My best friend killed me.  Certainly a conversation starter, right?  The thing was, it wasn’t even that interesting.  Not to me, anyways.  I knew it would happen eventually.  Not because I am a bad person or because I taunted him, but because I knew him better than anyone else.  I saw it coming.

     He had been my best friend since 2nd grade.  He was your average little boy that played t-ball and taunted all the girls about their “cooties”.  We were friends from the moment we met.  I remember him sitting on a carpet square in his blue polo and khaki shorts, an ensemble obviously picked out by his mom.  He sat with a journal in his hand and a concentrated look on his face.  I didn’t know many kids in my class that year, so I decided I needed to talk to someone.  I remembered the lecture mom had with me that morning about trying to make friends with nice kids.  At the time I had paid more attention to my chocolate chip toaster waffle.  However, when I was looking at this kid, I felt like he was the kind of friend I was supposed to have.  He looked smart and academic, pondering with that journal in his hand.  I slowly made my way across the room and took a deep breath before introducing myself, “Hey, I’m Aiden.  What are you writing?”  He slowly looked up at me with deep brown eyes that matched his hair, and replied, “Hi.  I’m Jaxson.  I’m writing a story.  It’s about me fighting all these superheroes and I’m this genius villain.  Do you want to read it?”  I had told him yes and read the story, utterly captivated.  I have to say he has always been an excellent writer (unlike myself, who couldn’t write a story of more than ten sentences until 5th grade).  The one thing I wondered was why would he want to be the villain?  Wasn’t it every little boy’s dream to grow up and become Spiderman or Superman?  Not many aspire to become the Green Goblin or the Joker.  Regardless, I told him that it was an amazing story, which made him approve of me.  Ever since then, we had been one of those pairs of best friends that you never seem to see or mention without the other.
     As I said, Jaxson and I were your average boys.  We played sports and video games and made stupid jokes.  The one thing we always did, though, was look at Jaxson’s journal.  It was always present, like an additional limb on his body.  Jaxson and his journal were inseparable.  I would always read his amazing stories of villains and crimes.  Looking back, I can see how much of a dark mind he had, even at that early age.  I should have seen it sooner.
     One day, in the summer before 8th grade, I headed over to Jaxson’s house at around 10:30 a.m.  This had become a part of our normal routine in the summer, switching houses every other day (unless one house had an exceptionally larger amount of snacks than the other).  We played basketball in his driveway, then moved on to Mario Kart.  I kept waiting for him to excitedly open up his journal and reveal the intriguing words inside.  I always looked forward to reading Jaxson’s journal.  It was almost as if it were my favorite comic book, coming out in daily installments.  However, Jaxson never opened his journal.  When I had asked him to see it, he suddenly grew serious.  “Listen, Aiden,” he started, “I know you always read my journal and that you like it and all…  However, I think I’m going to keep it to myself now.  It’s almost as if you’re reading my diary.  You have to admit that it’s a little creepy.”  I stared at him, not sure what to say.  I was looking forward to him finishing his newest story about murder.  I almost felt as if we lost a part of our friendship that day.  We had bonded over this journal and had made a routine of it.  Now that was all gone.  I just tried to hide my disappointment trough a fake smile and replied, “That’s okay.  I get it.”
     Years of friendship passed by.  We were now both 20 years old.  We were still always together, attending the same college and all.  However, the journal was there, too.  It was inseparable from Jaxon.  The black leather of the cover worn and rugged, it had pages ripped out and sticking in every which way.  It always sat right next to Jaxson, unbearably taunting me.  What was once just a fun thing we did together, was this big mystery.   One day, when Jaxson went to the store for groceries, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore.  I snuck into his room in our shared apartment.  I felt an indescribable feeling of guilt, panic, excitement, and nervousness.  I knew exactly where the journal would be.  I walked over to his bed, my heart beating out of my chest, and reached under the mattress.  There it was, in my hand.  The thing that was forbidden from me for so long.  I knew I had to be quick.  Jaxson would be home any minute now.  I opened up the journal and scanned the most recent pages.  There were lists of people I knew.  Behind the name was something upsetting they had done to him.  After that, some of the names had a sectioned labeled “Punishment” filled out.  I read the first one: “James Miller, cheated off my 12th grade calculus final, get suspended from college”.  I stared at this is shock.  I looked to the most recent thing he had written: “Riley Halter, broke my heart and stomped all over it, death”.  Suddenly, I was startled by the slightly audible sound of footsteps growing closer.  I quickly shut the journal and positioned it right where I found it.  I ran out of the room faster than I had ever ran before.  I know Jaxson was my best friend, but his 6’ 2” stature and dark eyes are certainly intimidating.  I tried to slow my heart rate as I sat at the kitchen table, trying to look unsuspicious.  The whole night I felt like he knew something was off.  I had trouble sleeping that night.  I knew that the journal was no joke.  I was scared to death, but still curious as to what else he had been hiding from me for the past seven years.  I scolded myself for not seeing it sooner.  Jaxson always had a strange obsession about crime, villains, and murder.  To think I thought I knew him so well.  I thought I knew him better than he knew himself, but the truth was: I barely knew anything about him anymore.
     I knew that he knew.  He knew that I knew that he knew.  It was obvious, as was the tension I felt in his presence.  He didn’t speak to me, but only watched me.  His eyes bore holes in the side of my head.  I pretended not to notice, but he could tell that I did.   He enjoyed my struggling.  I just waited for whatever the consequence would be.  I knew it would be bad.  I had found out that he was planning crimes, including a murder.  I could give him away.  I was dangerous to him, therefore, he reciprocated as being dangerous to me.  So I lived out the rest of my life, knowing that it would end, without knowing when or how.  With that said, I wasn’t surprised when it finally happened.  I was almost relieved.
     He did it without hesitation, without a single thought.  I looked right into his eyes, dull and dark, before it happened.  He seemed at peace in the most eerie way possible.  He was in all black, which is never a good sign.  His tall, dark appearance certainly looked intimidating to any bystander or witness.  If only they knew the vulnerability that he held inside, locked away in a journal.  He was the only one with the key to these deep feelings and insecurities.  Until I came along.  I got close to discovering his secrets.   Too close, I suppose.  This is why he decided to get rid of me.  At least he respected me enough to make my death a quick one.  A bullet to the head. 
     I never blamed him for what happened.  It was my fault.  I should have seen it coming.  I could have done something about it, but I didn’t.  I decided that even if I had turned him in, he would have still found a way to get me.  His crime obsession educated him more about murder than anyone else I knew.  I decided I’d rather see myself go down alone, instead of both of us.  In the end of it all, nothing is avoidable, even death.