It’s March twenty-fifth and a gorgeous Sunday afternoon that couldn’t get any better. I awoke to the smell of formaldehyde; how I love the feeling it sends down my spine when its reek enters my nasal. I hadn’t taken a shower, I didn’t feel like changing my clothes either; I’ve been sporting the same beer stained wife beater and torn pair of levis that I’ve had since I was a junior in high school for the last month and a half. I have nobody to impress though so I don’t care. To add to the great feeling I had when I arose from my sleep, I had the breakfast of a champion; some old hard rice that’s been sitting on the stove for three months, and a plate fresh olives. I hadn’t eaten this good since I finished all of the dog food I found in the alley way next to the tattoo parlor. I have this song stuck in my head that I cant remember the name of. It keeps going over and over and it’s bugging the sh*t out of me because I just cannot think of what it is. “Friday night and I need a fight, myyyyy motorcycle and a switchblade knife. Handful of grease in my hair feels right…” That’s the only part that keeps playing in my head and I grow angry due to the fact that I cant piece together who sang it. I give up. I sit silently for a few minutes and it pops in my head! “But what I need to make me right are those GIRLSS GIRLSSS GIRLSS...” I was happy that I finally remembered this. Now back to nothing.

      Here I am sitting in my slightly rusted 1960’s trailer and I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do today. I never do anything besides watch television, get drugs and go to the grocery store; but the only time I ever do that is on the first of every month when my welfare and food stamps get reloaded. I haven’t had a steady job in six and half years, and I’m pretty sure it may have something to do with the fact that I have two felonies for drug related crimes and a warrant out for my arrest. I think im going to go a few trailers over since Rusty is gone on vacation to eastern Washington for the summer. I walk around his premises just to make sure that the coast is clear. It is, so I walk up to the door and knock on it a few times acting like my intentions are completely legit. I glance left, right, and behind me. Nobody’s around. I slowly twist the handle to his door and the sound of a beast emerged out of a room in the home. I figured he had locked the mutt in a kennel or something so that it doesn’t sh*t all over his nice ply wood floor. It’s really dark in here; I can smell feces and urine as if it were on my upper lip. I feel on the walls like a blind man reading brail, I’m trying to find a light switch. I find it and flick it up, and there it was a light brown pit bull with a head and neck, the circumference of the Fridges thigh. I was in a state of shock. I hadn’t been this scared since I got taken advantage of back in the corrections center. I stay still, looking around to see if there was anything I could use to fend this ferocious predator off. There was a bat next to the table, a table that the dog was sitting tensely next to. Quickly I lunged toward it and grabbed it as fast as I could and it just sat there, didn’t bark, growl, or show any sign of anger. So I think to myself “Maybe this dog isn’t as mean as it comes off to be”. I proceeded to put my hand toward its thick head and try to pet it; the dog nudged itself against my hand and rolled onto its back as if it wanted me to scratch his belly. So I did. I am so relieved that this thing isn’t trying to attack me I would be dead for sure. After playing with the dog for a few minutes I went back to Rusty and Peggy’s bedroom to search for anything, I’m desperate as f--k and I’ll stop at nothing to get high. The first thing I realize when I enter the threshold is the smell of tuna fish. I almost throw up. God I hate tuna fish. I walk to the dirty old end table next to there fancy queen size bed and I open it up. To my surprise, there is nothing except for some old cigarette butts and a couple cheap lighters. I pocket the lighters, why not right? Somebody knocked on the door. My heart stopped for a second and for some reason I hid under the bed. As I lay beneath the box spring I wonder to myself “Why the f--k am I under this guys bed aha”. The knocking stops. I decide to ly here for a few moments just because it’s pretty comfortable. Sunlight shines through a hole in the wall under the screen window and it glares directly onto a black duffle bag that is pretty close to where im lying under the bed. I say aloud, “There gotta be somethin dandy in this here bag!” Slowly but surely, I drag myself from under the bed and take the bag with me. It’s not very heavy, maybe around 2lbs at most. The first thing I notice about it is that in big font it reads “FIX”. Like an infant on Christmas morning I viciously zip open the bag and look to see whats inside. My eyes lit up as if I were looking into the gates of heaven. There is enough crystal meth in this bitch to get three hundred addicts and their mothers high for a week. I pinched myself, because surely I must have been dreaming. I wasn’t. Quickly I sprint through the hallway and out the front door to come face to face with rusty. Oh sh*t. Without hesitation he yells “Ya f----n piece uh sh*t! What the f--k do you think you’re doin? In my god damn home, with my f--kin drugs! I was already in my truck with the engine started before he could finish. I sped off leaving