there looked really nice. Not too rich looking or anything, but they weren’t pieces of crap either. They were next to the woods. I loved those back roads. Looking at the woods and enjoying the trees and the bushes. It’s just like they were scattered around, with houses between them. Still, I would have done anything to live in one of those houses there.
I just kind of drove and smoked for maybe half an hour. I think it was about nine or so when I looked at the clock. I needed to get to a pay phone to call my parents and see if they wanted me home or not. They’re kind of over protective. I mean, I was 19 for God’s sake. I graduated high school already for God’s sake. I was old enough to buy cigarettes, but not old enough to buy alcohol. I left the back roads and drove up to a part of town. I saw the familiar 7/11 sign and drove that way. The neighborhood there was pretty rough. Evanston. They got about maybe 2 shootings a day there. I’ve been there before, and nothing happened to me. I used to go there almost every day. Most of everyone I know has been there and nothing bad happened. The only thing I recall a person telling me that something bad happened there to them personally was a guy I knew named John Redferd or Redford. I can’t remember. He said he was getting gas and that two guys tried to steal his gas nozzle and put it in their car and get it for free and he had to pay for it. He caught them and they admitted it. That was it. Nobody I personally knew never had anything bad happen to them down there. The 7/11 sign was basically a lighthouse, but to know where town is instead of land. I made it down the road and shut off The Sex Pistols for now.
I was pretty low on gas. There’s a very old gas station there. Evanston I mean. There’s a fat black guy that works there and frequently reads Mad Magazine. I once heard he was named Carl. I’m pretty sure he owns the gas station. It doesn’t have a name; the sign that used to say “Gas Mart” fell off. There are only two pumps. I got out and put the nozzle in. The counter started going slow and picked up later. I wasn’t going to get anymore than 7 gallons. It was dark out. Too dark for what time it was. It wasn’t even 10 yet. I took it out and went inside to pay. Carl was there. He was eating a Butterfinger and reading Mad Magazine. He smiled a little bit at what he was reading. He looked up at me, looked back at the magazine, opened the register, put out his hand, and returned his attention to the magazine. I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my pocket. He looked at it. “I ain’t got no money in here to give you change. You got seven bucks on ya?” I took out a five. “All I got man,” “Alright, 5 is good, just don’t go tellin’ everybody about it.” He kind of chuckled. I turned around and walked away. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing at the situation or that stupid magazine that his eyes were glued to. When I was in high school, someone told me he was gay.
There was a payphone at the end of the block. I got in my car. I didn’t feel like listening to music anymore. My Reds were lying in the cup holder. I picked it up and shook it down so a cigarette would come out. I almost grabbed it. I pushed it back in. “Nah,” I guess I didn’t feel like smoking either.
It was all so incredibly depressing. Evanston was basically just ruins, I thought about the sign I couldn’t read at the mall and the sign at the gas station. You couldn’t read either of them. It was those little things that got me when I lived around there. The payphone had multiple tags on it. Other people would put their graffiti over the others and it went on for a while and it ended up looking like a demented rainbow. I picked up the phone, expecting it to be dead so I could feel more depressed. But it wasn’t, I put a dime in. I should have put in a nickel; I wasn’t going to on there for more than a minute. It rang. My mother answered. “Hello?” she said. “Hey mom.” I said. “Do want me home soon or anything like that?” “Well honey, it’d make me worry less. Please come home.” “Okay, bye” I hung up and while I was putting the phone back I remember hearing “Bye” before it hit the metal dial. “Damnit. I knew I should have gone to college.” I whispered. I kind of imagined somebody next to me.
I drove all the way home. I smoked maybe 2 cigarettes, but I didn’t turn the radio back on. I guess I wasn’t in the mood. I pulled up in the driveway. It was uphill a bit, so I pulled my break up. I flicked my cigarette a few feet in front of me and stepped on it while walking in. It made me feel cool. My mother opened the door before I got in. The light from the porch made it look like she had a shower cap on. “Malcom, do you want some tea?” “No thanks mom.” I said smiling while coming in the door. I took my jacket off and put it on the coat rack. “Is dad asleep?” I asked, “He’s in bed reading.” She said. I nodded. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a banana. It might have been an apple actually. Well anyway, I grabbed and it went in my room. I remember eating some of the fruit I had grabbed, but was too depressed to eat it all. I threw it away. I sat on my bed for a little while. I kept imagining what it would be like to live alone. I almost went to college. I was supposed to go next year. I’m currently in college now. I was lying awake in my bed. I just kept thinking about living alone and all the luxuries.
