Martyr, If I May
Final draft. Any changes will be minuscule at this point.
Chapter 2
Murder, Apparently
Why? Why the hell did I get myself involved? I had no idea what had happened, or what the hell I was thinking. Before I knew it, life around me started moving very quickly, in a downward direction.
I was arrested for questioning immediately. They hounded me for four days straight asking me what I knew, what I knew, what I knew. Then, when I finally convinced them of my lack of solid knowledge, they asked me why I interfered. Over and over, the same exact question several different ways. The manhunt reached a dead end when they finally decided that I would just be charged with interfering with an investigation.
Walking in, the vast courtroom was too large to seem like anything but a dead cathedral. There was no echo, the walls swallowed words as they left your mouth. It just felt like conversing inside of a carcass.
I plead guilty, and was charged a hefty fee, as well as one hundred hours of community service. Then, just as they went to go hand me my belongings, the officer noticed something: a long brunette hair, slightly auburn in the light, was tangled into one side of my ear buds. The follicle was tested, and by the end of the day, it was hers.
The victim.
They then revealed to me that the murder weapon was undeniably my earphones, and the jury did nothing but nod and agree. I was offered a plea bargain: plead guilty, and they’d drop the prior charges.
“No. I understand that you might think this is a good deal, seeing as you’re just a public defense, but I’d literally be committing perjury if I plead guilty. This isn’t about morals, this is the law!”
My lawyer sighed deeply, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “Son, maybe you honestly don’t think you did this crime, but even I’m not convinced. Maybe you’re trying to tell me your plan is to plead insanity? Because, if that is true, it is too late for such games. You have given testimony after testimony, and while none of them contradict each other, there are holes slowly appearing. The prosecution is having a heyday with your stories! Just admit it: you, are, fucked. Royally.”
“So I forgot a few stupid insignificant things I did before and after class that day. Trivial at best.”
“Trivial? You don’t have an alibi! Every piece of evidence puts you in that park, with her!”
“Come on, I know the state pays you, but you have got to be the shittiest lawyer in existence!”
“Well, that won’t matter very soon, will it? You’re going to prison, son, whether you like it or not. So, best of luck with that.”
I was seething. He was the only person I had. Not even a friend, just… a person. And he gave up on me. I knew I didn’t do this, so why was it so hard to establish that to a group of strangers?
Well, twenty-five to life. That’s what I faced. And I gave them the honest truth. “I don’t know how I missed it” is what I would say, or “If I had left just a few seconds later, it could’ve been me.” They all rolled their eyes. We know better, they all thought. You are the lowest being on the planet right now, and you can’t even take the credit for it.
I was the worthless pile of filth people can’t even uncover their mouths around without thinking they’ll catch the disease. I was the health code violation that shuts down successful businesses. And I was about to be the dirt swept under the rug to be the one thing we all undeniably fear: forgotten.
One word had never defined so much in a person until the word “guilty” was created. It reshapes everything; lifestyle, mannerisms, living quarters.
You are guilty.
The whole world had this little bit of life to it that was breathing much more hushed now, either distant or ending.
You are guilty.
It had a light to it that was dimming or getting further.
You are guilty.
They know. They know something I don’t know or won’t accept.
I am guilty.
I am forever guilty. And it scared me, because I could know no other thing. I didn’t know what made me guilty, but there I was, guilty, none the less.
***
As I moved from one end of the cell to the other, contemplating how one sleeps on a toddler-sized bed and feels any warmth, or at least doesn't end up on concrete, I could actually hear nothing. Not even the ringing I was used to. I could also see nothing but blank white if I looked in the right spot. If I laid perfectly still, I could feel nothing. I could literally sense nothing if I wanted to. And right then I did, because something felt so familiar about that nothing. Feeling nothing was better than feeling guilty.