a trail of thick groggy smoke behind me. I didn’t even care about what he may do to my house or anything in it; because my mind is set on getting high as a kite on this glorious supply. I drive, and I drive, and I drive; for hours on end. It’s now midnight and I’m extremely under the influence. I stop at a gas station. I’m very hungry; I grab a six pack and a candy bar and walk out without paying. The guy says “Sir! Get your ass back here!” So I keep walking and he comes out with a bat. I carefully set the six pack and snickers bar on the front of my truck, and turn around. I say “If yall got a damn problem chief then make your f--kin move!” Without saying a word he charges at me with the bat cocked back. I stand in one spot. As hard as he can with all his force, he cracks me in the jaw with his aluminum baseball bat. I fall to the ground. I’m pretty sure my jaw is broken but I can’t feel a thing. I get back up and he swings at me with the bat again and before he can make contact I pull out a pencil I have in my pocket and cram it into his throat. He instantly drops the weapon and falls to his knees. So I grab the pencil, take it out and put it back into my pocket. Then as he lay on the cement gargling and murmuring some bullsh*t I grab a chain that’s about seven feet long. I rap it around his neck a few times and make sure it’s secure and tight and secure on the tailgate of my rig. Then I light up a cigarette and speak to this piece of sh*t a little. “So I take it you dun regret what ya just tried ta do huh?” He replies “F--k you! Let me go! I have a family!” “Bitch I don give a damn about your family! You try to f--k my sh*t up, I end your life!” I was pissed and red with anger. I lean over and kiss him on the cheek just to make him mad and put my cigarette out on his eyelid. I fill up my tank, for free and start my truck. I go slow at first just to screw around with him with him a little bit and then I push the pedal down n go about five miles per hour. I can hear a faint yell coming from his bloodied mouth and all I can do is laugh hysterically. I punch out my window and stick my head out so I can look back and see him. He’s rolling around the gravel like a rag doll, I yell “How’s it going buddy?” He doesn’t respond. I have a feeling he’s dead. So I stop the truck and get out. I light up a cigarette and slowly walk toward his limp figure. He said nothing and didn’t move. I kick him as hard as I can in his ribs and he lets out a great scream of pain. “Ahh!”. I decide to undo the chain from his neck. He mutters, “Fff f--k y…..” Before he can finish I stomp on his face and his jaw dislocates. “Oh well” I think to myself. I put the heavy chain in the back of my truck and speed away into the foggy night.

  I have been on the road for hours that seemed like days. I’m coming down, so I pull over into a violent ditch and look for the duffle bag of goodies. I find it under the passenger seat and feel relieved since I was starting to assume I’d lost it after five minutes of searching. I’m incredibly high and I take a look at a road sign to see where I’m at. The sign is rather blurry but I can read out Fifth and King Street. Never in my life have I heard of or been in this place. It is now one am and I’m still wide awake thanks to my fix, I’m going ninety on a forty. So fast that I cease to realize the brown ford expedition that was crossing the intersection coming off of the freeway.

      Lights out. No sight, no sound, no feeling, but one. The feeling of death. I lay unconsciously in my seat for what seems like an hour, but according to my Mickey Mouse wrist watch, only three and a half minutes. Quickly, I regain my composure, unbuckle myself and come to find out that I am upside down, as I fall onto the roof of my truck and crash my head on its solid top. It doesn’t hurt much. I look around and cannot see a thing except a little bit of desert terrain and thick foggy smoke pouring out of my vehicle. Intensely, I boot my door open and crawl out onto the sand, or maybe its dirt. I get myself back together and stand up. A few seconds after, I feel a sharp pain in my stomach; I look down and see an enormous shard of glass burrowed into my belly. Not knowing exactly what to do, I rip it out, and warm thick blood begins to leak like none other all over my lower body. I can taste it. I look around red with aggravation and frustration to see where the other truck I collided with had ended up. It lays about fifteen yards ahead of me, and without thinking I swiftly sprint over to the totaled truck. The man looks at me but I didn’t spend but a fragment of a second looking back at him, just long enough to see that he was a middle aged man with a receding hairline. I open his door and he says “Call 9-11 I think I mighta’…..” Thump! Is the sound I hear as I elbow his jaw, not letting him finish what he has to say. All I heard was him saying 9-11 and I completely lost control of my actions and just acted. I might as well keep going, I thought to myself. So I grab him by his neck and pull him out of the car onto the ground covered in fragments of glass and other debris from the accident. As he gets to his knees I kick his stomach so that he can’t mutter anything more. I stop for a second and think what I should do to finish him. Or even if I should finish him. Before I can decide what to do I hear a faint siren approaching from several miles away. I scream “How’d they find out?!”

