1994
"So why did we leave in such a hurry?"
She says it like it's not a question, like she already knows the answer.
"Did he try to kiss you?"
"No, no he didn't. He left me alone."
"So why?" She says it sweetly this time, she wants an answer.
"I don't know mom, I just felt really ill, we needed to leave. I might puke though. Not because of him, I just have this bad feeling in the back of my mind and I just feel like throwing up."
I feel a bit bad for leaving, but not bad enough to call him when I get home or go to the park, and I lock myself in my room and refuse to open the door for anyone.
"Alastair! Alastair, please kill me! I want to get out! I want to die!"
I want to leave, so badly. I do like this boy, I think I do, but I know I shouldn't hurt him. There is no way out without hurting him. I just hurt him by trying not to, but leaving. I don't know if he even got home safely.
I need to get out, this might even be worse than 1988.
That year was the worst thing that could have happened.
It was the reason why I quit, and this, this emotional toll is not one I need right now, especially after that. Instead of being good, now I am the one inflicting the pain. I am the one causing it, not Richard or Ben or Jenny or Gladys or even Jorge. It's me.
YOU ARE READING
Judges
ParanormalAugusta is not quite herself. She's dead too. In fact, she has been dead for eighty-six years. But this is all part of the job description. She's watching you. They all are, watching every move you make to see where you will end up in the afterlife...
