Malek Allari | Editor-In-Chief
“Well, what in the hell happened to you?” my mother said, shocked to see my beaten face and bruised body as I stood in the doorway of our old southern home. It was in a fight with some bastards who were hitting on my sister. At least, that is what I remember telling my mother. It is not the truth. The truth led me here, in prison at the age of twenty-five. The truth that haunted me for ten years finally caught up on my graduation day. Let me tell you right now, the story is about the truth; however, I will warn you right now, it is a truth that not many people will take it in and stay relaxed. This ugly truth is horrible in every way possible, and it is not like any other. Listen or read it at your own responsibility.
I was fifteen years old white boy living on a ranch. I had two little twin sisters, a brother in college, and a loving mother. My father was dead for a while, but his spirit still lives within us. That is my background and a little history of my household. Shallow waters of life drowned me, and school was nothing but a time of hell and misery, like a battlefield. Gangs roamed the halls, pushing people around, taking money from the weak nerds, or even asserting themselves on their plastic girlfriends. It was a fucked up place and time. One thing people knew about me is that you never fuck with my sisters. They thought and probably believed that I was a maniac when it came to my twin sisters. It was true.
It was October 25, 1993, on the breezy Tennessee night was the tragedy happened. My twin sisters were supposed to meet me at the front gates of our school. Only one showed up. She was silent and kept her eyes on the ground. “Where is Dolly?” I asked. She did not answer me. I held her wrist and pulled it towards me. “Where…is…Dolly?” I asked again with clenching teeth. “She…is…in the back,” she said with tears welling in her eyes.
I left my backpack with my sister and walked to the back of the school, where I heard Dolly’s cries. I turned the corner and saw my naked sister on the ground crying, and Dylan, the school gang leader, was stripping down. Three of his friends were standing around laughing and looking at my sister. Rage welled inside me. I felt nothing in my heart except bloodlust. The urge to kill all four of them. I walked in their direction with nothing in my mind. It was blank, like a piece of white paper. Dylan was the first to see me. He whistled, and all three of his friends held me down, kicking and punching me. I felt the pain with every hit, but it did not amount to the pain my sister felt, as it was filled with shame and sadness. I saw tears in my sister’s eyes. I am screamed. I can only hear my raging voice over the kicks and punches. All I saw was Dylan going for my sister. My vision went white as I pushed one of Dylan’s friends away. I stood up and punched at anything. I landed a punch on one of them. I kept punching him until I started cracking sounds from his face. My vision returned, and I saw the bloody knuckles of my right palm. I only felt one thing…solace.
I attacked the second one, tackling him to the ground. As he tried to stand up, I stomped my foot on his neck. The third punched me in the face, and the blood rushed to my cheek. The heat in my face was nothing but comforting. I held the third from his face and gouged his eyes. His screams of pain were delightful that night. It was then that I realized that Dylan had come at me with a knife. It was a military hunting knife. It was only a 4-inch blade, the legal limit to carry around a knife. My sister had a scared look in her eyes. She was not afraid that I might die or Dylan might do something to her in case he finished me off. She was scared because of my smile. My sweet, bright smile amid death, drowning, blinding, and possible stabbing was spread all over my face. The sensation of all this chaos was sweet, pleasurable, and joyful. There are no words for it.
I will cut the truth here and ask the question before I continue. Have you ever wondered what stabbing felt like? I know many of us wondered when we were kids what would it feel like if you put a knife into someone, whether it was as easy in the movies. Some of us even tried on our hands. I will tell you. It was not as easy as in movies, but sure as hell as fun.
Good old Dylan dropped his knife out of fear when he saw my eyes full of awe. Awe of the anarchy engulfing us. The anarchy that brought the sight of blood, the drowning sounds, and the cries of a blinded child. Dylan was no more than a child with a big mouth and small balls. My sister and her innocence inspired me in the past, but I know that o lost my humanity when my vision went white.
I picked the knife that Dylan dropped and walked to him. He went to his knees and begged. “Please…spare me! I will do nothing wrong again. I will leave your sis—” I cut him off as I put the knife in his arm. What kind of cliché is this? Begging for mercy, took it out of a historical movie. His screams were like a dressing to this discord, like ranch on a chicken Caesar salad. “I am grateful, Dylan,” I whispered in his ear, “Now I know the hope when someone stabs another. I see the hope of the slight chance of victory from the fatal injury I inflicted on another.”
My other sister came around the corner, dropped all our stuff, and put her hand on her gaping mouth. I saw the shock in her eyes and face. My smile was stuck on my face, and the knife was in Dylan’s throat. He died a few seconds after I removed the knife. His gushing blood was running down his body and ground like the Nile. The only thing that was great about this was the sound of dripping blood. Tck…tck…tck. Little…by…little. With its slimy texture.
That is the truth. Except for one thing I forgot to tell you. In the case of science is still interested in the taste of blood. It tastes metallic. Half steel and half gold, to be exact. “How would I know that?” that is easy. I requested a glass of fresh blood with burgers and fries before my death penalty.
I stood up and was escorted away. “What do you feel now?” I looked back with my sweet smile. “Serenity and love towards life that is filled with nothing but pride.” I walked away. “You know it is self-defense, right?” I looked back again and shook my head. “Criminals are liars. I am an only child, kid.” I walked away with tears in my eyes. My heart was full of regret of r the lie I had just told.