I remember the first time I killed, I felt how fragile another living being could be. The flesh shredded by the bullets, the last short and painful breaths. The false confidence I gave myself as I clenched my gun to stop my hands from trembling.
It was the first time I saw blood. A real live bloody corpse. It was at my feet, right in front of me. My father, three bullets in his head, two in his chest and one in his shoulder and arm, was lying on the ground in front of me. I staggered a few steps back as I wiped the blood splatters from my face.
I let out the breath I was holding as I came back to myself. I quickly looked around. The study was a mess and my thoughts were running wild. My knees gave out and I crashed on the hardwood floor, puking my breakfast.
Run. I had to run.
I shoved the revolver in my hood's pocket with the USB key and pulled myself up. Leaning heavily on the desk, I rummaged through the documents and pieces of paper and grabbed everything that could come in handy before bursting through the door. I ran across the house, took the car keys from the "vide-poche" and reached the garage. I unlocked the Nissan's door and sat down behind the wheel. Panting, I fumbled to try and get the key into the ignition.
Shit! The garage door. I shot out of the car to the pad, pushed the button and rushed back in. I started the car and zoomed out in the driveway. I drove through the neighborhood, passed the restored old mill, to the left at Garrison's and then to the on-ramp. As I reached the highway, police cars sped in the opposite direction. Sweat dripped from my forehead, I could actually feel myself sitting down in the interrogation room, officers screaming at me to pull the what they needed out of me. And that was me murdering my father. They didn't need a motive, they already had one prepared. A frustrated and repressed son, tired of his parents ordering him around, comitting a hate crime to get himself out of his situation. The kid was a sociopath since the moment he was born and then would ensue a battery of test and psychological torture to prove they were right. By the end of the process, I'd turn crazy and the shitty lawyer they'd provided me would try and convince me to admit I'm guilty of my crimes. He didn't even hear me out or listen to the whole story, what do I know! I'm just a kid! The judge would then pronounce himself and condemn me to an asylum without any chance of getting out completely sane and apt to function normally in society.
They'd be kind of right. I don't function normally, I can't conform to the rest. I'm not normal, I'll never be. I leaned on the armrest and opened the glove compartment. I pulled out a tissue and wiped my face clean. I also had to get a change of clothes since I was covered in blood. My father's blood. I gagged at the tought.
Many cities whizzed by before I reached the next state. They were no news on the radio about the crazy kid that shot his parents dead, which freaked me out.
They knew. The police, the authorities, the government if I'm damned, knew.
I stopped at a run down gaz station in the middles of nowhere. I filled the car's tank and stepped inside to pay. My boots squeeked on the linoleum. The old man lifted his head from the newspaper and eyed the awkward teenager that just walked in. I squinted my eyes under the buzzing neon and looked around to spot the rack filled with crappy souvenirs and grabbed the first tee I saw. I walked up to the register. The old man, named Oliver from his badge, stared at my blue and red hoodie behind his round glasses. Guess you can't say it's not creepy when someone covered in blood walks into your gaz station in the dead of the night to buy some gum and tee.
He scratched his bald head ''Everything alright son?''
I nodded as he tapped the register's button.
''Forty-three dollars and eighty-nine cents'' he said.
I pulled out the cash I had on me. Twelve dollars. The man looked at me and shrugged ''Give what you have and get out''
''Do you think I can use your phone?'' I said.
He nodded and turned to pull the phone from it's base and gave it to me from behind the counter. The cord hung loosely from the wall to the handset, menacing to rip itself from the base at any moment. I pushed in my aunt's number and brang the handset to my ear.
''Hello?'' chimed the high- pitched voice. I sighed in relief, they hadn't get to her yet.
''Auntie, we need to meet'' I said ''I'll meet you over at your place in a few hours.''
