Crime Scene Tape is Just Decoration

To Whom It May Concern, this is my written apology. For what it is worth, I didn’t wake up in the morning and plan for this to happen. I know my apology won’t change what occurred and instead of easing hurt, might in actuality bring more pain. I feel though that closure might be gained for both of us from this letter, no matter how hard the process might be. To fully beg your forgiveness, I will need to explain to you what happened that day, from the start to what ended.

I thought that day was better, if not normal; I actually woke up before noon for a change and didn’t have a splitting headache from a hangover for once. I don’t remember how I managed to get to my house last night, let alone my bed, but that was a usual occurrence so it didn’t bother me. A beer can was sitting on my nightstand with a few swallows left so I conveniently washed down some pills. Even though I woke up early for me, I was already late to meet my dealer, I moved as fast as my deteriating body would let me, to my car.

It’s always an unpleasant thing, meeting my dealer. He really was a jackass to put it politely, no matter what the day or situation he, predictably tried to get you to give him half your stash or do some disgusting job for him. I may seem like a bad guy, but I’m not. Not to the extreme as my rotten, yellow teeth, dealer who smells’s as bad as a freshly trodden turd and the smell lingers for hours on end even though you wiped it off. I don’t kidnap and rape girls for money, neither do I do hits or get rid of evidence, when I’m really strapped for cash I might deal a bankie or two, but I’m not a bad guy.

After my errand was completed I drove to my friend’s house. As I said, my day was normal; going to my friend’s house was an extremely normal thing to do. He supplied the alcohol and I supplied the drugs, with us both chipping in for cigarettes. My friend managed to get some girls to come over to his house, two girls, one for each of us. I didn’t know either of their names, and frankly I couldn’t care if they were named Elizabeth or Barbie. They didn’t need to be smart, in fact I actually prefer girls who aren’t, I don’t want them for their IQ or for them to talk at all. That’s not what they were there for anyway.

The high we were on that day was an experiment, the stash I received from my dealer was some new stuff I hadn’t tried before, I was already bored of standard weed and bringing out the bong was getting jaded. Cocaine was said to be one of the best highs, so we decided to give it a try. I was saving the heroine in my car, just for me, I wasn’t willing to share that with anybody. The coke was amazing and on top of the weed and alcohol we ingested earlier I had never experienced a high like that before in my entire life! The world just seemed like a better place, everything was lighter, all your worries, pain and problems. Even your body seemed lighter; in fact it was a rediscovery of your body. Each hair was sensitized and rubbing your limbs against anything felt pleasurable. That small line bordering pain and pleasure, blended together in just pleasure! Colours sparkled against faded and blurred backgrounds it was a beautiful sight to see. But the thirst was unbearable, it felt as though my throat was gluing together and acid was disintegrating my cells and lungs. Drinking more alcohol to rid the thirst was a reprieve, the fluid pouring between the cracks of parched desert earth.

That was when I left the house, after all the narcotics I had consumed and still on my incredible high, I stumbled to my car. It was dark but I couldn’t tell the time, the height of the glowing orb in the sky indicated that it wasn’t quite midnight. Fumbling my keys, I shoved them in the ignition and turned with a vigor that sent thrills of pleasure up my arm from the sensation of the sudden shuddering vehicle; I thrust the gear into first and drove down the street and onto the highway.

I cannot tell you what I was thinking, if I even was thinking at all, as twin lights appeared before me. Probably along the lines of, “sparkly lights are waving at me”. I can only tell you what I saw as our cars came gliding so smoothly and slowly together as if God or a greater being pressed slow motion on the remote of the world, and that was a woman leaning from the front seat into the back to tuck in a cherub face leaning against the window pane in slumber, and do up his seat belt. I didn’t see you in the drivers, I was too busy staring around your wife to catch a glimpse of your second child, your youngest.

Their death was immediate, I could tell, even though I was bracing against the impact at the time. I cannot say if they were in pain or for how long. Car parts went flying as if shrapnel from a war scene, blood appeared suddenly and from whom no one will ever be able to say. I faintly heard my heroin needle sliding across the backseat and smash. I was the cause for this; I do not shirk the blame. My only consolation is that I did not kill all of you. I left you, sir, with your youngest, take good care of her, raise her to be better than the like of me. This is my written apology, the day was filled with regrets, but my biggest is not being alive to give you this letter.

Sincerely,
Your family’s murderer.