So, that’s what I did for the first couple weeks to cope. I would wake up, go to my first square of the day, go to my cell, and zone out. Second square, zone out outside, third square, and rest. Repeat, rinse when sanctioned by the warden. And this was fine except that, after a while, I realized that prison was exactly the fucking same as my old life.
I had created my hole in society. Then the world created a guilty hole and put me there. Now I’m back in my old hole, in a guilty place.
I still didn’t belong here.
They can tell me I’m guilty all they want, but I don’t belong here!
Until society builds me a hole I can agree with, I refuse to move! I will stay put until they give me a good hole!
Well, society doesn’t reside in these walls in any form other than tax dollars and spite. This is a place intentionally kept out of the general public. You’ll have to build by yourself.
But I lacked the foundation for a revision on my life. No one ever told me life was so repetitive and sarcastic and underhanded. I didn’t want to deal with what was out there, why would I do any different in here?
Come up with your own reason for being lazy. Don’t blame the world for your lack of direction.
Yes, direction. I needed guidance, a helping hand. But all I had was me, an orange jumpsuit with a number on it telling the world I was no longer a person, but a lesser thing. Me and these four walls.
***
About eleven days in, he approached me in the yard. A tall brute with a shaved head, his broad shoulders carried heavy arms made for killing. A tattoo was on the top of his left arm; a list, too long to be items or statements, they appeared to be names. And just above the list was the headless horseman, cast in the warm colors of Fall. His breaths were slow and deep, concise and exact, but also ready to change with the wind. But he was heading straight towards me. What was I going to do? Wait, or run?
Wait.
He came up to my bench and motioned me to scoot over to my side a little. I did, and he slowly sat down beside me. I stared at the ground, willing for it to change and for my footing to be secure once more. A few minutes passed by, the ground chilled but the sky bright.
He spoke first, jolting me. “This year-time, it makes us all fools-worthy, doesn’t it?”
Clearing my throat, “Uh, yeah. I guess it does some days.”
“The sun, with the cold. Few things in life-times hold contradict-wise as an Autumn bright-chill.”
I peeked up at him. He was gazing stoic and focused into the cloudless horizon, a look of admiration and respect. Before today is done, I said to myself, I’m going to convince him to protect me. This could be the first of four new walls I’d need to start building again.
He smirked a bit. “So, the name-sake is Adam. Not known-much for my talking, so I’d rather-prefer it if you’d interrupt and do a bit-of-your-own.”
“Oh, uh… My name is Steven. Steven Thomas Gore.”
“And…”
“And…?”
“What are you in here for?”
“Oh, got it.” The act of conversing was leaving me a few steps behind. “Murder, apparently.”
He laughed. “Pretty back-laid about such a charge so-serious. Feel a remorse-lack, I assume. They ask for it, then?”
“No, I… I just don’t feel much of anything anymore. Haven’t in a few years, to be honest.”
He suddenly got very serious. “Playing keep-away with me, are we?”
“What?”
“Well, either secret-keeping from me, or from you. Seeing as it’s possible-not to lose track of your-self, then I’m offended-personally by the direction you’ve thus-chosen.” He got up to leave.
“No, wait! Please, let me explain.”
“Look, don’t explain it to me. Just wanted to pick your brain for stories-untold. Feel-free to be a prick all you-want, just figured you’d be interested in having a look-friend watch over you.”
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Friend.
God, that sounds amazing. I could really use someone to talk to, someone I could call more than an eyesore.
“Adam, please come back!”
It got eerily quiet, everyone was heading back inside to their confined spaces. A couple glances back told me that I should stop drawing attention to myself.
I sighed and slowly made my way to the doors. I knew it; I knew he’d never protect me. My life was just one long painful mistake after the other.
Once inside, I was pulled off to the side and quickly hushed.
“Thrice-days, we’ll be mates. Cell-mates, that is. You watch out for me and I mutual-protect, understood?”
“Yes, yes, anything, please, I need you to help me.”
“Alright, Tuesday will be then. Talk to no-one, understood? Leave everything to me.”
