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Flight of Insanity
Everyone knew him, but he knew no one. He liked to call himself the raven, a gift from his favorite author. Self entitled, he fancied himself as a truly tortured soul, a struggling artist in the land of sadistic cretins. He looked the part as well. Greasy black hair, baggy ripped jeans, and his prized possession, a beat up fighter jacket courtesy of his father.
“You wear that thing to torture me. Your father left us and he isn’t coming back. It’s me and you Rodney, we gots to stick together.”
“He left you.” Rodney shuddered as he remembered that night. The point of no return. “He left you, and I wonder why. Look at yourself, all you do is drink. I’m sick of it, and he was too.” An unexpected slap struck him in the face. He could still remember the shame and embarrassment. It did not hurt but his throat swelled up and a tear went down his face.
“You gonna cry? I knew you were good for nothing, just one more mouth to feed. You think you’re so much better than me then go on leave.” The bitterness in her voice hurt him more than she would ever know.
“Whatever, I’m out.” He knew he could not come back after he went out the door.
Outside he watched a funeral proceeding, for some reason cemeteries calmed him. The weather was hazy and the air was damp. It must have been past eleven, but the sun would not show itself. He heard people muttering about how he had no respect, and no human decency. That was not true he just had no where else to go. He discovered a secret when he was twelve, and that secret had always been his safe haven on nights his parents fought, or later on in life when his mom was stumbling and blaming him for everything. The thing about cemeteries is people stay away. No one likes to be reminded of death. In the little town of Granite Peak, the cemetery was off in the country surrounded by woods. It was hidden so well that unless someone wanted to go there, they would never know it existed. Many years ago he found a broken down shack. It was full of cobwebs and outdated gardening equipment. He cleaned out the place, fixed the window, kicked out the rodents, and made it livable to his standards at least. As far as he was concerned it was his now. He kept his food in a cooler and had one water bottle. Getting fresh water was his biggest worry. The closest public building was the library. Reading took his stress away, and to get the water he had to make that trip regularly.
He had been away from home for a good two weeks. It was getting hard because his money was getting low. Desperation can turn humans into ravage beasts, and as a bohemian writer he believed in love and peace. He never had love or peace though, in his existence. It was getting harder and harder everyday to believe in the seemingly nonexistent. His father left him with one more gift, a form of protection.
“Listen you’re a man, and men have to be strong. I’m not going to be around to protect you when something come up. Listen to me, your mom is crazy, people are crazy, you can’t trust anyone. This is yours,” cool metal touched my hands and I gripped the trigger. “There is two thousand dollar cash under your bed, don’t ask questions, because you won’t like the answers. I’m not a good father, so this is good bye son.” Rodney held in his emotions, he knew his father’s viewpoint on men crying or even feeling for that matter. A heart of stone is one that can not break.
The gun was resting in his backpack, and every second it got heavier the closer he got to his destination. He knew right from wrong, he knew that by doing this immoral deed he was earning himself eternal damnation from the big man himself. There was no other choice though he needed more money, and he knew about a farm house in the middle of no where, with the cutest little old lady.
“It’s okay; no one will get hurt…quick, fast, done.” Talking to himself was the first sign of insanity, and if something went wrong maybe that would be enough to get him out of trouble. The insanity plea, it got worse criminals out of bigger troubles. “Excuse me Rodney, but how do you plea guilty, or guilty? I plea insanity!” His cackled laughter filled the empty silence.
You shouldn’t be doing this.
“What? Who’s there?” An unfamiliar voice filled his head and he felt the woods closing in on him. Paranoia forced him to stop riding his bike and search for the vindictive owner of the voice.
You know me Rodney. You can not see me, but you can hear me right? Don’t leave the old lady alone. Do you know how lonely she is? You could take her out of her misery. All you have to do is sneak up behind her and pull the trigger. She will not even notice. She might even think she just fell asleep, and would not it be such a relief for her to see her husband again? It’s her time for heaven Rodney and you’re just the guy to do it.
Tears were running down his face. His hands went straight to his ears trying to squeeze the voice out of his head. Clenching his teeth, he was relived when the voice stopped. “Shake it off man, I have to eat don’t I? Her life can’t mean more than mine. I just need money,” He tried to consol himself. This seemed to be enough justification for robbing the lady. Who is to decide she is better than him?
He was at her driveway when the voice came back. Go through the back. She would not even notice. Come on Rodney, don’t you want to make your family proud? Don’t you want your parents to love you?
He had to ignore the voice. If it did not stop he had to just ignore it. He turned the handle of the front door and found it was locked. Looking under the welcome mat he found a spare. “People make it too easy,” His hands shook as he unlocked the door, before he went in he fumbled with his gun taking the safety off. He found himself in unfamiliar territory. Grazing the living room he saw nothing of interest. He walked slowly and carefully down a long hallway that led him to the kitchen. Tearing open the drawers he made noise, too much noise. He heard footsteps coming downstairs.
Now Rodney! Heresss your chance. The voice became more demented hissing out its words. The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs. His heart was pounding so hard he could here the blood sloshing through his ears. Rodney now! He had a sharp blinding pain in his head; a scream worthy of a banshee rang in his head. Bang!
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t remember anything?” The cop asked for the millionth time. “You were at the scene of the crime punk,” Whack. The cop slapped the back of his head. “You had her blood on you,” Whack. “Your fingerprints are everywhere.” Whack.
“Hey Sarge, the coroner report just came in mother,” Some deputy walked in. His smug face said it all, they thought they were going to win. Sure it looked bad but Rodney knew in his soul, he could have never killed that her. He didn’t even remember going to that house!
“Don’t you have a heart kid? I understand your parents had a few issues, but this is beyond me. You deserve life. I can get you a deal if you would plea guilty. How does thirty years with a chance of parole sound? All you have to do is admit what you did.” The police officer was narrowing in on him, Rodney was having trouble breathing. “We got all the evidence we need, we have a motive, and the weapon was in your hand.”
“Stop!” He could not take it anymore. His wrist struggled in the handcuffs blood trickling down his arm.
“Want to know what I think? You were mad still. You hate your mother don’t you.”
“I said stop!”
“You walked into that old woman’s house because you knew she did housekeeping there. It was all too easy wasn’t it Rod. You waited until she came down the stairs-” An inhuman scream came out of Rodney. “- and you blasted her head off. She was your mother Rodney, your own mother.