__Kim0__
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- Posted: Sun, 27 Feb 2005 05:24:59 +0000
"Get outta here, f**," I yelled across the playground at the short tubby kid. He just stood there dumbly, and looked at me funny. I'll have to show him how to do it, I thought to myself. So I did as movies taught me; I'll teach him a lesson. I punched him in the guts twice and another time for good luck. God knows, he deserved it.
My name's Jon and I'm guilty of manslaughter. I'm serving twenty five years and I've been here for two and a half. The shrinks here are making us "no-gooders" write a reflection on what went wrong in our life. How we screwed up. Who screwed us up. Who we screwed up. I had a few words to say to that, but I thought better of it. I'd rather have dinner, thank you very much. So anyway, instead of writing my life story, they said to write about my childhood to start off with. Geez, could they be any more boring? Well, that’s probably what happens when you stay in a prison for a few years. Your brain starts to disintegrate and you forget what fun and interesting is. Well, here's what has happened:
"What's 25 over 75?" the teacher asked. No one knew the answer, except for me. I pitied them, for what little brains god had given them. I yelled out the answer and then got into trouble for not putting my hand up. They yelled and yelled, as per usual. Mum against dad. Dad against mum. Mum and dad against me. I would usually go to my room and slam the door to their screams, but sometimes I would stay, just for the fun of shouting at my parents. But at the end of the day, I'm always riled up by their fights.
"Did you steal Henry's shoes?" the teacher asked me for the third time. I just looked at her hard and answered as I had the other times she had asked me.
"No, I didn't."
"We know it was you, so stop lying. I am going to report this to your parents and you will get after school detentions for a week. Is that understood?"
Denials fell on deaf ears.
He pushed a smoke into my hand. All the other boys behind the shed were already sucking the horrible gases. They were probably only doing it to feel older. Stupid 11-year-olds who think they're so great. I refused and got taunts from all.
The yelling had finally ceased for the day at about nine that night. It usually finished around then, when they were both yelled-out. They slammed doors and that was when I could turn my music down. I spent a lot of my time on the computer, to get away from the life I was living. I loved to role play; the only thing I could control in my life.
"You failed maths?" "Why do you bother attending school these days?" "Your grades have dropped so much this year." "Are you doing drugs...?" and so it went on the night my year 7 report card came home. My dad didn't even go to school.
A spit ball hit the teacher on the back of the head as he wrote on the board. His head snapped around with his face bright red. He looked straight at me so I didn't have enough time to wipe the smirk off my face.
"GET OUT!"
He stalked out behind me as I reluctantly sauntered out of the classroom. He leaned so close to me I could smell the faintest hint of whiskey in his breath.
"You are to go straight to the principal... no, you are going to have an after school detention for the next two weeks, not to mention a note to your parents and your next offence will be suspension. Understood?"
My denials fell on deaf ears. Again.
I stepped off the bus after the third afternoon of detention and walked home. I've had enough of school. I wish it would burn in hell- teachers and students. When I opened the door and stepped inside, it was quiet, so I assumed mum and dad were out somewhere. I dumped my bag in my room and slumped on my bed. The room span and I realized I was crying. That's for losers, I thought, and wiped them away. I trudged into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat and was startled to find my mum on the floor crying. I loved my mum. I always have, always will. I wondered if she knew that. I went over to her and put my arm around her. She didn't say anything, but stopped crying. We sat there for a while and I wondered why I didn't hold her more often.
One day after another detention, I got off the bus. A bunch of hard looking guys in about year eleven stepped off as well. As I walked, I realized they were still behind me. I had been growing pretty quickly and was standing at about 170cm and like many boys that age, I was tall and lanky with not enough meat to fill out my muscles. I kept walking and turned the corner into my street and then they came. The boys from behind pushed me into a wooden fence and made a semi-circle around me. I didn't recognize anyone, except the leader. He was a well-built, good-looking Vietnamese guy who was slightly taller than me.
"What're ya doin' punk? Dyu realize you're on our turf?"
I shook with fear, but I tried to hide it, so I said, "Who says?"
"Ooo, a tough guy, ey"
He then proceded in punching me in the face. There was blood everywhere and I made a blind swing at him, but only to make a fool of myself. They all snickered at my inability to fight. The next bit is a blur of punches and kicks, but all I can say is that by the end of it, I could have drowned in the pool of blood that had been made. They swiftly jumped a fence and left when the look-out spotted someone coming their way. I lay there, splattered on the concrete path wishing it was a magic carpet of soft cushions that could take me home.
A month or two after that incident, I got home only to find my mother like before; crying on the ground. The only difference was that there were bruises on her arm that weren't there when she had handed me my lunch that morning.
"What happened?" I asked.
"You're father's gone to live somewhere else. I don't think he'll be coming back for a while. He told me to tell you to study and not fight with other kids again."
Then she broke into tears. I did as before and held her, trying to comfort her and keep my anger under control.
I made a routine of working out my muscles everyday. One hundred push-ups and a hundred sit-ups everyday before school and when I got home from school. I'm going to kill those bitches when I see them again, I'd think.