“Okay, Tuesday, got it. See you then.”
Chapter 2
Murder, Apparently
Why? Why the hell did I get myself involved? I had no idea what had happened, or what the hell I was thinking. Before I knew it, life around me started moving very quickly, in a downward direction.
I was arrested for questioning immediately. They hounded me for four days straight asking me what I knew, what I knew, what I knew. Then, when I finally convinced them of my lack of solid knowledge, they asked me why I interfered. Over and over, the same exact question several different ways. The manhunt reached a dead end when they finally decided that I would just be charged with interfering with an investigation.
Walking in, the vast courtroom was too large to seem like anything but a dead cathedral. There was no echo, the walls swallowed words as they left your mouth. It just felt like conversing inside of a carcass.
I plead guilty, and was charged a hefty fee, as well as one hundred hours of community service. Then, just as they went to go hand me my belongings, the officer noticed something: a long brunette hair, slightly auburn in the light, was tangled into one side of my ear buds. The follicle was tested, and by the end of the day, it was hers.
The victim.
They then revealed to me that the murder weapon was undeniably my earphones, and the jury did nothing but nod and agree. I was offered a plea bargain: plead guilty, and they’d drop the prior charges.
“No. I understand that you might think this is a good deal, seeing as you’re just a public defense, but I’d literally be committing perjury if I plead guilty. This isn’t about morals, this is the law!”
My lawyer sighed deeply, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “Son, maybe you honestly don’t think you did this crime, but even I’m not convinced. Maybe you’re trying to tell me your plan is to plead insanity? Because, if that is true, it is too late for such games. You have given testimony after testimony, and while none of them contradict each other, there are holes slowly appearing. The prosecution is having a heyday with your stories! Just admit it: you, are, fucked. Royally.”
“So I forgot a few stupid insignificant things I did before and after class that day. Trivial at best.”
“Trivial? You don’t have an alibi! Every piece of evidence puts you in that park, with her!”
“Come on, I know the state pays you, but you have got to be the shittiest lawyer in existence!”
“Well, that won’t matter very soon, will it? You’re going to prison, son, whether you like it or not. So, best of luck with that.”
I was seething. He was the only person I had. Not even a friend, just… a person. And he gave up on me. I knew I didn’t do this, so why was it so hard to establish that to a group of strangers?
Well, twenty-five to life. That’s what I faced. And I gave them the honest truth. “I don’t know how I missed it” is what I would say, or “If I had left just a few seconds later, it could’ve been me.” They all rolled their eyes. We know better, they all thought. You are the lowest being on the planet right now, and you can’t even take the credit for it.
I was the worthless pile of filth people can’t even uncover their mouths around without thinking they’ll catch the disease. I was the health code violation that shuts down successful businesses. And I was about to be the dirt swept under the rug to be the one thing we all undeniably fear: forgotten.
One word had never defined so much in a person until the word “guilty” was created. It reshapes everything; lifestyle, mannerisms, living quarters.
You are guilty.
The whole world had this little bit of life to it that was breathing much more hushed now, either distant or ending.
You are guilty.
It had a light to it that was dimming or getting further.
You are guilty.
They know. They know something I don’t know or won’t accept.
I am guilty.
I am forever guilty. And it scared me, because I could know no other thing. I didn’t know what made me guilty, but there I was, guilty, none the less.
***
As I moved from one end of the cell to the other, contemplating how one sleeps on a toddler-sized bed and feels any warmth, or at least doesn't end up on concrete, I could actually hear nothing. Not even the ringing I was used to. I could also see nothing but blank white if I looked in the right spot. If I laid perfectly still, I could feel nothing. I could literally sense nothing if I wanted to. And right then I did, because something felt so familiar about that nothing. Feeling nothing was better than feeling guilty.
So, that’s what I did for the first couple weeks to cope. I would wake up, go to my first square of the day, go to my cell, and zone out. Second square, zone out outside, third square, and rest. Repeat, rinse when sanctioned by the warden. And this was fine except that, after a while, I realized that prison was exactly the fucking same as my old life.
