I was picked up

I was put down

Click

Tap

As I made contact with the paper

It was constant

I was happy.

I rose

I fell

I waited

To be lifted

once again

For I hadn't been used

in a long time.

So I waited,

hanging there, staying there,

expecting there

to be

a change,

but none arrived.

I was misused

Practically thrown away

but somehow I was seen

and so I was wielded once more

by the next person

who happened to pick me back up

Off of the ground.

Sure, I was lost,

but now I was found.

We hurry away to the end, dear friend,

Of this sad little farce called existence,

And are sure that the future will bring one thing,

...the grave

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox)

"What, in your opinion, speared you from the herd?" Doc asked, sipping on a steaming mug.

 I was on the second hour of therapy. The second hour of my slow demise.

"I have a powerful thirst." I scoffed.

"What about? For what do you yearn?"

Oh, dead Jesus Christ.

I rolled my weary eyes in frustration. This useless bag of old skin flaps has been prodding me for weeks, trying to get a morbid glimpse inside of my mind.

"Hmm, let's see...", I sat up straight in my chair and pushed invisible glasses along my nose.

"I suppose I yearn for this painstaking hour to be up. That seems like an unquenchable thirst to me, Doc." I mocked, exaggerating the S's in my sentences.

"I'm here to help, Yates. Now, I need you to cooperate if you ever want your privileges reinstated." Doc Hilliard spoke with a warmth that made my stomach churn.

"Oh, yes! My yard time!", I said, sarcastically, "Do you really believe I care to congregate with those hoodlums, sir? I'd rather dig my eyeballs out of their sockets with a rusted spoon! That sounds like a grand panoply, right? Right! That is what I yearn for sir! An exhibit of a lifetime!"

Doc perked up like he'd witnessed an experiment take an unexpected turn. He focused keenly on said experiment and wanted, selfishly, to poke at it's innards.

 "Why, in your opinion, do you continue to be drawn to violence, Yates? Why do you have an incessant need to do harm? Have you no remorse for the lives you took?"

 I laughed a good hearty laugh; a boisterous, nearly maniacal chuckle. I could hardly control myself, heaving back and forth in my chair.

Doc observed my hysterics intently.

Doc sat patiently, waiting for me to catch my breath occasionally jotting notes on a yellow legal pad and taking hefty gulps of his cooling brew.

 Finally he said, "Okay. Now that you've gotten that out of your system, take me back to your childhood. What was your mother like? Your father?"

I could have killed him right then. I could have grabbed him by his crooked nose and jammed his clicky-clacky pen into the side of his neck.

I breathed.

"Hmph." I curled a smile, crossed my arms in my lap and slouched back into my seat.

"What about your childhood? Who or what inspired you to take on the duties of a psych, Doc?"

"We're not here to talk about-"

"To talk about you?", I interjected, "Oh, but why do you help the weak, Doc? Let me guess..."

 I sucked my teeth, stood up and began pacing back and forth in front of the long, polished wooden desk that separated us.

"You lost a family member to the ol' dead time when you were young?" I stroked my chin and lowered my invisible glasses. I continued, "A parent? Sibling? Perhaps, you caused this grief and have to fill that restless void? Am I warm?"

Doc was fidgeting. Clicking his clacky pen.

"You need to have a seat or I will have to call-" 

"Ah-ha! That's it! Did you poison dear ol' Mom?- No! You killed the family pet! A hound dog! I'm right, aren't I?"

 Doc's face turned a beautiful shade of crimson red like a sun dried tomato. A vein seemed to appear in his neck and throb like magic. A single bead of sweat rolled down his wrinkled cheek.

"I said sit down or-!"

I sat with a loud plop, unable to suppress the excitement.

"Sitting! Done, sir!" I saluted like a soldier and grinned a toothy grin.

"Yates, I don't suppose you are taking this treatment seriously. Now, if you intend on achieving reformation, I will need you to cooperate in a way that is beneficial. We all want to see you heal." He said, sternly. He wiped away the remnants of nervousness.