My mum couldn't handle the divorce. She got depressed and cried everyday. She couldn't help it and in the end, five months later, drank some poison and died while I was at school. I got home and found her lying on the ground, still clutching a bottle of cleaning detergent. I panicked and ran next door, only to scare the neighbours with my nonsensical gibberish. It took me a few hours to calm down. The next thing I knew, my dad was there to ship me off to his place; a unit in a suburb twenty minutes from there. I hated the world. Actually, that's wrong. I hate the world.
I disappointed my dad again. I kept going to school, but that year I had failed all my subjects. I had to repeat year ten. My dad had a fit and screamed until I thought his veins might have busted under the pressure. Well, needless to say, he was not a happy man and kicked me out for that night. He told me to get out and have a think about my future. So I did. I had no future. I was angry. I was alone.
I had been eyeing this girl for a while. She wasn't like the rest of the girls around. She wasn't a girly girl, but she wasn't manly. She laughed at my jokes, even though we both knew they were lame. I couldn't help it, but she knew I'd been through a lot, and no one showed it like she did. I talked to her when I could, without giving away the fact that I thought I loved her. She was the centre of my world for a long time. We were friends for about a year and then we realized we liked each other. So I asked her out to this party everyone was going to. So we hooked up there and things got a little steamy. So I was going to do the whole hog, but she backed off. I hadn't realized and kept going. She screamed, slapped me and ran off. I can never forget that look of rejected disappointment in her eyes.
I was angry after that incident with her. I got pissed and when it was late, and I hadn't seen her at all again that night, I left. On the way to my dad's house, I staggered into a beaten guy. In my drunken stupor, I recognized him in the moonlight, as the ringleader of the gang that had bashed me months ago. He was leaning on a fence with his eyes closed, actually, I think they were so swollen they couldn't open. So I towered over him and tried not to sway.
"Hah, where are your buddies now?"
He stirred at my voice and squinted through the darkness and swollen eyelids. He tried to speak, but only a wheeze managed to come out of his mouth.
"Nice one, maaate."
And I gave him a hearty kick to the side. He slumped over and didn't get up.
I found that the guy I had kicked was still alive, but in a serious condition. His story was in Crime stoppers the next day and anyone with information should see the police. Well, I made a pact to myself. When that guy gets out of hospital, I was going on a manhunt. The anger had risen from unknown depths and I became obsessed with this guy who had beaten me up and scarred me. Perhaps he was just the scapegoat to all my problems, but I didn't care. He was going to pay; pay for beating me up, my parent's divorce, my mum's suicide and for my girlfriend leaving me.
[[1815 words]]
[[hope you enjoy and please tell me what you think]]
My name's Jon and I'm guilty of manslaughter. I'm serving twenty five years and I've been here for two and a half. The shrinks here are making us "no-gooders" write a reflection on what went wrong in our life. How we screwed up. Who screwed us up. Who we screwed up. I had a few words to say to that, but I thought better of it. I'd rather have dinner, thank you very much. So anyway, instead of writing my life story, they said to write about my childhood to start off with. Geez, could they be any more boring? Well, that’s probably what happens when you stay in a prison for a few years. Your brain starts to disintegrate and you forget what fun and interesting is. Well, here's what has happened:
"What's 25 over 75?" the teacher asked. No one knew the answer, except for me. I pitied them, for what little brains god had given them. I yelled out the answer and then got into trouble for not putting my hand up. They yelled and yelled, as per usual. Mum against dad. Dad against mum. Mum and dad against me. I would usually go to my room and slam the door to their screams, but sometimes I would stay, just for the fun of shouting at my parents. But at the end of the day, I'm always riled up by their fights.
"Did you steal Henry's shoes?" the teacher asked me for the third time. I just looked at her hard and answered as I had the other times she had asked me.
"No, I didn't."
"We know it was you, so stop lying. I am going to report this to your parents and you will get after school detentions for a week. Is that understood?"
Denials fell on deaf ears.
He pushed a smoke into my hand. All the other boys behind the shed were already sucking the horrible gases. They were probably only doing it to feel older. Stupid 11-year-olds who think they're so great. I refused and got taunts from all.
The yelling had finally ceased for the day at about nine that night. It usually finished around then, when they were both yelled-out. They slammed doors and that was when I could turn my music down. I spent a lot of my time on the computer, to get away from the life I was living. I loved to role play; the only thing I could control in my life.
"You failed maths?" "Why do you bother attending school these days?" "Your grades have dropped so much this year." "Are you doing drugs...?" and so it went on the night my year 7 report card came home. My dad didn't even go to school.
A spit ball hit the teacher on the back of the head as he wrote on the board. His head snapped around with his face bright red. He looked straight at me so I didn't have enough time to wipe the smirk off my face.
"GET OUT!"
He stalked out behind me as I reluctantly sauntered out of the classroom. He leaned so close to me I could smell the faintest hint of whiskey in his breath.
