Criminal Maybe

The Kill

Have you ever anticipated something, but it wasn't a good kind of anticipation? Almost like you are going to have to eat a giant plate of peanuts, but you know you're allergic? Think of that, but on steroids. That is me right now. Sitting here on my windowsill looking out my window at the street below. At my neighbors' front door. 

They had painted it green last year in hopes that it would be less generic. After all, every door on my street is white. But everyone else ended up liking it and decided to paint it the exact same shade of green. Totally defeating the purpose of the whole thing to begin with. But that's what it's like in my town. If you're different, everyone wants to copy you.

But now, I can see as parts of the paint are being stripped away each time the battering ram hits the door. I can hear the splintering from all the way up here. A wispy piece of my hair falls in front of my eyes and I push it behind my ear. I know how this is going to end but it is still interesting to watch. After a few minutes, the door is open. I see the government men in black as they file into the house, kicking aside the remains of the door. One light at a time flickers on in the house and each time, a few minutes later, it goes out in the same fashion.

Eventually, they reappear, this time dragging a teenage boy behind them. His black, shaggy hair falling down around him framing his face perfectly. The same shirt he wore to school this morning. A dark blue hoodie. Troy. He's in my fifth period at school. He's even saved my butt a few times when I forgot my homework. It can't be. 

They pull him out to the sidewalk. He's struggling the whole way there and at one point knocks the feet out from one of the guards closest to him. The man stumbles but regains his standing and his composure in a heartbeat. 

They finally get him out to the middle of the street. No cars come this way because people do not need them in this part of the country. We walk everywhere. 

They take his arms and force them behind his head with great difficulty as he writhes around and shakes violently. I can tell from how his mouth is moving and the small noise that he is yelling at them to let him go. 

Why is he being taken? He's done nothing to prove that he will be one of those. He's a good student. Why?

I silently wish that he would stop moving. Surely he must know what they will do to him if he doesn't comply. 

Apparently he doesn't as he is still fighting. A single tear rolls down my cheek and collects at my chin. I don't bother to wipe it away. I can't help him now.

The main government agent pulls out a piece of paper and starts to read him his rights. Not that he's going to have any anytime soon.

Suddenly, Troy kicks the man in the stomach. The man doubles back, clutching the place where it hurts but like the other soldier earlier, he regains his composure in an instant.

And now Troy has sealed his fate.

With one swift motion, the man pulls a gun out of his pocket and aims. A shot rings out and then everything goes silent as Troy falls to the ground motionless. 

One more tear falls down my face. But not for Troy. Because I know in a week.

That could be me.