My Life - Part I

by Zak Karim about a year ago in fact or fiction

Fact or fiction? You decide.

My Life - Part I

Here I sit, the room dark and gloomy. White curtains with a hand-stitched black curtain behind them to stop light from entering the room. I like my room as dark as the coffins in which we're buried, or as dark as our ashes after we're cremated. It's the only element of life that matches the darkness of my fragmented mind. I try to be normal, try to fit into society, but fitting into society makes me sleepy and a dark room helps me sleep longer. The longer I sleep, the more likely I am not to wake up and waking up is the one thing I don’t want to do, especially not for what lies in store tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day the procedure should be completed. The procedure I’ve waited a lifetime to complete. Tomorrow is also the day I end my relationship. I shouldn’t really be telling you this information. I don’t know you and it would make the average human being feel uncomfortable if a complete stranger opened up to them within a few minutes of meeting.

The lights are off. The candles are burnt to the bottom. There’s an overwhelming smell in the room. It’s rotten, almost as if something, or someone, is decomposing. There’s only me in the room. I am neither dying, nor am I dead. Before I can divulge information regarding the procedure, I have to tell you a bit about myself. This will make you feel comfortable. So, as you sit there with your fluffy slippers, cotton socks, and a drink in your hand, think about the first question you normally ask someone. “What’s your name?”

Who am I? I guess that's a question we've all asked ourselves at least once in our miserable lives. Who am I? Do I belong? Am I real? Will I achieve anything? The answer is yes. Yes, you are real. Yes, you will achieve something. Yes, you do belong. For me, however, the answer is no. I'm not special. I'm a black-haired, blue-eyed, athletic woman capable of running 100 metres in 14.56 seconds. I'm not an athlete, but my speed helps when chasing criminals. I'm a cop; been in the job longer than most women can stay with the same guy. The world around you is what you make of it. I made my world full of darkness and despair, but the procedure will help me. It will make the world colourful and bring brightness into all our lives.

Being a cop isn’t a dangerous job. I enjoy it, mostly. The times when I don't enjoy it are times when I’m alone, like I am right now. It's a small town where we live; “we” being Harry and I. Harry’s a nice guy. He was the first nice guy I came across and as it’s a small town, we decided to start a relationship. We found comfort and solitude in each other’s darkness. I hide my darkness away from him and he does the same. It’s easier that way. We only give each other the good stuff and keep the bad away. There’s no need for us to be in a relationship, which is why tomorrow, I will end it. Harry doesn’t know it’s going to end, but I think if he really cared, he would know. Maybe, that’s a result of me not caring about his darkness; maybe it’s a case of getting bored of a routine and wanting a change in my life. My life is important, my job is important, my procedure is important, my relationship however is redundant, and it’s time to remove all things that are redundant from my life.

The town, in which we live, Belvedere, is a community, quite a nosey community. Everyone knows everyone else. Everybody knows I'm a cop, everybody knows my father was a cop, and his father. The police force runs through my blood and since I never had a brother, I thought it was up to me to become a cop. I became the boy my father wanted, even if I was a girl. I’m still a girl, but now, I’m a girl he can be proud of. He’d be proud of me, I know he would. All the mothers and some of the fathers in Belvedere use me as an example of how their children should behave. I was a first-class student, top marks in all classes, but if they knew me, they’d know of the heinous thoughts that enter and flow through the sparks in my brain and they’d keep their children away.

We'll come back to my thoughts in a second. There's loud banging coming from the cells. I’m at the police station, but I’m not sure how I got here. I’ve either fallen asleep or gone on one of my now infamous walks and zoned out, coming back to where I feel most comfortable. These walks have resulted in horrific injuries to both me and other people. I’ve caught criminals on my walks. I’ve stopped criminal acts without even being there mentally. I’m always there physically, but mentally, I could be a million miles away and no one would notice. It’s how I’m wired. Criminal catching runs in my blood. It is second nature. I can do it in my sleep and have proven it several times; however, no one knows I’ve zoned out. I’m very good at pretending I’m in the moment.

As I said, I'm alone tonight, and this is when the town's at its weakest. January 9, the day we were founded, but also the date of our biggest massacre. One cop, seven inmates, carnage. I was the cop on duty that night. Where were the other cops, I hear you ask? This is the only time I will tell you, and the only thing I won’t repeat. The line between right and wrong, criminal and cop, is immensely blurry sometimes. You're unable to tell which is which. On that night, the seven inmates were seven police officers, and one by one, they turned from good to evil, and it is my duty to eradicate the world of what I see as evil.

There’s a prisoner banging on their cell. Tonight there’s only three of them, so we shouldn’t see too much trouble, and since I’m on duty, we’ll see no trouble at all. The station itself is small. Three grey cells, each one labelled from A to C, with a square peephole we can uncover in case there’s disturbance inside the cell, which it looks like there might be if they keep banging; the station also has one desk, a cabinet with enough weaponry to defend ourselves in case of troublemakers, and a little kettle, in case we get thirsty and need a cup of tea. I take mine with one sugar and one sweetener. All officers must dress the same way: an all-black uniform, with a utility belt housing our sidearm, Taser, pepper spray, and baton. In Belvedere, we have a simple rule: criminals must be stopped regardless of the cost of damage. No one dies, life is important, but material goods can be replaced.

The prisoner keeps banging. I’ll have to go look at what they want and we can get back to our story.

fact or fiction
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