The Retort

Internal

Thu February 4th, 2010 by Kyla Mollett Of The Retort Staff

There was a gun in my hand. I didn’t know where it came from; it just appeared in my right hand. I knew the minute I saw it that someone had died by my hand. I immediately felt remorse.

I did not know who it had been or why, but I just knew someone’s blood had been shed. I was sitting in a car that was not my own in the passenger seat. I don’t remember who else was with me, but I do remember someone in the back seat. The car was a silver Monte Carlo, a two door, very sleek looking.

I remember driving it before the gun showed up. I had caused mayhem in a city that was not my own. Driving at top speeds through neatly manicured lawns, and for some reason I recall a skate park. The sun had still been peaking over the horizon, probably around dusk, but no one that I had seen at the time was around to witness our vandalism.

But now that I think about it, holding this pistol in my hand, I become paranoid. What if someone did see me? What if they can somehow tie the act of vandalism with a murder? Then I think what if someone saw me do the killing? I don’t recall pulling any triggers, or retrieving a gun for that matter, but I do know that I used it on someone, that’s for sure.

My mother came out of the house which the Monte Carlo was parked in front of. It was nobody’s house that I had ever seen. She approached my side of the car and I felt a rush of fear. She’ll see the gun! I reached in the back with the gun in my hand and swiftly hid it in a paper garbage sack that lay on the floor. I then noticed that the car had about three inches of miscellaneous trash that layered the floor. The gun was hidden well.

The next thing I know I’m sitting in a warm living room with about six or seven people in it sitting on couches and arm chairs and the floor. They were all conversing amongst themselves as I just sat back and thought. I knew that only one other person knew about the murder. I trusted that he wouldn’t say a word. But could I trust myself?

My heartfelt heavy in my chest, and my brain felt as if it had been on over drive for months. I was suddenly tired. I must have lost contact with some form of reality because I leaned forward and kissed the person sitting on the floor on the forehead. A look of confusion came across her face, and I anxiously apologized telling her I thought she was someone else, which I really did. I waited a few moments and then asked if I could speak with her outside.

My anxiety rose much higher, I had a fear that I would spill my guts about the killing and that I would be caught. We went outside and she leaned up against a wall, not making eye contact with me the entire time he stood outside. I told her, with exhaustion in my voice, that I was feeling a bit crazy today and that I had become very confused while inside the house.

I began to say that I had done something today that was eating at my insides, but as I did this people poured out of the house onto the stoop we stood on and I ended my sentence abruptly. I had this feeling in my chest that I knew would be there until the day I died. I don’t know what it was, but it had to do with the fact that I had a secret to hide.

I could tell no one. It was also that I had to run and hide if in fact my act of vandalism that evening made me a suspect in a murder. I just had a feeling it would. But what if I got away with it? Could I possibly let myself get away with this? Would I turn myself in?

I did not know. I felt the cold of night swirl around me, it binded me from the inside out, and I did not know what to turn. My family would not accept this, and I don’t think that God will either. I was alone in the cold world.