The Devil's Monologue (12 page)

The Devil owned my soul now. I couldn't
even call it mine. He decided what I saw and felt. He chose the
words that I would have to hear for eternity. My second chance was
over. My redemption a passing fancy.
I'm forced to watch the Old Man do his
dirty dance with that whore. Forced to relive my dark hours. Forced
to see Ma...
No matter. What's done is done. I can't
change it.
I hate that I know that. It makes me want
to go back to being stupid and unknowing. I want to not know any of
this. I want to live again, redo it until I get it right, or at
least decent. I want to die with dignity. Or at least die knowing I
had made a difference in the world. A good difference.
Strange how even after committing the most
horrible acts, you suddenly want to repent all of your wrongs while
on the brink of death. Like doing that one good deed before you die
is ever going to save your sorry ass. Trust me, it doesn't. Most of
the time it only ends up making it worse.
I pushed the dreamy kid, because I wanted
to be the good guy just once before I kicked the bucket. I wanted
to feel the inner superiority of integrity simply by doing what was
right instead of what would get me ahead in life. I wanted to be
the knight in shining armor, not the big fucking ogre he comes to
slay in order to save the princess.
Hell taught me that I'm not the hero. In
Hell, I ain't even the sidekick. Come full circle, back to where I
started, I'm still just the bad guy, each and every day, with a
good guy's face. I like to pretend I don't care or that I did
change before it was all over, but I know when I look in that
mirror it's not true. I know when I see myself, handsome or not,
I'm just who I started out to be before Jo ever talked to me on the
lawn that day. I should have just accepted it then and moved on. I
always thought Harvey was stupid for not being able to do just
that. And I here thought every one else was the hypocrite.
3 years.
That's how long I have been dead. That's
how long I have been forced to stared at my sorry carcass with
dirty shoes. God damn dirty shoes.
Epilogue:

To my dearest
Jackson,

I miss you. I miss how you
always took care of me. I never told you that it mattered, but it
did. I wish I could tell you how important you were. Maybe I will
be able to soon? My doctor gave me this notebook to write to you.
He said it would help. This is the first time I've actually written
in it since your father left me alone. I can't be alone. You know
that. I wish I could care that he left, but I don't. I hope he and
Trina are happy. At least one of us might be. I can't do this
anymore, JJ. I want to be with my son. Wherever you are, I want to
be there and away from this emptiness. All I ever knew to be was a
mom. Without you, I am nothing. I hope you can forgive me for this.
I love you.

To the moon and
back,

Mom

Ma set her pencil down. I
felt sick as I watched the words I had feared so intently form in
front of my eyes as I peered at her in my darkness. I tried to
reach out, but I could not touch her. I was only here to
observe.

She stroked the Old Man's “office” gun with
deep sadness and longing. It was all too familiar longing. I knew
that damn gun was loaded, just how I had left it. The room around
her looked bare as I realized my father's things were gone. He
really had left her.

Tears rolled like silver beads down her pale
cheeks. Ma made no attempt to brush them aside, instead she cried
harder and sobbed out loud. Her hands were shaky as she picked up
the heavy gun. I doubted she had ever touched a weapon much less
used one. The safety was off, just as I had left it. All it would
take would be the flick of her bony finger.

I started to scream as she held the gun to
her temple, “Put it down, Ma! Put it down! Please, Ma, just put it
down!” I knew she couldn't hear me, but I had to try. I had to stop
this craziness before another person was hurt.

“Ma! Please, Ma! Don't do this. Please don't
do this for me. I'm not worth dying for,” I began to cry along with
her, tears pouring down my face with invisible fury. I couldn't
believe this was happening, and that I was being made to watch.

The gun to her head, pain in her watery
eyes, and heaviness in both of our hearts, she pulled the
trigger.

Bang!

It was quick, like a bandaid, and over
before I had a chance to let out another pleading scream. The echo
of gunfire rang through the half empty room with a haunting melody
of loneliness. A mess of life was scattered across the pale yellow
flowers on the walls and the desk she had been sitting at. Staring
down at my muddy boots, while I stood in the dark depths of Hell, I
prayed for my mother's soul.

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