It was maybe 10 when I got home, and I was just lying around and watching TV until I decided to read a book. I read a few chapters of Castle of Days. I slid my bookmark in and tossed it on my dresser. It wasn’t bad, just kind of dorky. My alarm clock read around midnight. I wasn’t hungry, but I made myself go in my kitchen and eat something. I finished a bag of Lay’s in my cabinet. I mistakenly put the empty bag inside the cabinet and realized I did it on the way to my room. I was okay.
I went back in my room. It was still around midnight. I took out a cigarette from the pack I had in my pocket and remembered I had a second pack still in my car. I lit one. My father doesn’t mind that I smoke in the house, but sometimes my mom throws this fit. I usually do it in my room with the window open. I left it closed. There was no ashtray and I just let it drip on the carpet. I went up to my dresser drawer. I was looking for a pocketknife I had. When I found it, I smiled, cigarette in my mouth. I flipped it open. It mad a loud click! that you could hear a mile away. I closed it and snapped it back open. I smashed my cigarette on top of my dresser to put it out. I messed with the knife a little. I got it when I was in the boy scouts. In the summer before I went to fifth grade. It had a black handle, but it was metal. It felt cold and smooth. The blade was sharp, but the tip was a little dull. Stabbing somebody would turn out sloppy. It was still in incredible shape for something almost a decade old. There was hardly a scratch on it. It made me happy to see it again. It was like seeing an old friend.
I was still pretty upset. Over what, I don’t know. I closed my knife and slipped it in my back pocket right behind my wallet. I put my shoes on. I did leave later, but I put my shoes on for no real reason. I took a cigarette out and put it in my mouth, unlit. I was feeling incredibly awful. I was starting to feel sick. I took a look at my room like I’d never ever see it again. I walked to my living room and saw my high school diploma. “Graduate of South Parlington High School Malcom Barcel Class of 1997.” You’d think I’d be proud of that. I sure wasn’t. I absolutely hated that Goddamn high school. I was very glad to get out of it. I swear, I never kids so strange, perfect, and dramatic as I had there.
I went outside. A tree was blocking my view of my car. The cigarette was still dangling in my mouth. I inhaled a little bit. An unlit cigarette with the dry tobacco taste and it was like tasting dry leaves. I loved it. I lit it up and was feeling better. I put the pack in my left pocket instead of my right. Something was blocking it. My jellybeans! I took out the bag. I don’t know why, I suddenly started laughing like crazy. I even bent over a little and my cigarette fell out of my mouth. I don’t know why it was so funny. I probably woke the whole neighborhood up. I picked up my cigarette and I was still giggling when I put it in my mouth. I got in my car and sat down. I was still amused by the jellybeans. I sat in my car, grinning like an idiot. I took Reds pack out of the cup holder and replaced it with my found jellybeans. I put the pack from my cup holder in my pocket with the other pack I had. It was uncomfortable and I put one in my left pocket. I almost put it in my back pocket, but then they’d get smooshed. I could never say I wasn’t addicted. I had two packs of cigarettes in my pockets. I pulled out of the driveway. I felt really good. Like I was drunk or something. I was feeling happy. It was like jellybeans from an angel.
I drove up to a park in my town. I passed the high school I went to and slowed down to look at it in the middle of the Goddamn high way like a retard. I got a horn and sped off. I sort of lost it for a second there. I was still feeling pretty good. I finished my cigarette and put another one in my mouth. I almost died in an accident into a tree trying to get it out of my pocket too. I parked in an abandoned parking lot. It sure was creepy out. I walked up and down the sidewalk in circles around the park. Then I got really depressed. I smoked about 4 cigarettes during that walk. I almost had 5, but I stopped myself. I was almost out. I felt awful. And just a while ago I felt amazing.
I saw two people walking toward the sidewalk. I couldn’t see them all too clearly. It was around one or two in the morning. I didn’t expect people to be at the park. I kept walking towards them. I envisioned that they both would be some old friends of mine. I guess just to make myself feel better. I got a better look of them. The one on the right was wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up. I couldn’t see the bottom of his face. He was a black guy, maybe around 5’9 or 5’10. The guy on the left was also wearing a hooded sweatshirt that was black. He had his hood down and wore a dark blue baseball cap. I couldn’t tell if he was black or not. I really didn’t want to talk to these guys so I stepped off the curb and pretended like I was crossing the street. They stepped off too. I walked back on the sidewalk and so did they.
