Interview of Jane

Prologue: The First Event

I stared at the computer screen, my eyes blurred the way eyes do when you stare too long at technology.

I had that sick feeling in my stomach, you know, when you drink too much coffee on an empty stomach. Gene Krupa plays in the background. If you don't know, Gene was an eccetrent drummer and jazz musician from the 40's. One of my favorites actually, he was known for his consistently  enthusiastic preformences and lifestyle. But you don't really care about that do you? You want to get right to the good stuff. Well you'll just have to wait. Trust me; I want to tell you my side just as much as you want to hear it. You sit there, behind that glass, watching me. You're probably recording this huh? Want to hear all about the vigilante exsperience. But first you have to get to know me, so that you can really understand. I promise, that everything I say is of the upmost importance, and if you listen closely, if you're patient. I'll give you a story kid, hell, the best of your career. But let me just swear, right here and now. Everything I say is true. Every, Single, Word.

It was this night, this normal, run of the mill, seemingly average night, that everything changed. Every story has a begining, and this is mine. I grew up like any normal kid. I had a loving mother and father, an older brother, and a dog named Scrappy. My one and only exsperience with death or any pain what so ever was when my goldfish Angel died. That's right, I was one of those sheltered, christan kids. I was never popular, but not unpopular either. I grew up in a day and age when having to wear glasses and having a gigantic tuba hiding your braces was no biggy. I was born to be a cheerleader or something of that sort. But no, I was a band geek. I was that kid that sits in the corner with her nose shoved in a book. The one everyone knows as an acquaintance and  assumes she has friends because she's so nice. Truth was, I'd always been kind of a loan wolf. Wasn't until I came out of the closet that my social life really took off. People would tell me that I was brave, that they accepted me. Luckily I'd waited until the end of my senior year to blab. Suddenly everyone had wanted to be my friend. Every boy wanted to "turn me" . I was more then happy to be rid of the attention, and used the money I'd been saving from years of working, flipping burgers, to move to San Antonio to become writer. My family accepted me in all ways, and supported my decision, although I don't think they ever believed I would ever take off as a professional writer. It is important for you to know that I had never had any excitement in my life. In fact the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me, was forced upon me by my mother. It all started in 4th grade, when a boy pulled my hair. I love my mother, but she has a tendency to overreact. She made me join, train, and compete in different fighting events  until I turned 16. I used to thank God for those lessons, but now, I don't think he had much to do with it. Why? You ask. Oh I believe in God, I very much believe in his spirit, and the good book, and all thing related. I just know he has turned his back on us. Don't believe me? Well think of this: there I am, sick from coffee, large glasses framing the bags under my eyes from too many late nights working in the library. Poor unsuspecting fool. So forgetful; yet refusing to "throw out the rule book". Sometimes I think about where I would be if I hadn't forgotten to turn off my music after I locked up that night. It had been between songs, and silent, but as I had started to walk away, I heard the "Strip Polka" drifting through the door. The library was in an odd spot of San Antonio, surrounded by old family owned shops that had all closed for the night. I was paid by the day and given permission to stay as long as I wanted, which was always late, so I could use the computer. My writing hadn't yet taken off as I had hoped and I was having trouble getting published. I would spend endless hours perfecting my college essays, researching famous authors, trying to learn everything I could.

I had this huge crush on my boss's granddaughter Marissa, who just so happened to open every weekday. There was absolutely no way, in hell that I was about to leave that dorky music playing for her to find. I went in, and turned off the music. As I was locking the door back up, I heard a small, weak cry for help coming from somewhere down the street. It made my blood run cold. I don't know how to explain it. The sound hit me the way one of those commercials with abused animals pulls at your heart, mixed with the panicky feeling you get when you can't find a light switch. I turned quickly, almost slipping and falling in the puddle that had accumulated from the morning rain. I followed the sounds, walking slowly, breathing heavily, wiping my hands on my jeans and trying to ignore the stagnant air. Eventually I found him, a small boy, no more the 7. He was laying next to a dumpster in an ally way and a man, dark haired and tall, smelling of booze and ciggerates; had his boot on the boys chest. He casually lit a ciggerate as he put more pressure on the boys body. A fury spread through me, stronger then any emotion I have ever felt in my life. This vile man, and the horrid scene before me, filled me with such a rage that I cannot describe or put in words that would give such an emotion justice. I lept into action, I must have cried out as a ran towards that man. For he looked at me with such shock and guilt in his eyes. That is the only thing  I admire of him. He knew what he was doing was sick and wrong. Something I cannot say I have found often in the eyes of those I've punished. Something so rare, it has tainted the very fabric, no, even the seams sewing my love for God. Instinct took over and I rapidly, well; lets just say that I stopped him. With more force then I would have ever intended I admit, but he was breathing when I was done. More then he deserved in my opinion. I called an ambulance for the boy and the man and waited with them until it came. I wanted to stay with the boy, but I was exhausted and there wasn't enough room. I gave my statement to the police, and went home. Again. I should make it clear that excitement of any kind was not something that I had ever exsperienced or even fantasized about before. That night, I learned what it was to live. To feel something besides worry or anxiety. I wanted more of it. That feeling, exuberance. That feeling, that spark, that's what started it.

*Authors Note:
I apologize for any typos, I just really wanted to get this story out, its 5:14am here. Promise I'll fix them as soon as I can, Hope you enjoy!:)