The End

Both the fingers of that broken clock are pointing at 1. And right now, I am being held at gunpoint!

I would have told you my name, but it seems unnecessary now! I am standing in the middle of this miserable room inside this abandoned building. A layer of dust, broken shards of wood, and glass are scattered all over the floor. I guess I ran too far this time, apparently not far enough.

For the last 7 years of my life, I have done nothing but run. Run from the cops, run from family, run from problems, and run from life. Well, these are some inconveniences that come to the entire package with a label of a wanted criminal with 149 felony charges, including murder, rape, and substance abuse. So in short, my entire life, I have run away.

Amusing thing is, I got knocked into this kind of life by the people whose faces I don't even remember. Not that I am looking for revenge or anything, because there is no point in blaming others for my actions. I remember it all started after I took my first hit of dope at the age of 15.

My mother is a detective, and my dad worked as a judge in the supreme court. Both of them, as one might speculate, admired and successful in their jobs. The surrounding people respected and admired them, but somewhere along the way, this respect turned into envy, malice, and contempt of their colleagues.

When I was 15-years-old, my father's so-called well-wishers introduced me to drugs, and my mistake was that I was a peculiar and detached child. My curiousness led me to try it, and my detachment from my busy parents never allowed me to tell them about the swamp I was inching towards.

The worst kind of poison either intentionally and unintentionally our parents can give us in childhood is not drugs, but their absence when we needed them the most. Once again, I am not ranting about it; I know they were busy, however, a little attention could have been really helpful. Or maybe not, who knows?

When I realized that what has happened it was already too late, I couldn't turn back. At the age of 20, I finally realized that I had become what others call a 'junkie'. My father caught me for the first time smoking pot in an old apartment with some people who were just as high as me and grounded me inside my room for the act.

Things really escalated after this incident of being caught. I was deeply buried under my disgusting habits now. After being grounded for a month by dad, he prohibited me from taking any kind of drugs. I honestly tried to resist the temptation till the point of having seizures and blackouts. Sadly, my body could not handle it and I gave up in just a week.

I don't know what happened to me after that because now I was driven by my addiction and that was when I executed my first sin. I beat my father to death with a steel pipe I found in my garage and ran away from home. I still vaguely remember that scene because of the mixed emotions I felt after seeing his bloody face.

Now I was a full-fledged murder convict. After that, things became surprisingly mainstream. I did all possible crimes to get all possible drugs. The addiction even reached a point where I even considered taking all the dope in the world and might as well choke under it. But those were just my 'high' thoughts.

Whether it was stealing, rape, or murder — be it either women and children. I did everything to get my 'precious'. Obviously, the felony charges kept piling up, one over the other, and there was no end to it. I turned into a monster scarier than those under your beds.

Now, after 7 more years of running, I am alone, and I am exhausted. My soul has finally given up and doesn't want to endure the burden of my sins anymore. I feel rotten. I couldn't live a life worth remembering, being dragged by my temptations. I guess this is a fitting end for me.

Her eyes are tearing up. Good thing is that this woman is not letting her guard down at all. It's impossible for me to find any openings to run away. It's okay, I really don't want to run anymore. I really can't take it anymore.

This all needs to end now! I guess this is what they call a feeling of regret. It's too painful! I feel I am about to break. Karma is ultimately ready to bite me back. Though I wish I could see my sister's face one last time. After 7 years, she might have grown to become a beautiful woman.

Now that I think about, how did her face look like? I bet she looks pretty now! Does she have that mole on her right or left cheek? Or did I even have a sister? I guess all that marijuana has jumbled up my memory.

Yeah! I want to rest now. Things did not go well for me, and I am grateful that this woman is not showing any mercy at all. If she had, I would have run away again. She keeps sobbing while pointing her revolver at me.

"Don't worry mom, I love you." I smiled at her with my hand above my head. "I was weak, and I sullied your name."

~sob~ ~sob~

My mother covered her mouth with her left hand. Her tears didn't stop falling as if there was no end. I really am scum for doing this to her. This is it for me, I have nothing but emptiness to offer to this world.

"I am sorry mom and it wasn't your fau—." The bullet penetrated my left eye before I could even complete my sentence. The wall behind me got painted with my brain and my mind dissolved into nothing.

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