The one on the right had a bandana over his mouth. He looked at me. He looked at my feet than at my face. The left just kept staring at my face. “Gimme yo money!” The one on the right said. I thought that he was joking. He showed me his fist. He had brass knuckles. The one on the left pulled a small, child size baseball bat out of his enormous pants. He was a skinny white guy. “Gimme you money!” The one on the right said again. It made me kind of angry. “I don’t have any money!” I barked. “Motha fucka! I said hand ovah yo money!” he shook the brass knuckles at my face. “Don’t make us fuck you up man!” He said. He one on the left had a toothpick in his mouth. "Fuck off!" I yelled. “Aight man, give ‘em duh bat!” He said to the one on the left. He paused for a second. The one on the left nodded and smiled. “Wait!” I cried. “Look! I got 10 dollars! I’ll give it to you! Just don’t hurt me please!” I reached into my back pocket. Something cold and smooth slithered my hand. I gripped it. I was shaking like crazy and I had my left hand toward them showing my fear. My knife. My 10-year-old pocketknife was in my hand. I took it out slowly. If I snapped it open, I’m sure they would have heard. So, I opened it up very slowly with one hand. It clicked a little.
They didn’t hear it. “Hear… Look… Just take it and leave me alone…” I threw my right hand toward the one on the right, knife in my fist. It landed in his Adam’s apple. He yelped before I stuck it in his throat, but he was silenced with the blade in his esophagus. I wasn’t scared, I was sad. I was happy. I twisted the knife downward. His blood shot out like it was a hose. I was sad. He was gargling his own blood and gasping for air. The one on the left looked in horror as his partner in crime lay dying. The moment he turned to me, I jutted the knife in his right eye, he screamed in pain and agony. I removed the knife and returned it into his belly. He stopped yelling, I pushed it in deep and turned left and right and left and right and left and right. The other one was still choking on his blood. Blood vomited out of the one on the left’s mouth. He fainted on the ground and I knew he was dead. Eyes still open staring at me. I thought about maybe shutting his eyes with my fingers. They were sad, the eyes. They looked right at me saying, “We just needed money. We were never gonna hurt nobody...” His toothpick was still in his mouth. The other one kept his hands on his throat. Shaking. The gargles in his mouth became less and less rapid. The whole time my face was plain and overly normal. It didn’t feel too weird. I walked to my car. I turned on The Sex Pistols and ate a few jellybeans for about an hour and then got home at about three or four in the morning. The next day I heard about it on the news. They didn’t make a big deal out of it. The suspect, me, was “still at large.” They said the wound to the guy’s neck was from a fork.
Nobody ever found out it was me. In fact, this is the first time I openly admit this. I now am 21 years old and I am attending Elmwood College in Scotland. I guess America just bored me. It rains here a lot. I kind of like it. It’s a little depressing, but I guess I like being depressed too.
Tell me if it's good or whatever.
The Scotland thing isn't from Oxtail or anything. Elmwood was a college I was looking into.
It was a year ago, maybe around mid to late February. I left the local mall a little after 8:30. A bag of jellybeans are in my front pocket. I slipped them into my pocket when nobody was looking. I hadn’t stolen anything in years. I even had the money to buy it. But I didn’t want to waste 6 dollars on a small, half-pound bag of jellybeans. So anyway, I’m outside, and I light a cigarette. Marlboro Reds is all that I smoke. I remember looking at the front of that stupid, dull building. The sign read “Mall” with dimmed lights from rain and the sun. It couldn’t get anymore generic. It looked so old. A Famous Barr was connected to it. It was all so plain. So dull. So incredibly depressing. I bet that they added the Famous Barr so it would look less as bad. I walked across the parking lot. I felt so sly walking down it, hitting my cigarette.
Most smokers say they wish they never started smoking, I didn’t. I loved it. I quit, but I miss it. Especially Reds. They were really thick and it was like you had to eat the smoke when it came in your mouth. I went to my car. My sticker from my high school was peeling off on my window. I graduated after that year. I took it off and crumbled and put it in my pocket. I would have liked it if someone was with me at that moment. I sat down in my car. My Sex Pistols tape wasn’t rewound all the way. It was about the middle of the second or third song. I really can’t remember. So, I started rewinding it and pulled out of my parking spot.
