PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I have an idea I said, when all of a sudden my hand slipped and hit the trigger.  I didn’t mean to kill him, he was in the way.  I killed my best friend and now I am in jail.  If only I had a chance to go back and do it over again.  I never would have pulled the gun out. I never would have been so stupid, if only I would have listened.  He would still be here if it weren’t for me.  Now, I have to live with the knowledge that I killed him and there is nothing I can do.  Nothing I can do to bring him back, nothing I can do to hear his voice.  I murdered him, and now I have to pay the price.

My parents didn’t believe it; I told them it was true.  I killed my best friend and there is nothing I can do.  I thought he was playing, but then I saw the blood.  Dripping from his head like a fountain of red.  I played along and said, “good one you got me.”  Even though deep inside I knew exactly what had happened.  I started to cry.  The tears swelled up, and I couldn’t help it.  I put the gun to my head.  I pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.  It only had one bullet. At that moment I wished I could die.  Was there a reason it only had one bullet?  Was god trying to tell me something?

When he was living Colin would be the one with the ideas.  I would just follow along like a little disciple. I was faithful to the end.  Wherever he went I went.  You never saw us by ourselves.  If only I had not wanted to have an idea.  We love to do stuff that will get the heart going.  We like to do stuff that involves explosions and big time “boo-boos.”  Our parents said it was going to be the end of us, well they were kind of right.  It was the end of one of us, too bad that one was not me.  I still believe to this day that I should have been the one with the bullet through the head.

It all started back when I met Colin.  We both met in 5th grade.  I found out that both of us liked the same music.  We both liked the rush of adrenaline too, but I will get to that later.  We both started hanging out listening to Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison; both of us liked the whole 60’s revolution music.  We also liked Nirvana.  Kind of ironic when you think of it.  We liked all the bands that had at least one lead singer dead, from either drugs or gunshot to the head. We both started doing heavy drugs like speed, ice, cocaine, popping all pills we could get our hands on, and lots and lots of Marijuana.  If only we knew that this would lead to the idea that would end in a death.

While Colin and I were at school, we learned that we were both adrenaline junkies.  We both found out one day that we had a high thresh-hold for pain.  We found that when put into a boring environment we could liven things up with pain.  We would light each other on fire and punch each other until we were black and blue.  We loved the feeling of pain, the adrenaline coursing through our bodies, the bones sticking from our arm.  We loved the girls we got too.  The girls loved to comfort us; they loved to ask how we got our scars.  The more we got hurt the more girls liked us.  We were bad boys, and girls love bad boys.  That is probably the reason we never stopped hurting ourselves.

No one knew us as friends; they knew us as brothers.  We had the occasional fight, like any friend or brother does.  We couldn’t stay mad at each other, but we did have some fist fights. In the end it all worked out and we stayed best of friends, but I don’t know what he would say if he were alive after I shot him.  I don’t believe he would ever forgive me for that. At least I wouldn’t forgive him if he shot me.  I’m sitting here in Juvenile Hall, waiting the day I am tried as an adult.  His parents used to love me, now they hate me.  I tried to say I was sorry, but how do you apologize for something like this.  I told them that when I realized what I had done I took the gun and pulled the trigger on myself.  I told them how I had wished there was another bullet in there. They knew, and I told them that the only way to say sorry was to die for Colin.

Colin and I were hanging out smoking some grass.  We were running kind of low, and we were getting bored.  We tried jumping off the roof, that was old stuff.  We needed something more.  If only we hadn’t wanted more, if only I had said this is going too far.  Somewhere deep in my head a voice was telling me not to do it.  I drowned that out with the constant noise of the gunfire. We had some glass bottles filled with gasoline and we were shooting them.  When they would bust they would burst into flames.  Like a fireworks display, when you are a kid.  Standing there in “aww” as the flames would rise in the air.  

When the gasoline had run out we didn’t know what to do.  We had bullets left but we were determined to do something stupid.  With the gun in one hand and bullets in the other, we set out for adventure.  We set out for a way to get in lots of trouble.  A lot was an understatement.  I loaded a bullet in; I aimed for the neighbor’s cat.  As I was about to pull the trigger Colin yelled, “Dude, what the hell that is a defenseless animal.”  I stopped, and lowered the gun.  I knew he was right, but we still needed something to do.  We walked to his backyard, I could still smell the gasoline fumes from earlier.  I decided to shoot at a tree.  When I aimed the gun, I started on the trigger.  I guess Colin hadn’t seen me.  He walked right into my line of sight just as the trigger was pulled.  I tried to pull off, but it was too late the mechanism went off.  The gun exploded with a force unlike it had been earlier.  

I looked around to see if he had dodged, but he didn’t.  I started to laugh, I thought he was playing.  I said, “good one you got me.”  I seriously thought he was playing.  Then I saw it, the blood on a leaf.  It rolled down the leaf in a neat stream all the way to the end of it.  I started to cry.  I had killed my brother, and there was no way of bringing him back.  He was dead and it was my entire fault.  

If you are reading this I have been executed.  I wrote this letter to myself to remind me of the pain. Even to the end I loved pain whether it was emotional or physical.  I am somewhere now, probably not heaven if you believe in that stuff.  If only I could go back and change what I had done. Do not follow this path, and you will do all right.