      No time for thinking or processing of any sort. I had to get away from this scene as soon as possible. I turn about three times and look to see where my truck is at. I see it and run to it abnormally fast. Forgetting that it is completely flipped upside down I feel a wave of disappointment sweep threw my guts like napalm being dumped on a Vietnam forest. Darkness, impatience, fear, strike me like none other. I suddenly cant see a thing and I feel as if I had just been gutted. My vision slowly fades away and I drop to my knees. Overdose is occurring and it is taking me down. I’m on all fours now, my hands pressing against the cold hard ground and the viciously sharp pieces of glass. I can’t support my own weight anymore and I fall forward onto my face, I ly for a few seconds and I’m now completely uncap able of literally any sort of movement. All I kind do is think in my polluted mind and stare at the distant police car lights that are headed my way. I’m waiting. Waiting for the officer to drive by, see the horrible wreck, and notice my intoxicated self lifeless on the floor of this desert; and to arrest me for the drugs, and what I did to the man I hit. I think to myself “Prison is really going to suck, I mean sure you get a bed and shelter, but...” Crack! I whine like a child when I felt the impact of whatever it was that just made contact with the back of my head. I use all my strength to turn around and look at whom and what had just done this to me. I cannot completely make the figure out, but im assuming it’s the man I had just crashed into and beaten severely. The dark figure walks off into the night, and returns to my placement in about 30 seconds. I hear chains jingling and I start to think. “What do I do? This guy is going to kill me.” The man spits on my face, and wraps a cold heavy chain around my neck. This brings back memories. Once he tightens is uncomfortably around my neck he begins to drag me across the ground to his truck. Somehow he lifts me up and throws me into the bed. So out of it and doped up I pass out, with the mind set that I am going to die from overdose, or be murdered by the man I should have ended.

       B-Bump! We go over a few pot holes and this wakes me up. The first thing I see is the stars in the night sky so calm and peaceful. Then I realize where I am, how I got here, and that I should find a way to get out and escape from this guy. We’re driving threw a heavily wooded area that I don’t recognize at all. I act as if im still unconscious so that he doesn’t come back and knock me out or something. I try to read my watch; I think it says 2:33 am. But I’m not one hundred percent sure on that call. I feel something in my left pant pocket and reach in to find out what it is. To my surprise it’s a dime bag of crystal meth. Forgetting the fact that I had just nearly died from an overdose; I looked around the bed for anything that I could possible use as a smoking utensil. I see a small hallow brass pipe and reach for it. Quietly, I smoke everything I have in the bag. I am starting to feel great, a lot better than I was before. I ly, eyes wide open; teeth grinding, and I’m waiting. Waiting for this f--k to stop the truck, and retrieve death by the cold bloodied hands of me. My thinker shoots into gear and I search for anything available I could make into a weapon. I find it; this is perfect! A sharp garden shovel, that would brutally fillet his jugular and bring him to submission. I grasp it tightly and can feel evil grow inside of my heart. To kill again, is but a treat for my rotten soul; I have no empathy for my victims. The truck stops, I feel adrenaline rush through my veins like it was just injected into my heart. I hear him messing around with something inside of the glove box and then he unbuckles himself and opens up the door. I listen closely and infer that the ground is mushy and wet. One, two, three steps and here he is, looking over me feeling so powerful and in control. He un latches the back of the truck and sits on the tailgate. He then lights something, it’s a joint. I figure that I’ll let him have one last smoke before his life is brutally taken by the hands of a psychopath. He starts to sing an old cowboy song that my father used to sing to me when I was a boy. This brought back faint images of love and happiness, of course this only lasted so long until my dad took his own life by overdosing on heroin. Walking into the room on Christmas morning to discover my dad on his back with a bottle in his hand and his mouth covered in a foamy substance. A tear makes its way down my cheek down to the end of my chin. His joint is half gone, I decide Im going to do this now because the weed smells amazing and I want some of it. As quietly as I possibly can I army crawl over to the end of the truck. Luckily for me, it begins to monsoon. All you can hear now is the sound of many rain drops pounding onto the metal of the cold vehicle. Now I am so close I can count the