The car I drove was a Chevrolet. I hated it. I mean, yeah it was fast and all, but I wasn’t too into that. I listened to Johnny Rotten singing while I finished that thick cigarette. I was feeling relaxed. I flicked it out the window and imagined a diesel truck was behind me, full of gas and explode and I’d look at it in my car window, not the rear view, and I’d just glance at it while it burst into an explosion of flames and keep on driving. Like it was nothing. And the whole time I was still listening to the Sex Pistols. I was taking it down through the back roads. I didn’t feel like going home for a while. There really wasn’t anywhere to go, so I ended up driving around like an idiot and listening to the same tape I listen to everyday. It didn’t bug me though. It did only until that moment when I thought about it. I lit another cigarette after that. I flicked my ash and parts of the cherry jumped off and looked like tiny fireballs. The houses there looked really nice. Not too rich looking or anything, but they weren’t pieces of crap either. They were next to the woods. I loved those back roads. Looking at the woods and enjoying the trees and the bushes. It’s just like they were scattered around, with houses between them. Still, I would have done anything to live in one of those houses there.
I just kind of drove and smoked for maybe half an hour. I think it was about nine or so when I looked at the clock. I needed to get to a pay phone to call my parents and see if they wanted me home or not. They’re kind of over protective. I mean, I was 19 for God’s sake. I graduated high school already for God’s sake. I was old enough to buy cigarettes, but not old enough to buy alcohol. I left the back roads and drove up to a part of town. I saw the familiar 7/11 sign and drove that way. The neighborhood there was pretty rough. Evanston. They got about maybe 2 shootings a day there. I’ve been there before, and nothing happened to me. I used to go there almost every day. Most of everyone I know has been there and nothing bad happened. The only thing I recall a person telling me that something bad happened there to them personally was a guy I knew named John Redferd or Redford. I can’t remember. He said he was getting gas and that two guys tried to steal his gas nozzle and put it in their car and get it for free and he had to pay for it. He caught them and they admitted it. That was it. Nobody I personally knew never had anything bad happen to them down there. The 7/11 sign was basically a lighthouse, but to know where town is instead of land. I made it down the road and shut off The Sex Pistols for now.
I was pretty low on gas. There’s a very old gas station there. Evanston I mean. There’s a fat black guy that works there and frequently reads Mad Magazine. I once heard he was named Carl. I’m pretty sure he owns the gas station. It doesn’t have a name; the sign that used to say “Gas Mart” fell off. There are only two pumps. I got out and put the nozzle in. The counter started going slow and picked up later. I wasn’t going to get anymore than 7 gallons. It was dark out. Too dark for what time it was. It wasn’t even 10 yet. I took it out and went inside to pay. Carl was there. He was eating a Butterfinger and reading Mad Magazine. He smiled a little bit at what he was reading. He looked up at me, looked back at the magazine, opened the register, put out his hand, and returned his attention to the magazine. I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my pocket. He looked at it. “I ain’t got no money in here to give you change. You got seven bucks on ya?” I took out a five. “All I got man,” “Alright, 5 is good, just don’t go tellin’ everybody about it.” He kind of chuckled. I turned around and walked away. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing at the situation or that stupid magazine that his eyes were glued to. When I was in high school, someone told me he was gay.
There was a payphone at the end of the block. I got in my car. I didn’t feel like listening to music anymore. My Reds were lying in the cup holder. I picked it up and shook it down so a cigarette would come out. I almost grabbed it. I pushed it back in. “Nah,” I guess I didn’t feel like smoking either.
It was all so incredibly depressing. Evanston was basically just ruins, I thought about the sign I couldn’t read at the mall and the sign at the gas station. You couldn’t read either of them. It was those little things that got me when I lived around there. The payphone had multiple tags on it. Other people would put their graffiti over the others and it went on for a while and it ended up looking like a demented rainbow. I picked up the phone, expecting it to be dead so I could feel more depressed. But it wasn’t, I put a dime in. I should have put in a nickel; I wasn’t going to on there for more than a minute. It rang. My mother answered. “Hello?” she said. “Hey mom.” I said. “Do want me home soon or anything like that?” “Well honey, it’d make me worry less. Please come home.” “Okay, bye” I hung up and while I was putting the phone back I remember hearing “Bye” before it hit the metal dial. “Damnit. I knew I should have gone to college.” I whispered. I kind of imagined somebody next to me.