I had created my hole in society. Then the world created a guilty hole and put me there. Now I’m back in my old hole, in a guilty place.
I still didn’t belong here.
They can tell me I’m guilty all they want, but I don’t belong here!
Until society builds me a hole I can agree with, I refuse to move! I will stay put until they give me a good hole!
Well, society doesn’t reside in these walls in any form other than tax dollars and spite. This is a place intentionally kept out of the general public. You’ll have to build by yourself.
But I lacked the foundation for a revision on my life. No one ever told me life was so repetitive and sarcastic and underhanded. I didn’t want to deal with what was out there, why would I do any different in here?
Come up with your own reason for being lazy. Don’t blame the world for your lack of direction.
Yes, direction. I needed guidance, a helping hand. But all I had was me, an orange jumpsuit with a number on it telling the world I was no longer a person, but a lesser thing. Me and these four walls.
***
About eleven days in, he approached me in the yard. A tall brute with a shaved head, his broad shoulders carried heavy arms made for killing. A tattoo was on the top of his left arm; a list, too long to be items or statements, they appeared to be names. And just above the list was the headless horseman, cast in the warm colors of Fall. His breaths were slow and deep, concise and exact, but also ready to change with the wind. But he was heading straight towards me. What was I going to do? Wait, or run?
Wait.
He came up to my bench and motioned me to scoot over to my side a little. I did, and he slowly sat down beside me. I stared at the ground, willing for it to change and for my footing to be secure once more. A few minutes passed by, the ground chilled but the sky bright.
He spoke first, jolting me. “This year-time, it makes us all fools-worthy, doesn’t it?”
Clearing my throat, “Uh, yeah. I guess it does some days.”
“The sun, with the cold. Few things in life-times hold contradict-wise as an Autumn bright-chill.”
I peeked up at him. He was gazing stoic and focused into the cloudless horizon, a look of admiration and respect. Before today is done, I said to myself, I’m going to convince him to protect me. This could be the first of four new walls I’d need to start building again.
He smirked a bit. “So, the name-sake is Adam. Not known-much for my talking, so I’d rather-prefer it if you’d interrupt and do a bit-of-your-own.”
“Oh, uh… My name is Steven. Steven Thomas Gore.”
“And…”
“And…?”
“What are you in here for?”
“Oh, got it.” The act of conversing was leaving me a few steps behind. “Murder, apparently.”
He laughed. “Pretty back-laid about such a charge so-serious. Feel a remorse-lack, I assume. They ask for it, then?”
“No, I… I just don’t feel much of anything anymore. Haven’t in a few years, to be honest.”
He suddenly got very serious. “Playing keep-away with me, are we?”
“What?”
“Well, either secret-keeping from me, or from you. Seeing as it’s possible-not to lose track of your-self, then I’m offended-personally by the direction you’ve thus-chosen.” He got up to leave.
“No, wait! Please, let me explain.”
“Look, don’t explain it to me. Just wanted to pick your brain for stories-untold. Feel-free to be a prick all you-want, just figured you’d be interested in having a look-friend watch over you.”
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Friend.
God, that sounds amazing. I could really use someone to talk to, someone I could call more than an eyesore.
“Adam, please come back!”
It got eerily quiet, everyone was heading back inside to their confined spaces. A couple glances back told me that I should stop drawing attention to myself.
I sighed and slowly made my way to the doors. I knew it; I knew he’d never protect me. My life was just one long painful mistake after the other.
Once inside, I was pulled off to the side and quickly hushed.
“Thrice-days, we’ll be mates. Cell-mates, that is. You watch out for me and I mutual-protect, understood?”
“Yes, yes, anything, please, I need you to help me.”
“Alright, Tuesday will be then. Talk to no-one, understood? Leave everything to me.”
“Okay, Tuesday, got it. See you then.”