Read Online H. A. Carter by Kimberly Fuller - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kimberly Fuller
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uncontrollably
at my feet.
John slumped to floor, his mess of tears
leaving dark round droplets on his pant legs. He hung his head in
shame as I stuck his own gun against the top of his head.
“You were my friend,” I said softly.
John cried out louder, choking on his spit as
he bawled. Drool began to gather in pools on the
floor below him.
I lifted the gun as more screams filled the
echoing room around us. I brushed my hand across the dampness on my
face, flicking sweat from the tips of my fingers.
“Are you ready to die, Maggot?” I shouted
hoarsely.
John cried out sharply. The shame in his
voice seeped achingly through my bones.
“Aaagghhh!” I growled, swinging my arm hard
and fast, striking him on the back of head with a deafening thud.
John moaned slightly and dropped peacefully to the ground. I nudged
my hand into the pocket of John's flannel shirt.
Good night, Sweet Prince.
“You did the right thing.”
“I know.”
36
I spared John that day. That single act still
stands as the one choice I do not regret. Not only had I spared the
life of my once best friend, but also sentenced him to a lifetime
of emotional punishment having to live with himself after all he
had done. Two birds with one stone, I guess.
I wonder if he thinks about me anymore? He's
forced himself to stop talking to me. The new meds must be helping.
I don't blame him. Most days I wouldn't want to talk to me either,
but it doesn't mean I'm not just a little curious. I've thought
about John a lot over the last few years I've spent Here. The brief
memories that have seeped up are mostly ones of regret and shame
after he abandoned our friendship, but there are those few that
slip in, unnoticed, that always bring a smile to my skeletal face.
Sweet memories of uncharted imaginations running a muck and wild,
tearing down the walls of the troubled realities we would otherwise
endure. We were like two peas in a pod, kindred spirits, we were
Batman and Robin for Christ sakes!
No matter what he did, he was still my best
friend. Even had he joined JJ that night, somehow, I think I'd
still forgive him. It sounds so crazy to admit it, but it's true.
Even when he turned his on me, I still had his back.
Perhaps that small fragment of truth is one
of but a few rare pieces of evidence I have to argue for my
humanity. If ever I begin to give in to the constant whispers that
I am nothing more than a demon, all I have to do is think of those
little moments. I never said that I was a great human, just that I
am one.
37
My feet shuffled back and forth as I waited
outside John's house. I could hear his parents arguing loudly from
the living room, wafting outside to where I stood. Not much could
be understood, but the hatred in their voices was clear as day. I
felt bad for John when they fought. I think he thought it was his
fault for some reason that they fought, but I knew some people just
didn't belong together. My mother was a firm believer in that. Just
as I was about to walk down the street, John emerged from the door.
Shame and embarrassment painted sadly across his face. I decided
against asking what the fight was about this time and tried to play
it off like I hadn't heard.
“So, you wanna go play some catch at my
place?”
John sighed in relief and nodded his
head.
We walked down the street side by side, but
as emotionally distant as the moon and sun. I shoved my hands deep
in my pockets and kicked some rocks as we strolled the few blocks
to my house. I peered at John's solemn form beside me. Quiet
crystal tears rolled down his cheeks.
I stopped walking. I couldn't take this
anymore.
“John, your parents are stupid. None of what
they do is ever your fault. They just suck,” I finished my rant in
a huff and waited for John's rebuttal.
The tears down John's cheeks began to dry in
the warm breeze. Suddenly John lunged forward and hugged me
tightly. He squeezed my torso so hard I couldn't breathe.
“John...John...,” I
at my feet.
John slumped to floor, his mess of tears
leaving dark round droplets on his pant legs. He hung his head in
shame as I stuck his own gun against the top of his head.
“You were my friend,” I said softly.
John cried out louder, choking on his spit as
he bawled. Drool began to gather in pools on the
floor below him.
I lifted the gun as more screams filled the
echoing room around us. I brushed my hand across the dampness on my
face, flicking sweat from the tips of my fingers.
“Are you ready to die, Maggot?” I shouted
hoarsely.
John cried out sharply. The shame in his
voice seeped achingly through my bones.
“Aaagghhh!” I growled, swinging my arm hard
and fast, striking him on the back of head with a deafening thud.
John moaned slightly and dropped peacefully to the ground. I nudged
my hand into the pocket of John's flannel shirt.
Good night, Sweet Prince.
“You did the right thing.”
“I know.”
36
I spared John that day. That single act still
stands as the one choice I do not regret. Not only had I spared the
life of my once best friend, but also sentenced him to a lifetime
of emotional punishment having to live with himself after all he
had done. Two birds with one stone, I guess.
I wonder if he thinks about me anymore? He's
forced himself to stop talking to me. The new meds must be helping.
I don't blame him. Most days I wouldn't want to talk to me either,
but it doesn't mean I'm not just a little curious. I've thought
about John a lot over the last few years I've spent Here. The brief
memories that have seeped up are mostly ones of regret and shame
after he abandoned our friendship, but there are those few that
slip in, unnoticed, that always bring a smile to my skeletal face.
Sweet memories of uncharted imaginations running a muck and wild,
tearing down the walls of the troubled realities we would otherwise
endure. We were like two peas in a pod, kindred spirits, we were
Batman and Robin for Christ sakes!
No matter what he did, he was still my best
friend. Even had he joined JJ that night, somehow, I think I'd
still forgive him. It sounds so crazy to admit it, but it's true.
Even when he turned his on me, I still had his back.
Perhaps that small fragment of truth is one
of but a few rare pieces of evidence I have to argue for my
humanity. If ever I begin to give in to the constant whispers that
I am nothing more than a demon, all I have to do is think of those
little moments. I never said that I was a great human, just that I
am one.
37
My feet shuffled back and forth as I waited
outside John's house. I could hear his parents arguing loudly from
the living room, wafting outside to where I stood. Not much could
be understood, but the hatred in their voices was clear as day. I
felt bad for John when they fought. I think he thought it was his
fault for some reason that they fought, but I knew some people just
didn't belong together. My mother was a firm believer in that. Just
as I was about to walk down the street, John emerged from the door.
Shame and embarrassment painted sadly across his face. I decided
against asking what the fight was about this time and tried to play
it off like I hadn't heard.
“So, you wanna go play some catch at my
place?”
John sighed in relief and nodded his
head.
We walked down the street side by side, but
as emotionally distant as the moon and sun. I shoved my hands deep
in my pockets and kicked some rocks as we strolled the few blocks
to my house. I peered at John's solemn form beside me. Quiet
crystal tears rolled down his cheeks.
I stopped walking. I couldn't take this
anymore.
“John, your parents are stupid. None of what
they do is ever your fault. They just suck,” I finished my rant in
a huff and waited for John's rebuttal.
The tears down John's cheeks began to dry in
the warm breeze. Suddenly John lunged forward and hugged me
tightly. He squeezed my torso so hard I couldn't breathe.
“John...John...,” I
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