Last night I woke up crying, no, sobbing. Here's why...
"I have done something wrong. I have done something terribly wrong." I heard myself say.
I then woke up in a bedroom. On the bed, sweating. Dresser, night table, lamp, carpet, all there. I woke up to knocking on the door, no, more of a banging. Some sort of commotion.
My eyes glazed, I look around the room. I notice my sister. She is frantically pacing the room. Panicky. I pause in that moment of waking up. I know it will be the only moment where I will have forgotten what I have done. Then it all comes rushing back, and I'm sucked back, hit with the situation.
The cops. The police, relentlessly hitting my door. Hitting so hard its bending and knocking dust off the frame.
The next part is a blur. I know there was a confrontation. Lots of yelling. High tension. The police spilled into the room and filled out all the nooks and crannies. Guns locked, cocked and loaded and aiming straight at me.
Somehow, we come to a conclusion, the tension eases. We all knew what has to happen. No one, not a single person, would walk out of that room until I no longer existed.
They sank into their positions, getting comfortable. All eyes/barrels on me. I could feel my skull burning there were so many scope lights on me. A general feeling of regret blanketed the room. Regret for what I had done. Regret for what they were about to do. I looked around and saw my sister squatting in the corner. Arms wrapped tightly around knees. Shivering.
I stood up, the blanket falling from my legs. I remember hearing the blanket fall to the bed, it sounded like thunder. There was the faintest, tiniest chuckle as I thought "Blankets aren't supposed to sound like that". Next thing I knew I was laying down again. On the floor this time. My head felt sticky, like I had landed on a bunch of freshly chewed bubble gum. Out of my peripheral I could see a puddle accumulating around the back of my head. I looked to the right and for the first time noticed that my bedroom had no walls. Not a single one.
There were bright lights, high above me and to the right. As they shifted their direction from me to my sister to the police my vision cleared. The stars in my eyes faded. I could finally see the environment I was in. I looked all around and everyone was there. My Theo Niko, Theo Angelo, My Nouno, Theo Peter, My Mom and Dad and Brother, all my cousins too. I am on a stage. My family the audience.
I have never felt such shame in my life. The part that hurt the worst was that they knew that. And they had all forgiven me. How could I have done something so horrible, so wrong and still be blessed with such genuinely good people in my life.
I look back around my room and notice that the police are ever so slowly back stepping their way out the door.
I prepared to expire on the floor of my bedroom. I tried with all my might to make it peaceful, to calm my racing mind. I saw the lights darkening. My family's faces blurring. I took a few deep breaths. What I thought would be my last. I remember trying to talk to God. Grasping and clawing at those last few strands of faith. I wanted to believe so badly that there is more after life. I felt extremely religious at that moment. As if God was reaching out to me. As quickly as I felt it it was gone. Whatever glimmer of hope, of light was enveloped in darkness. I knew that there was nothing for me after life. This seemed only to apply to me. As if he were showing me that there is something, I just would never be allowed to partake.
But consciousness just didn't seem to want to fade away. The world was still peeking at me through my cracked eye lids. I opened my eyes. I put my hand to my head. Without even touching it I could feel the parts of my brain missing and the parts of my personality that had gone with them. Putting my hand to my head only reinforced this. My movements were slow, lazy, and heavy. I could feel the sharpness of shattered skull and the lumpy softness of my brain. It felt absolutely foreign but at the same time explained why I was so sleepy. I tried talking but felt retarded, mumbling and slurring my words.
My sister was sobbing. I tried talking to her to calm her but just ended up mumbling. This had the opposite effect and terrified her and made her cry even harder.
I was now standing in the middle of my room. There were splinters of what used to be my furniture scattered all about. There were even a gun, a shotgun, left smoking on the floor. I couldn't break my stare. That gun held the only reasonable answer. I knew this. As I scanned the faces of my family it was apparent that they too knew this, anticipated it even. I must convince my sister of this. Would she be able to???
She was frantically shaking. I looked at her. She knew my intentions but refused to believe. I looked again at the gun.
I handed her the shotgun and lay back down and let my head hang off the edge of the bed. This time I would be ready. I looked at my sister. She limply held the gun and shook. Her shoulders, jerkily moving up and down with her sobs. Finally realizing the inevitable, she shuffled closer. One shot. Not good enough. There goes my childhood memories. She shuffles closer. Second shot. My collar bone is shattered. Again, she shuffles closer. This time close enough to put the gun to my head.
I look around. Everything is muted. All eyes on me. Flat stares. I can see it in their eyes. I have to go. I know that they will forget what I have done. I just have to go.
I look at my sister, she raises the gun, this time holding it more steadily, more intently. Her sobbing has stopped, only the lines down her cheeks remain. Her nostrils flare. Her eyes focus. She slowly leans forward and places the barrel of the gun to my forehead. For a split second I feel the heat of the last rounds fired.
And then I wake up.