The Devin Thomas Files: Part 2

December 2, 2010
By StevenH1028 SILVER, Fort Worth, Texas
StevenH1028 SILVER, Fort Worth, Texas
7 articles 0 photos 7 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I promise not to make age an issue in this campaign. I will not make an issue out of my opponent's youth and inexperience."-Ronald Reagan

Part 2

I am Devin Thomas. At the age of 16, I was a career criminal. I’ve stolen cars, I’ve ripped drugs off of drug dealers, I’ve run from the cops more times than I can count; and I accidentally killed my girlfriend trying to rob a bank.
When I killed Katie, it was like a bucket of cold water in my face. What do you do when you’re a murder at the age of 16? Who wants to be friends with a guy like that? Or the better question, who wants to be friends with a guy like that, that I would actually want to associate with? As far as I can tell, no one. Absolutely no one.
So I tried other things. I tried drugs. They give you a great kick, but in the end they leave you empty. It’s like trying to fill a spaghetti strainer with water. I tried partying. I would go to clubs and get smashed-up drunk, dance all night and try and have a blast. That didn’t work either.
I never tried girls though. I had truly loved Katie; and I thought that anything like that would be like spitting on her beautiful, stone-dead face.
So what’s left? What is there in this life that has meaning?
I was walking down the streets of Manhattan when I found something that looked like the answer.
It was Easter morning. Some holiday where religious nuts get all excited about I-dunno-what and there’s a little bunny bringing candy to all the little kids and blah-frickin’-blah.
So I was walking down the streets that morning and I walk past a church. Now, understand something. I’m the son of a crack whore. I haven’t been to church once in sixteen years. But I passed this church and I heard this guy speaking, he had a real deep voice. The sign read “Guest speaker, Harold Bullock.” And so I thought what the hell, can’t hurt. I spit out my cigarette and walked in the door.
I sat down at the very back, in a seat right on the aisle. If I wanted to, I could leave and no one would even notice. And I started listening to the dude.
I didn’t understand a ton of what he said. There was this dude, he came down and for some reason let these punks nail him to a cross, which I’m guessing is kinda painful, and then died. Three days later, he busted out of his tomb, and somehow that takes care of everything I’ve done wrong in my life.
Now, like I said, I didn’t understand a lot of what was being said; but I liked the sound of it. Something that could take away everything I’ve ever done wrong? I’ll jump on that. Maybe the same guy who brought this Jesus guy back to life would even bring back Katie…
And so I started coming around. I would come to their Bible studies, I would sit in on the church lessons, it seemed like pretty good stuff. I would always leave as soon as whoever was speaking finished; I never talked to anyone, but I kept coming back. I felt…protective of them. I was friends with them; even though we’ve never talked.
One Wednesday night, there’s about three hundred people in different groups all over the building, I’m sitting in my group listening to some guys go back and forth on whether it’s ever right to kill someone. One guy was saying it’s alright if it’s in self-defense, the other guy was saying it was never right, etc. Neither of them have ever actually done it; it was all theoretical. I almost chimed in, telling them how real it gets when someone actually has a gun in your face.
And then a whole ton of crap came down the pipe.
Now, that bank that I robbed? Yeah, I didn’t mention that that bank was owned by MS-13. If you don’t know who they are, they are one of the scariest groups of thugs on the planet. The initiation to get in is to rape and kill someone. Just to get in. They’re psychos. And I robbed their bank. Well, I tried to rob their bank, but in the end just ended up killing a few people, including Katie.
Anyway, apparently they took issue with having their bank screwed with and decided to take it out on me right then and there. Three guys kicked down the door and let loose with their M-16s.
Before they got off the first shot, I was out of my seat, drawing my 9-mil. I put one bullet between the first guys eyes, I shot the second one in the neck. Before I could draw a bead on the third one, he turned tail and ran.
I looked around. No one was hurt; everyone was okay. So I took off after the thug.
As I ran out of the church, a helicopter buzzed around. I ignored it. If it was a news or cop chopper, I definitely didn’t want to show it my face by looking at it.
So I ran. And I caught the guy. I pinned him up against a wall and punched him in the face as hard as I could.
Right as I did, I heard a massive BOOM! Behind me. People started screaming.
I looked over and that chopper was hovering right over the church. It spun, and on it’s side I saw the spray-painted MS-13.
I turned back toward him and just stared at him for a second. Then I flipped my gun around in my hand and pistol-whipped him as hard as I could.
I wanted to kill him. At the same time I wanted to cry. He had destroyed three hundred lives; but not mine. Three hundred people, dead or injured, because of me. I wished that I had been one of the dead or dying; death was the only way I could pay for my sin
“WHY DIDN’T YOU DESTROY MINE?!” I screamed at him again.
He looked at me out of bloody lips. “Didn’t we?”

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