hairs on the back of his neck and listen to every breath he takes in and releases. What seems like faster than the speed of light, I punch him with my left hand as heavily as I can. He drops the joint and I attempt to catch it before it hits the ground but I fail. His body ly lifeless on the muddy land so I figure I have a few minutes to find the joint. There it is, next to the tire, I pick it up and take a few long, slow hits off of it. Once Im done I turn my attention to the chump who thought he had my world in his hands. I pick his heavy limp body up and set him on the end of the bed. I wait for him to awake just so im not murdering a man who’s completely unconscious and defenseless, that would be boring. About five minutes later he mumbles a little and then like a rodent he scurries to the back end of the bed once he realizes his life is in danger. I don’t feel like listening to anything that he has to say, I would rather get this over with so I can move along to my destination heading nowhere, away. Right about this moment I remember that I had a terrible wound in my stomach thought to myself that if I didn’t get something done, I would most likely die. So I guess the best thing I can do now is accept dying and go out with a bang. Going to the hospital would result in my prison and possible death sentence. He hasn’t said a single word. So I jump onto the truck and proceed on killing this cockroach. I plant my foot into his face and while he’s recovering from this I smash the garden tool into his belly in an upward motion aiming to penetrate all of his internal organs including his heart. But to my surprise he grips my wrist with strength like that of a superhuman and I can feel my bones cracking within his tight clinch. He pushes me with brut force and I tumble to my ass nearly 10 feet back. Who is this guy? Or better yet, what is this guy? I didn’t want to find out the hard way. So I got back to my feet and ran the opposite direction of him faster than I thought I ever could before. My hands are covered in his blood, why is he not dead? Any normal human-being would be on the floor staring death straight in the eyes. I run, and I run, and I run for what seems like miles but really only about fifty yards. Then I stop to catch my breath, and as soon as I look back I can vaguely see his giant 6’5’’ structure stampeding toward me. He is breathing like an angry bowl on cocaine and then within a split second of my turning around I find myself on my back again. Only this time he is not letting me up. It’s not raining anymore and it’s starting to get bright out, light enough to where I can see him and indentify facial features. Over a time period of about seven and a half seconds I notice that he probably weighs about two hundred sixty pounds and he has short dark hair along with a thin mustache and bushy wire like side burns. He looks like a natural born killer, and I highly doubt he’s going to hesitate on my worthless ass. I begin to laugh hysterically and I point behind him as if something is about ready to happen. He looks back curiously and I get up and run while I can, I run to the truck. It is only but fifty some yards away, I can make it. He follows me but he is not as fast as I am, thankfully. I get into the truck and it starts instantly when I turn the key. Without looking back I slam it into reverse and spin around to go the way we came from. Going fifty down an unknown gravel road I let off a sigh of relief. That guy was crazy! About ten minutes later I reach cement. You would think I’d feel free and happy that I got away. But I’m not. My jaw drops when I see the brigade of police cruisers and S.W.A.T trucks about one hundred yards down the road. I think for a good ten seconds on what to do. Then I see it. A fully loaded 9mm pistol that’s peering deep into my soul, calling my name; and telling me to do horrible things. Im going to do it, I grasp it and cock it back. As soon as I step out I get pegged by one of those bullet type things that they use for riots to drop the out of order civilians. This one happens to leak large amounts of tear gas. I am blinded, and I can hear many boots sprinting towards me and before I know it I feel my face being crushed onto the pavement. My cheek bone is shattered and they don’t care. But then again neither do I. I’m now cuffed on my ankles and my wrists and being thrown into the back of a swat truck. It’s cold, dark, and quite. I think im being sent to a hospital. I don’t really want to go because I just want to die now.

    I wake up a few hours later in a hospital bed with two large security men sitting on both my left and right. I am completely strapped down and cannot move a single limb at all. I laugh, and cry at the same time. I’m going to prison, where I’ll live a redundant animal like life with other people like me, even people who are more disgusting and filthy than me. Murderers, thieves, rapists, and all that good stuff. Well, hopefully the food is good.