I drove all the way home. I smoked maybe 2 cigarettes, but I didn’t turn the radio back on. I guess I wasn’t in the mood. I pulled up in the driveway. It was uphill a bit, so I pulled my break up. I flicked my cigarette a few feet in front of me and stepped on it while walking in. It made me feel cool. My mother opened the door before I got in. The light from the porch made it look like she had a shower cap on. “Malcom, do you want some tea?” “No thanks mom.” I said smiling while coming in the door. I took my jacket off and put it on the coat rack. “Is dad asleep?” I asked, “He’s in bed reading.” She said. I nodded. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a banana. It might have been an apple actually. Well anyway, I grabbed and it went in my room. I remember eating some of the fruit I had grabbed, but was too depressed to eat it all. I threw it away. I sat on my bed for a little while. I kept imagining what it would be like to live alone. I almost went to college. I was supposed to go next year. I’m currently in college now. I was lying awake in my bed. I just kept thinking about living alone and all the luxuries.
It was maybe 10 when I got home, and I was just lying around and watching TV until I decided to read a book. I read a few chapters of Castle of Days. I slid my bookmark in and tossed it on my dresser. It wasn’t bad, just kind of dorky. My alarm clock read around midnight. I wasn’t hungry, but I made myself go in my kitchen and eat something. I finished a bag of Lay’s in my cabinet. I mistakenly put the empty bag inside the cabinet and realized I did it on the way to my room. I was okay.
I went back in my room. It was still around midnight. I took out a cigarette from the pack I had in my pocket and remembered I had a second pack still in my car. I lit one. My father doesn’t mind that I smoke in the house, but sometimes my mom throws this fit. I usually do it in my room with the window open. I left it closed. There was no ashtray and I just let it drip on the carpet. I went up to my dresser drawer. I was looking for a pocketknife I had. When I found it, I smiled, cigarette in my mouth. I flipped it open. It mad a loud click! that you could hear a mile away. I closed it and snapped it back open. I smashed my cigarette on top of my dresser to put it out. I messed with the knife a little. I got it when I was in the boy scouts. In the summer before I went to fifth grade. It had a black handle, but it was metal. It felt cold and smooth. The blade was sharp, but the tip was a little dull. Stabbing somebody would turn out sloppy. It was still in incredible shape for something almost a decade old. There was hardly a scratch on it. It made me happy to see it again. It was like seeing an old friend.
I was still pretty upset. Over what, I don’t know. I closed my knife and slipped it in my back pocket right behind my wallet. I put my shoes on. I did leave later, but I put my shoes on for no real reason. I took a cigarette out and put it in my mouth, unlit. I was feeling incredibly awful. I was starting to feel sick. I took a look at my room like I’d never ever see it again. I walked to my living room and saw my high school diploma. “Graduate of South Parlington High School Malcom Barcel Class of 1997.” You’d think I’d be proud of that. I sure wasn’t. I absolutely hated that Goddamn high school. I was very glad to get out of it. I swear, I never kids so strange, perfect, and dramatic as I had there.
I went outside. A tree was blocking my view of my car. The cigarette was still dangling in my mouth. I inhaled a little bit. An unlit cigarette with the dry tobacco taste and it was like tasting dry leaves. I loved it. I lit it up and was feeling better. I put the pack in my left pocket instead of my right. Something was blocking it. My jellybeans! I took out the bag. I don’t know why, I suddenly started laughing like crazy. I even bent over a little and my cigarette fell out of my mouth. I don’t know why it was so funny. I probably woke the whole neighborhood up. I picked up my cigarette and I was still giggling when I put it in my mouth. I got in my car and sat down. I was still amused by the jellybeans. I sat in my car, grinning like an idiot. I took Reds pack out of the cup holder and replaced it with my found jellybeans. I put the pack from my cup holder in my pocket with the other pack I had. It was uncomfortable and I put one in my left pocket. I almost put it in my back pocket, but then they’d get smooshed. I could never say I wasn’t addicted. I had two packs of cigarettes in my pockets. I pulled out of the driveway. I felt really good. Like I was drunk or something. I was feeling happy. It was like jellybeans from an angel.