"Oh, how considerate, sir. Your robotic compassion is electric. The truth is, and oh-- how I know you love the truth, you are just like myself! You too, have a terrible past. Although hidden from view, it's there and it's not dissimilar to my own. The difference between you and I, Doc, is that I became reckless in my pursuits and subsequently, am forced to live out my days within these six walls." 

"Six?" he asked, looking away from his clacky pen and yellow pad and peering at me from behind his bifocals.

"Yes, sir. Six. Can you see the sky from this room or feel the grass beneath your feet? Let us not veer from the facts, sir. I'll spend the rest of my life here, within these walls but you will be confined within your own mind. That's the worst prison of them all, is it not?"

Silence fell between the Doc and I. He stared into my eyes and held a fiery gaze. His face no longer reddened but a pale pearly white.

"Of course, I could be mistaken," I said, breaking the pause, "You, yourself, could be a reformed man. Be it boredom or exhaustion, crime doesn't always continue the course of satisfaction."

Doc held a confused gaze. He'd forgotten to scribble notes or swig from his chilly mug. I think he'd forgotten to breathe at all.

"Don't you remember me, Doc?" I whispered.

I pressed my crossed arms into my breasts, squeezing them against my chest and leaned in closer. He glanced down at the bulge rising toward my throat.

"I was only a child." I laughed. "Fourteen years old and a whole life of violence ahead! Oh, what little I knew! The naivety of youth. You see, sir, my childhood was a dream. A fairytale, even. I could've grown to become an actress of a film writer! I could've been a doc like you, Doc! After the insidious crime you acted upon me, I was shown a new world. A childhood not robbed, but enlightened! Ha! What a twisted world in which we live! What a random bunch of nonsense!" The excitement grew wider and wider in the pit of my gut.

Doc's expression had fallen. His now sunken eyes screamed out in agony and his pen jostled in his shaking hand. Sweat beaded and fell in unison on either side of his brow like tears. His skin was turning an exquisite shade of green. He gasped for air, clutched his chest and fell onto the carpeted floor. His swollen tongue muffled his cries.

"Oh, how terrifyingly poetic." I said.

I rose to my feet and hovered over his seizing body. His old, scruffy jaw lay slacken and only the whites of his eyes were visible in their sockets. Coffee colored foam stained his white pressed button-down and seeped into the carpet beneath him. 

He struggled for one last rattling breath of of air; an unquenchable thirst for life.

He fell limp.

I picked up the black clacky pen from the floor and clicked it twice. I watched as the ballpoint ducked in and out of it's casing, then slid it into the pocket of my prison uniform.

Buried deep inside me, my greed has a ravenous urgency; an urgency to consume you as you are the oxygen filling my very lungs.

Slowly my fingertips graze down your spine memorizing every groove, every mark time has made upon you; my hand tightening, bringing you in close as I carry you forward.

I hastily move now impatient to be out of here, to be alone with you; as I see a line forming I hoist you onto the counter slowly, the cashiers eyes meet mine and casually the words slide out of his lips, "Just one book today, ma'am?"

The plan was simple: Set the school on fire. Save the guy. The "live-happily-ever-after" end.

Let me answer your questions. How old am I? Sixteen. Why am I literally playing-with-fire? Well... Am I crazy? Perhaps. Don't I see the danger? I do, and that's exactly why I planned it so.

He and I conversed during homeroom through Morse. His desk was behind mine, so it worked out well. Special messages were often carved on bits of chocolate, double-sided-tape and aluminum foil wrappers. It was cute.

But lately, he'd shut me out. Not a word. Not even a response to a "...---..." SOS message. And so it went on for months when I snapped. I needed him back at literally any cost.

It was perfect. The remote-control solar-powered car from the science-fair was set on the window by my desk. The weights from the physics-lab, placed perfectly to pull down the lighter on the key-chain, just long enough to light the oil-dipped newspaper that stuck out from the edge of my wooden desk. I had the classroom keys, being the class rep: doors sealed. Archery was right outside the window, two floor below. His chess club was two rooms away, and the only other member had quit the day before.

