My little slice of heaven is quiet, and peaceful, and never, ever crowded. I get three meals a day, I can nap as long as I want, whenever I want, and I am almost never bothered. I get a new book delivered every Monday, and I don’t have to pay for anything.
And all I had to do was murder a few people.
I got my first job at thirteen. I needed shoes and food, and my mom was a drug addict. I worked through high school, and still got decent grades. I wasn’t’ great at anything, so I decided to forgo college and jump right into working. I worked two jobs to afford my apartment. I worked a third to feed myself. I stayed out of trouble, never getting into it with the terrible clientele at any of my jobs – even when they fully deserved a tongue-lashing.
And what did that get me?
My mom overdosed. I worked too often to have friends or relationships. The apartment complex kept raising my rent, and when I missed rent once, they booted me out. They chucked all my stuff in a dumpster, and had it rented out to some hipster yuppies in a week. And then, because I had no permanent address, I lost two of my three jobs.
The night I lost that last job was the night I snapped. I just…broke. Everything inside me went completely cold, and I had no more fucks to give. So when I saw that skeezy scumbag harassing yet another little girl who would inevitably end up “missing,” I did what I always wanted to do. I walked right up to him, and stabbed him. Eight times. In the gut. He fell over dead, and the little girl went home to her mother and baby sister. I took his money from sex trafficking young girls, and I bought a nice dress and treated myself tot he best dinner I’d ever had.
Then there was the drug dealer who sold purposely bad merchandise to kids at the middle school. Eight kids, barely teenagers, had died this month alone. There he stood, smug and invincible in his own mind, swapping little ziplock baggies of death for cash in an inconspicuous handshake. Him, I gave a dose of his own medicine. Literally. I gave him only one injection of his shitty product, and that was enough for him to foam at the mouth and his heart to stop. I took his money from dealing and bought some nice, new boots, and had my first experience with sushi.
After him was the puppy killer. Him I tied in one of his own sacks, beat him with his own bat, and dumped him in the river he used. He had no money, but I did get a puppy.
After him was the bus driver who used his bus for “extracurricular” activities–and oftentimes worked hand in hand with the scumbag. Donating his young wards to the sex trade. Him, I managed to get mostly through the windshield of his bus. It took some time, and I worked up an appetite. So with his dirty money, I bought a steak dinner for me and my dog.
Then there was another drug dealer, a serial rapist, a hobbyist drive-by shooter, a disgustingly crooked politician, and about five others. It was inevitable that I would get caught. I didn’t hide the bodies, and I didn’t bother cleaning the scenes. I did what I felt like doing, I took their money, and I splurged on myself. I didn’t put up a fight when the cops came for me at the five-star restaurant. I just shoved the rest of the chocolate mousse cake into my mouth, and went with them.
After months and months of trials and lawyers and judges, I ended up here. I was in with the general public at first, but that didn’t last long. I’d gotten used to doing what I wanted. So after the third inmate murder, they put me in solitary confinement. As a punishment.
I’ve been punished for the last eight years, and I still haven’t found any more fucks to give.