I drove up to a park in my town. I passed the high school I went to and slowed down to look at it in the middle of the Goddamn high way like a retard. I got a horn and sped off. I sort of lost it for a second there. I was still feeling pretty good. I finished my cigarette and put another one in my mouth. I almost died in an accident into a tree trying to get it out of my pocket too. I parked in an abandoned parking lot. It sure was creepy out. I walked up and down the sidewalk in circles around the park. Then I got really depressed. I smoked about 4 cigarettes during that walk. I almost had 5, but I stopped myself. I was almost out. I felt awful. And just a while ago I felt amazing.
I saw two people walking toward the sidewalk. I couldn’t see them all too clearly. It was around one or two in the morning. I didn’t expect people to be at the park. I kept walking towards them. I envisioned that they both would be some old friends of mine. I guess just to make myself feel better. I got a better look of them. The one on the right was wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up. I couldn’t see the bottom of his face. He was a black guy, maybe around 5’9 or 5’10. The guy on the left was also wearing a hooded sweatshirt that was black. He had his hood down and wore a dark blue baseball cap. I couldn’t tell if he was black or not. I really didn’t want to talk to these guys so I stepped off the curb and pretended like I was crossing the street. They stepped off too. I walked back on the sidewalk and so did they.
The one on the right had a bandana over his mouth. He looked at me. He looked at my feet than at my face. The left just kept staring at my face. “Gimme yo money!” The one on the right said. I thought that he was joking. He showed me his fist. He had brass knuckles. The one on the left pulled a small, child size baseball bat out of his enormous pants. He was a skinny white guy. “Gimme you money!” The one on the right said again. It made me kind of angry. “I don’t have any money!” I barked. “Motha fucka! I said hand ovah yo money!” he shook the brass knuckles at my face. “Don’t make us fuck you up man!” He said. He one on the left had a toothpick in his mouth. "Fuck off!" I yelled. “Aight man, give ‘em duh bat!” He said to the one on the left. He paused for a second. The one on the left nodded and smiled. “Wait!” I cried. “Look! I got 10 dollars! I’ll give it to you! Just don’t hurt me please!” I reached into my back pocket. Something cold and smooth slithered my hand. I gripped it. I was shaking like crazy and I had my left hand toward them showing my fear. My knife. My 10-year-old pocketknife was in my hand. I took it out slowly. If I snapped it open, I’m sure they would have heard. So, I opened it up very slowly with one hand. It clicked a little.
They didn’t hear it. “Hear… Look… Just take it and leave me alone…” I threw my right hand toward the one on the right, knife in my fist. It landed in his Adam’s apple. He yelped before I stuck it in his throat, but he was silenced with the blade in his esophagus. I wasn’t scared, I was sad. I was happy. I twisted the knife downward. His blood shot out like it was a hose. I was sad. He was gargling his own blood and gasping for air. The one on the left looked in horror as his partner in crime lay dying. The moment he turned to me, I jutted the knife in his right eye, he screamed in pain and agony. I removed the knife and returned it into his belly. He stopped yelling, I pushed it in deep and turned left and right and left and right and left and right. The other one was still choking on his blood. Blood vomited out of the one on the left’s mouth. He fainted on the ground and I knew he was dead. Eyes still open staring at me. I thought about maybe shutting his eyes with my fingers. They were sad, the eyes. They looked right at me saying, “We just needed money. We were never gonna hurt nobody...” His toothpick was still in his mouth. The other one kept his hands on his throat. Shaking. The gargles in his mouth became less and less rapid. The whole time my face was plain and overly normal. It didn’t feel too weird. I walked to my car. I turned on The Sex Pistols and ate a few jellybeans for about an hour and then got home at about three or four in the morning. The next day I heard about it on the news. They didn’t make a big deal out of it. The suspect, me, was “still at large.” They said the wound to the guy’s neck was from a fork.
Nobody ever found out it was me. In fact, this is the first time I openly admit this. I now am 21 years old and I am attending Elmwood College in Scotland. I guess America just bored me. It rains here a lot. I kind of like it. It’s a little depressing, but I guess I like being depressed too.
Tell me if it's good or whatever.
The Scotland thing isn't from Oxtail or anything. Elmwood was a college I was looking into.