The Wild Ones(Blame it on Brandy and a bottle of perfume....)

Prologue.

"Name?"
"Mirah-Mirah McGregor "
"So Mirah..", the woman sitting across from me said my name with a sarcastic and disgusted edge to her voice that made me want to cringe, her gray needle-thin eyebrow was raised in disbelief.
I don't blame her.
The me of five years ago would be pretty disgusted with myself too.
"Care to explain to us why you did what you did?", my interrogator asked with barely concealed anger although I saw no reason as to why she should since ultimately I was to die anyway.
We were sitting in a glass box in the council room at a council meeting where the elders of our district met to hear cases and to decide who lived or who died.
I don't know why anyone in their right minds would want to listen to a bunch of old crows who use hearing aids and who do nothing but Umm and Ahhh to everything the interrogator says but oh well to each his own and all that.
Her sterling silver hair that shone like crystals under the overhead lights was done up in a bun so tight it seemed to pull at the flesh on her forehead and at the sides if her face, steely gray eyes hid behind horn rimmed glasses and her ruby-red heart shaped lips were pulled back in a hate filled sneer.
For someone that was supposed to be neutral she was seemingly biased. She wore a blinding white suit which represents neutrality and goes with the whole 'angel of death' persona that I'm sure she spent ours in front of the mirror each morning in order to achieve.
On either side of her, standing just a little distance behind her were my executors, dressed in black from head to foot they looked like death's twin brothers, their swords winking menacingly under the artificial lights in the room.
They stood in case I did anything suspicious and if I did they'd cut my trial short and kill me anyway.
This room was reserved for the most hardened criminals, the likes that killed in millions.
Usually the trials were poorly attended because people figured they'd rather do something more productive than watch someone die.
But not today.
Today the room was filled to the bursting with people dressed in red cloaks sitted to hear my trial.
As I glanced round I could practically hear what they were thinking. 'What is she doing here?what did she do?how can such a good girl from such a good home get here?'
I don't blame the crowd.
I'd have asked the exact same question five years ago.
But I didn't give a fat baboons ass about what the crowd was thinking.
Where was he?
I wasn't surprised that my parents weren't here to hear my trial and defend me. If the you-are-a-disgrace-Mirah-and-i'm-sorry-i'm-your-father speech didn't tip me off, the sad and disappointed look my mum threw at me sure as hell did.
I have never been good enough for them and i'd long ago stopped trying to scale the insurmountable standards they'd set for me.
It was always 'Mirah be better' or 'Mirah stop being a disgrace' in the McGregor household and that is why at the age of 18 I was glad to put my parents and the house in my rear view mirror.
"Miss McGregor, I'd only ask this question one more time and if you don't give an answer at the end of it we'll just skip this whole trial thing and get to the part where you die, is that clear?" I nodded, not in the least bit intimidated by what she just said but just to buy time.
"Now Mirah, why?"
Funny, because this is the same question i've been asking myself since the devil in an Abercrombie model's body waltzed into my life.
I'm yet to find an answer.
But I'd never admit that to anyone.
"It was what I wanted and still want to do, my reasons are best known to me alone, dear interrogator" Ismiled sarcastically and watched as scorn darkened the elfin features of her face to something almost grotesque.
I kept searching through the crowd.
Where was he?
"Well this trial was surprisingly short" she turned to the elders with an eyebrow raised As a sign to give room for an objection.
There was none.
"You do know you're going to die now Mirah, don't you?"
I waited for the ice-cold fingers of fear to take possession of my heart and when nothing happened, I smiled.
I wasn't scared. That was surprising and at the same time soothing.
So he's not coming after all.
I nearly laughed, a bitter, sarcastic laugh but as soon as I saw the face of my interrogator I stifled it. My death was to be painless and with a lot of dignity given the social and financial standing of both father and mother but I knew that one more wrong move and dearest interrogator would spit on the social standing and cut me open with a knife.
With the greatest amount of pleasure.
The executioners walked to where I was with stiff mechanical movements and began attaching transparent tubes to my body which were linked to the chair.
"The chair you're sitting on would infuse poison into your skin and you'd be dead in under 20 seconds, an all in all painless affair which is far more greater than you deserve".
Even though he never showed up I couldn't be mad- I could never be mad at him.
And I hated that, I hated it so much I could kill him.
But I couldn't.
The bastard.
Dying wasn't a big deal. Rolling with the devil came at a price and if dying was the price then I welcomed it with open arms.
At 22 i've lived and done things enough to fill 10 life times and if I could go back in time I'd do it all over again.
Not just merely existing as I was before, I was actually living.
And I was happy.
They warned me, they warned me alright but I just didn't care. His poison had sunk in so deep that I couldn't even think of anything else.
And I hated it.
And I loved it.
All at the same time.
I could feel the chair coming to life around and underneath me.
The interrogator was already holding the remote that would release me from this world.
It was only a matter of time.
"Before I begin Mirah answer me this........any regrets?"
The answer came as easy as breathing.
"None".

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Hi, thanks for reading!!! This is my first story so I need your opinion and advice please.....thanks again for reading :)