Just South of Heaven

Dakota(Koy)

It was a few weeks before I brought that gun to school.

I was out back of the school, taking drag after drag of my cigarette, knowing nothing could calm my racing nerves.

I hated school.

If there was one thing I learned to hate, it would be the towering hell-bound building behind me, teasing me of my misfortune.

Unlike the rest of Texas, I wasn't very religious. I spent my time bidding over my pities rather than praying tomorrow would be a better day, because I learned awhile ago that praying to a figurtive person was nothing short of frustrating, knowing all my calls would go unanswered and I was just wasting my breath.

I had one person I could trust, and I still pushed them away.

My sister. My ill-tempered, annoying brat of a sister I loved. But I never told her this.

Grade 9 started for me, and since then, being happy became a chore. I learned to hide every feeling in my body, and I learned too early that no one cares. No one needs to care about the person who brings them pain. I pushed my sisters need for some sort of affection to the back of my mind, because the burden of Miles and his crew became too much, and soon, that would be all that is left on my mind.

I tore myself up, and I wished, hoped, and hell, I'd pray, no matter my lack of Christanity, that Miles would die.

Just fall off of the face of the earth. I wished for justice, for all of the things he did to me. My rage would boil, and soon, I'd see red. I wanted him gone.

My family was a wreck.

My mother was a recluse. I hadn't cared for her, and I still don't. My father was my rock, we always had fishing trips, and hunting parties when I was younger. He had passed away 5 years ago, and my mother was still as depressed as before. I wish I could call we pathetic, but I was no better.

I wallow in my own self-pity. It's all I can ever think about. It's all I do think about. It's become my life. The teasing, the pushing, the verbal and physical harrasment. It all. Became. My. Life.

And in a few short weeks, it'd end. I was sure of it, because every thought, every movement I made soon was formated onto my obsession, my need for control. The only thing that could make this life worth living.

I needed Miles dead. That's all I thought about. Nothing would stop me, because I was dead set on seeing him to his own demise, as he did I.

All irrational thinking of the boy 5 years ago was gone. I wasn't anything but a dead void, needing something to latch onto. I'm not a person, I'm not living, I'm just here.

As long as I ended this suffering, I could move on.

Dead, dead, dead.

That's all I could think. Anyone who got in my way would be the next to go. No one would stop me from shooting my daddies pistol he had signed me in his death bed. I would hold it in my right hand, I'd unlock the safety, I'd load the bullets into the barrel, and then they'd all click into a single motion.

Click, click, click.