Fun Gone Awry

by Jennifer Cypert about a year ago in fiction

Regretful Choices

Fun Gone Awry

Dear Journal,

As I write this, the walls in this cell feel like it's closing in on me. I am just not used to living in such tight quarters. A prisoner across from my jail cell is swaying side to side, saying things like she is going to rip my throat out with a spoon, then shit in its hole. Another one laughs. She is in the cell next to mine. I hear her whispering loud enough that only I can hear her. She says, "I will do much worse, you cunt. I will pull out each hair on your head so slowly, you will beg for death. Then I will turn you inside out from your pussy." I've had similar things said to me. My reputation has slowly grown over the last three months, each person only seeing what they want to see and not what I want them to hear. I know that I deserve to be here. I have thought about it since these doors shut the first day. It haunts my dreams each night and sets the mood for my days here. I see a counselor weekly to talk about the trauma. It's helping, but at the same time it's not. My counselor says that I should write it all down. She said that if I did that, I might be able to come to grips with it, maybe even forgive myself. So, here it goes...

Toy guns can't kill people or so I thought... I had just bought my nephew this dark metallic green gun. The description said that it shot slime at least 10 feet away. I thought that this would keep those jerks away from him that pestered him during the summer. Well, summer was here... I presented the gun to him. He was ecstatic as he opened the shiny packaging. I then left him with his new toy to go talk to my brother about single life and to bask in "I am an awesome aunt" glory. Afterwards, I hugged my nephew goodbye and went home.

The events that followed were of a nature that I would come to regret. One evening, my brother called me. He has always been a rather fearless person. He was my rock. The tone in his voice was not his usual calm and coolness. I could literally hear him shaking as he spoke. He asked if I could come over as soon as we got off of the phone. I immediately knew that this could not wait.

I sped all the way there, making sure to mind my p's and q's when I saw the cop lurking in the shadows. I pulled up in the driveway of my brother's house. Before I opened the gate, I could smell burnt, putrid flesh. I almost puked, the smell was so bad. A whole horde of cops, firemen, and emergency techs scattered all over the yard trying to remain professional while trying not to vomit in their face masks. The bullies' abdomens had punch bowel shaped holes in them. All organs were liquefied in soupy remains. Their faces were frozen in a mouth-less, eternal scream. Anything that resembled eyes were gone. What was left were hollowed out sockets peering into a restless tomb of a skull. This gun that I thought was just an innocent toy shot acid-like slime, eating through the skin, exposing only fried red and black muscular tissue. The only parts of them that were recognizable were their wholly acid splayed clothes.

My brother spotted me and immediately came running to embrace me. He looked like he had fought ten men in a bar fight to barely survive. He told me within two days my nephew's personality began to change. His face took on an aggressive ambience. His voice became deep and raspy. He wouldn't eat or sleep, skin became awn and pale. He was taller and skinnier. Then today, my brother heard shrill screaming coming from the outside. He stormed out of the house to find what was left of the two boys lying on the ground. His son was missing.

A cop approached me and began to question me about what had happened. I told them everything. My hands were cuffed and I was sped away in a police car. I am here on a life sentence for being an accomplice on two counts of murder. If they ever find my nephew, he will be where I am someday too. How am I supposed to forgive myself for that?

How does it work?
Read next: Run Necromancer
Jennifer Cypert

  A lover of all the impossibles if only they are in my head.

See all posts by Jennifer Cypert