A Series on Death Pt. 6
Confessio a Morte
Hello everybody… heh, this is fucking crazy. Uhh, my name is Sebastian. I’m here today because I made a choice, but not just a choice for me. I.. I made a choice for somebody else as well (Although, I guess all choices impact somebody else in the grand scheme of things). It wasn’t my intention to go there and do what I did; fuck, it wasn’t my intention to even be there, but… You know, it’s not just me, people are always finding themselves in situations where they have no idea how they got there, who they’re with, or what’s even going on. I don’t know how I ended up on that street in front of that gas station, but I pray to God every night wishing that he’d wake me up from this nightmare and I could just run into my mother’s arms like I did when i was a little boy.
I don’t know where it all even started; it could’ve been my neighbor Jerry who sent me down this spiral, it could’ve been the incessant bullying at home and school, it could’ve been the constant need to disobey my demon of a father; it could even be the fact that all I ever do is deflect blame. Either way, I can’t keep going down the same road over and over and over again. I’m the one who chose to get in with those shit heads, I’m the one who chose to inhale the devil and put him into my veins. I’m the one who chose to dangle off the railing above hell thinking I’d always be able to just pull myself back up. “It’s not gonna happen to me, it’ll never happen to me, I’m different than everybody else.” Hmmph, fucking naïve.
Anyway, regardless of which trauma I wanna throw the blame at, it was me who was sitting in that gas station parking lot and it was me that confronted him in the street. It wasn’t supposed to… I mean, it wasn’t horrible right away. I saw him walking down the sidewalk from afar, stumbling around like he’d had just a few too many. I just asked him for some change and he said he didn’t have any and then rushed his way into the store, probably hoping he could maintain balance by thrusting his body at the door.
He spent a good few minutes in the station, I assume getting whatever his drunk mind found intriguing; I know I would’ve spent hours staring at combos in that state. As he came out of the store I could see he stuffed the entire store into three plastic bags. My first instinct as he walked past me and kicked my coffee into the street, forgetfully unaware of my existence, was one of confusion; How did he buy all that shit if he didn’t have any change or money? But that confusion slipped to anger faster than I even thought possible and it… it just overtook me and I still can’t comprehend how.
“You fucking scumbag.” I thought it was under my breath, I thought it was in my head, honestly now I’m thinking I was talking to myself; but it was far too loud for anybody to think that. He turned around, said some things my way in confusion and frustration and I just lost the lid. I don’t know what I said to him after that, or even what he said to me, but I have not stopped thinking about the look in his eyes when I finally did it. Pff, Jesus Christ, of course I only start crying now. That look of fear and pain, of wanting to go back somewhere simpler and warm, some place familiar where all the troubles of the world go away. That look that screams for mother that I would see in the mirror every day of my god damn life. I saw it… I saw it in his eyes… I saw my eyes.
I just shouldn’t have said anything, he’d probably still be here. Hell, I know he would still be here. But of course not, I can never just leave things alone. Now he’s dead and there’s one less child for a mother to hug in her arms when things get tough. You know… I wasn’t even fucking high. I had been sober for 3 months, things were kind of going well. I was managing to find work every now and then, and my mother was finally willing to talk to me after all I had done to her. Fuck, it’s almost like I did this shit on purpose; you self-sabotaging cunt.
You know what the worst of it was? It’s not the fact that I couldn’t hang on to the railing even in the right frame of mind; it’s not the fact that I stole a child from their mother; it’s not the fact that I even killed him. No, it’s gotta be that the moment I did it and I grabbed his wallet I realized that… he uh.. He bought all that shit with a God damn credit card. Hahaha, talk about a bowl of irony for breakfast. I can never just leave things alone. Now he’s dead and I’m rotting in this psych ward with all of you. So, yeah, I’m Isaac and it sure is nice to meet ya.