All I had to do was slip out of archery training and press one button. The rest would take care of itself.

And then, things went wrong.

The sirens flared up as expected. My plastic lighter was molten by now, so I was safe. I slipped in through the back staircase and beelined to the chess club.

Empty.

This wasn't the plan.

The school was clearing out. The general panic was hardly a hindrance to my concentration. The smoke, however, was. I could hardly breathe. This was wrong. Plain wrong. He was supposed to be in the chess club, perhaps passed out. I was to come, first-aid, and make a quick exit, if necessary, through the window. I thought I'd covered all the worst case scenarios. I had to think fast.

I rushed to the store-room. The chess boards were to be returned there after practice. Empty. Sports room: Empty. Terrace: Empty.

Tick-tock-tick-tock.

After what seemed like forever, and what probably cost me much more, I realized the real worst case scenario. I ran back to my classroom in slow motion - my feet couldn't move any faster. My shoes were melting in the heat. My lungs were giving up. I thought I was done for. Yet, that would have been better:

The classroom door lay burning on the floor. There he was. His head on my desk. Eyes open. Absolutely still. Perhaps, in an alternate, fireproof universe, we'd laugh about his flaming hair.

All I saw now was the smoldering silver foil that lay beside him:

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- ( I love you)

My tears vaporized before they fell. I hardly felt the pain.

"I love you too, stupid! I've always loved you!"

I hadn’t been cuffed more than 30 minutes and I was already feeling claustrophobic. The cop put me in the back of the police car alone. They had Steve cuffed and were talking to him on the sidewalk. I laid my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. How did Steve and I end up breaking into a bicycle shop? Twelve hours ago we were sitting on my front porch passing a bottle of Jack between us. Men can come up with some really good ideas when Jack is helping them think, men can also come up with some really stupid ideas thanks to Jack.

It was 2:00 in the afternoon when Steve came over to my house. He wasn’t working, but would sometimes get an odd job here and there, never anything steady. I couldn’t say much about him not working, I wasn’t working either. The factory laid me off and hadn’t called me back. Steve stayed with his sister and her husband most of the time, unless he did something stupid and mouthed off to them, then they would kick him out. My wife, Stacey, was working a double shift at the diner and wouldn’t be home until late, which was good since Steve and Stacey didn’t get along. Stacey and I had one son, Noah, he stayed with Stacey’s mom and dad while she worked. Steve’s hair was long and greasy, his clothes looked dirty and he smelled of a foul body odor. He sat down in the chair beside me and I wondered when he had last had a place to bathe.

“Hey Steve, how’ve been?” I greeted him as I tried to look glad to see him.

Steve looked around the porch and through the front door screen. “I’m fine, I’m cool, Stacey around?”

I laughed. “No, you’re safe, she’s working and won’t be home until late tonight.”

“Good, then let us party my friend.”

Steve opened a bottle of Jack he brought with him and took a swig. Then he handed it to me, I took a swig even though I knew it was a bad idea. We passed the bottle back and forth while we talked about old times. Steve and I had grown up together, I didn’t know him until we met at the school parking lot. He was beating up a kid, I just stood there and watched, I could have done something, but I was in awe of Steve. I was the plain, nerdy kid that got the grunt of all the bullies’ attention. He saw me standing there watching him beat the kid up and he smiled at me, then went back to beating the kid. After that day he took me under his wing and taught me to fight.

“I can’t party too hard these days, I have a wife and kid now.” I had to remind Steve that I was not the same carefree puppy that use to follow him around.

“Yeah but they aren’t here.”

“They will be and I don’t want my son seeing his father drunk, and you know Stacey would skin my hide if she comes home to me drunk.”

“Must be hard.”

“What must be hard?” I ask him, perplexed at his statement.

“Having that ball and chain around your ankle.” He laughed, I didn’t see what was so funny.