"You are to go straight to the principal... no, you are going to have an after school detention for the next two weeks, not to mention a note to your parents and your next offence will be suspension. Understood?"
My denials fell on deaf ears. Again.
I stepped off the bus after the third afternoon of detention and walked home. I've had enough of school. I wish it would burn in hell- teachers and students. When I opened the door and stepped inside, it was quiet, so I assumed mum and dad were out somewhere. I dumped my bag in my room and slumped on my bed. The room span and I realized I was crying. That's for losers, I thought, and wiped them away. I trudged into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat and was startled to find my mum on the floor crying. I loved my mum. I always have, always will. I wondered if she knew that. I went over to her and put my arm around her. She didn't say anything, but stopped crying. We sat there for a while and I wondered why I didn't hold her more often.
One day after another detention, I got off the bus. A bunch of hard looking guys in about year eleven stepped off as well. As I walked, I realized they were still behind me. I had been growing pretty quickly and was standing at about 170cm and like many boys that age, I was tall and lanky with not enough meat to fill out my muscles. I kept walking and turned the corner into my street and then they came. The boys from behind pushed me into a wooden fence and made a semi-circle around me. I didn't recognize anyone, except the leader. He was a well-built, good-looking Vietnamese guy who was slightly taller than me.
"What're ya doin' punk? Dyu realize you're on our turf?"
I shook with fear, but I tried to hide it, so I said, "Who says?"
"Ooo, a tough guy, ey"
He then proceded in punching me in the face. There was blood everywhere and I made a blind swing at him, but only to make a fool of myself. They all snickered at my inability to fight. The next bit is a blur of punches and kicks, but all I can say is that by the end of it, I could have drowned in the pool of blood that had been made. They swiftly jumped a fence and left when the look-out spotted someone coming their way. I lay there, splattered on the concrete path wishing it was a magic carpet of soft cushions that could take me home.
A month or two after that incident, I got home only to find my mother like before; crying on the ground. The only difference was that there were bruises on her arm that weren't there when she had handed me my lunch that morning.
"What happened?" I asked.
"You're father's gone to live somewhere else. I don't think he'll be coming back for a while. He told me to tell you to study and not fight with other kids again."
Then she broke into tears. I did as before and held her, trying to comfort her and keep my anger under control.
I made a routine of working out my muscles everyday. One hundred push-ups and a hundred sit-ups everyday before school and when I got home from school. I'm going to kill those bitches when I see them again, I'd think.
My mum couldn't handle the divorce. She got depressed and cried everyday. She couldn't help it and in the end, five months later, drank some poison and died while I was at school. I got home and found her lying on the ground, still clutching a bottle of cleaning detergent. I panicked and ran next door, only to scare the neighbours with my nonsensical gibberish. It took me a few hours to calm down. The next thing I knew, my dad was there to ship me off to his place; a unit in a suburb twenty minutes from there. I hated the world. Actually, that's wrong. I hate the world.
I disappointed my dad again. I kept going to school, but that year I had failed all my subjects. I had to repeat year ten. My dad had a fit and screamed until I thought his veins might have busted under the pressure. Well, needless to say, he was not a happy man and kicked me out for that night. He told me to get out and have a think about my future. So I did. I had no future. I was angry. I was alone.
I had been eyeing this girl for a while. She wasn't like the rest of the girls around. She wasn't a girly girl, but she wasn't manly. She laughed at my jokes, even though we both knew they were lame. I couldn't help it, but she knew I'd been through a lot, and no one showed it like she did. I talked to her when I could, without giving away the fact that I thought I loved her. She was the centre of my world for a long time. We were friends for about a year and then we realized we liked each other. So I asked her out to this party everyone was going to. So we hooked up there and things got a little steamy. So I was going to do the whole hog, but she backed off. I hadn't realized and kept going. She screamed, slapped me and ran off. I can never forget that look of rejected disappointment in her eyes.
I was angry after that incident with her. I got pissed and when it was late, and I hadn't seen her at all again that night, I left. On the way to my dad's house, I staggered into a beaten guy. In my drunken stupor, I recognized him in the moonlight, as the ringleader of the gang that had bashed me months ago. He was leaning on a fence with his eyes closed, actually, I think they were so swollen they couldn't open. So I towered over him and tried not to sway.
"Hah, where are your buddies now?"
He stirred at my voice and squinted through the darkness and swollen eyelids. He tried to speak, but only a wheeze managed to come out of his mouth.
"Nice one, maaate."
And I gave him a hearty kick to the side. He slumped over and didn't get up.
I found that the guy I had kicked was still alive, but in a serious condition. His story was in Crime stoppers the next day and anyone with information should see the police. Well, I made a pact to myself. When that guy gets out of hospital, I was going on a manhunt. The anger had risen from unknown depths and I became obsessed with this guy who had beaten me up and scarred me. Perhaps he was just the scapegoat to all my problems, but I didn't care. He was going to pay; pay for beating me up, my parent's divorce, my mum's suicide and for my girlfriend leaving me.
[[1815 words]]
[[hope you enjoy and please tell me what you think]]