[The note I have on this piece says it was a prompt reply, though I did not note who sent it, and posted in September of 2015]
Every time I close my eyes I can see his face. Hear the whimpers with every breath. Remember the way he struggled to be strong, to ‘be a man.’ He just wanted to prove himself. To the end he wanted to prove himself.
In the end, he was the one that knew what to do better than me. I was too slow, too poor a shot.
Why didn’t I take Johnny with? They wouldn’t have gotten a block and they certainly wouldn’t have gotten five.
Maybe then [there is a deep dark scratch through several lines and multiple layers of ink as if the page had been scratched at in rage.]
Carlos deserved better. He was a good kid.
Why the hell did you even let him join?????? [The question marks continue for several lines.]
It’s your fault. Not just because you pulled the trigger. He’d be alive if not for you.
[More deep dark lines mar the paper’s surface—eventually they lead toward a single word inked over several times]
That’s what they call me. I never paid it much heed. But it’s true. Maybe I am the monster they say I am. Evil. Cold-hearted bitch. Angry orphan. Thief. Bloodthirsty. Murderer. Heartless. Whore. Vicious. Butcher.
The Butcher of Stilwater—blood-soaked, sadistic monster.
Of all people I expected he would understand.
After Aisha he was in the same hole. Nights when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t keep the pain under control he’d end up in the same kinds of places. On the docks, in the basements of bodegas and warehouses across town, in what people who didn’t know better called the “wrong side of the tracks” (in Stilwater there was no wrong side).
I swear if I have to tell him I’m not going back to the medics again I’m going to scream!
I know he’s concerned and he’s just wants to take care of me, like I would him or Troy. But he should know. He should get it
Maybe it is just masochistic bullshit.
I’m just tired of the argument.
Troy told me once that he thinks I just feel an irrational need to punish myself.
My grandfather always told me pain reminded you that you weren’t dead. Maybe I just want to feel alive, lose myself in my own damn pulse.