We spent the next four hours talking about old times and taking swigs of Jack. I started talking about getting laid off at the factory and not being able to find a job. I made the mistake of telling him what a rough time Stacey and I had been having without my income. It was down to me finding a job immediately or our house being foreclosed on, that’s when Steve came up with his brilliant idea thanks partially to himself and partially to Jack.

My stupidity was partially Jack and partially me, I opened my eyes and we were at the police station. The cop came around and opened the door so I could get out, I followed him into the station. He told me not to try anything, took the cuffs of me and fingerprinted me. As soon as they were done with the fingerprints I was allowed to wash my hands and was re-cuffed. The cop took me into a room with a long table and some chairs around it. Two cops came into the room and sat down across the table from me. They started asking me questions about me and Steve breaking into the bicycle shop. The questions were flying at me so, I tuned them out and my thoughts went back to Steve and I on my front porch.

Steve was taking more swigs from the bottle of Jack than I was, of course he had lots of practice. He started drinking when he was twelve and hadn’t stopped since. At 5’5”, chunky and wavy carrot red hair, he reminded me of Danny Bonaduce. The two of us were quite a contrast since I stood about 5’9”, slim and had jet black hair. I remember Steve pulling a bottle of Jack out of his backpack after school one day, he started drinking it as we walked home. We were both 13 and I idolized Steve, I told him how cool I thought he was and he was the man, drinking Jack and smoking weed. I often wondered if by me telling him how cool I thought he was and idolizing him made him drink more and not give it up. Maybe if I had told him how stupid I thought he was and how I didn’t think he was cool at all when he drank and smoked weed, maybe he would have stopped. Instead I joined him every now and then and learned how to break the law and not get caught, only this time we did get caught.

I asked the officers where Steve was, but they wouldn’t tell me. I thought about telling them that this was all a big mistake, but how can smashing in the window at the bicycle shop after it’s closed be a mistake. Instead of sitting on my porch drinking whiskey with Steve, I should have been out trying to find a job. I guess there was still a little part of me that was thinking Steve was cool. The officers left the room and left me alone sitting there handcuffed, why had things gotten so turned upside down?

We had been passing the bottle between us when Steve took the last drink, I shouldn’t have done it, I realize now, but I went and got a bottle of Jack I had in the house. I was feeling like such a failure since I lost my job, I thought I would be cool bringing out another bottle of Jack. I was telling Steve how I couldn’t find a job, how hard it was, and that we might lose the house to foreclosure. He said he could help me out and went on to tell me about a plan he had to get some easy money. I knew better, but I was still that young boy wanting to look cool to Steve. We passed the bottle between us while he told me of his plan for getting easy money. Telling how we could break into the bicycle shop downtown, take some of the bicycles and sell them. I was drunk enough to think this was a good plan, about 15 years ago I had heard another one of his good plans.

“It’s a good plan, we just break into the school and take the cash box from the school store. The school doesn’t have an alarm system and I’ve been checking it out, they never lock the school store and they always leave the cash in it.”

“Steve I don’t know, my parents would tan my hide if we get caught.”

“We won’t get caught.”

It wasn’t a good plan, we got caught and my parents tanned my hide.

Now I was faced with another good plan of Steve’s and with the help of Jack I went along with the plan, it wasn’t a good plan. Downtown was usually deserted at night, but this night it wasn’t, someone passing by saw us and called the cops. So, here I was sitting in the police station, facing time in prison and surely losing my wife and son.

The cops came back into the room, I asked them again where Steve was and this time they told me. He had tried to make a run for it, they shot at him and one of them hit their target, Steve was dead. The guy I thought was so cool was gone and I was left alone, not feeling cool and finally realizing that Steve was not my idol. He was a lost soul that I should have tried to help instead of following in his footsteps. I could have made a difference in his life, he sure made a difference in my life.

Sweet caresses on my skin

Warmth of love creeping in

Birds chirping sweetly

as they greet the day

I send my love out to you

This lovely morn, be well be blessed

And know your loved.