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This is not Me
This is not me. They put me in this horrid place and say I did these awful things, yet I did none of them. I thrash. I shout, but that’s only because being falsely condemned has driven me into a state of insanity.
I will tell you though. I will tell you what really happened. This is the truth…
I had a life once. Nothing big, but yes it was there. I had friends. Not many, but some. That was all taken from me. That was all taken from me when He came to town. Ironically enough, it was on the exact day that I sat my bags down in the dusty, one-bedroom apartment I decided to rent (really the only one that I could afford).
Immediately he began making trouble. While I slept that night, He broke me neighbor’s windows. The very first night! Really? The town was extremely small; you’d think that He would have enough sense to wait for good gossip to circulate about him before he made too much trouble. Alas, he did not. Not only did he do this, but he did not emerge to take the blame for the deeds done. This was staked on me.
The things in which he did were minor in this way for some time, but about three month into my stay the actions became increasingly worse.
One night poor Mrs. Tether’s cat was found hanged, another, he took an ax to the motor of Mr. Faith’s car, and if that wasn’t enough, he keyed both sides of it. The Porsche was destroyed.
As I have stated, all of his actions were pinned upon me.
One night he finally reached his limit, and ironically enough that was the night that I decided to stay awake and fallow him. I was to expose him for the madman that he was.
He crept down the alleyway behind our build. He was silent and quick, and I fallowed as such.
We finally stopped at the widowed Mrs. Fortune’s house. He slithered in the kitchen window, still making no sound, and out of the kitchen drawer he grabbed a long butcher knife. It shined in quickly as it hit a ray of moonlight, but as fast as the light was there, it was gone.
Walking to the downstairs bedroom we found Mrs. Fortune. She was sleeping peacefully; she had no idea of what was about to happen. As much as I tried to stop him, I failed in my attempts.
His actions just before he killed her showed how evil he really was: he shook her violently to wake her up, and then in one swift movement he covered her mouth with his left hand and plunged the knife through her heart.
I silently wept as I fallowed him back home. I did the best I could, right? That still didn’t block the guilt that I felt, and when I got home, I lay down on my bed and slept restlessly and without dreams.
I awoke to sirens and screaming. Before I was even conscience enough to know what was going on, I was taken into custody and read my Miranda Rights.
My trial was short and, in my opinion, unfair. Here I am, “crazier” than ever.
And as for him, I catch a glimpse of him in the mirror when I am near one. Like I said, this is not me. It’s him.