Perfect Playlist - Chapter 1

I'm sitting in a wooden chair that you can find in any kind of
office or waiting area, under fluorescent lights with that obscuring
color that makes the world around you seem almost artificial. I am so
used to and annoyed by this setting. The same cheesy motivational
posters all over the place. Everyone's special, If you reach for the
moon you may just land on a star, all of those force fed phrases
telling you you'll mean something.

The same so called personal items that you're required in some unwritten law to have in a guidance office. Family pictures, trinkets, collectibles. Things that are
supposed to make you seem like an individual and not just another
cardboard cut out authority figure. You'll find this set up in almost
every other guidance office throughout the country. Right on cue, the
premeditated movement outside the door that used to make me think that
the counselor would finally make their entrance. It is only a farce. In
actuality they are going to get your file from the secretary and
finally figure out who you are and what's going on. You'll hear
something to the contrary. They'll speak of how they've carefully been
studying your file overnight and watching your progress throughout the
year like Santa Claus. Bet you a million dollars he'll say something
along those lines.

There is the door, and look at this piece of work. Guess they must have been watching the presidential debates, because he's wearing the same suit Bush did. Sorry sir but I doubt you're going to be my fearless leader. After he shuffles arbitrarily through some papers to look professional, he speaks. "I've been reviewing your file closely and I've been watching your progress throughout the year Casey." Bingo, you owe me one million dollars. I should have bet you more.

I always pay attention at the first part then I tune the rest out and look at the floor. It's like having a song on repeat, you can anticipate each note, every rhyme and
soon you just tune it out. That is until the song skips. "I was warned
by your last schools guidance counselor about you. Quite frankly I feel
you do these things for attention Casey." He's leaning over his desk
and massaging the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.
He let's out a sigh of anxiety. "I don't think your life is even half
as bad as you make it out to be. Every teenager has to have a tragedy
these days. You just can't be happy. A specialist has come to speak
with you. The rest of your school day will be devoted to speaking with
him. I suggest you give him better attention then you have given me."
He stands up and slams the door as he leaves.

Great, what a disgusting turn of events. At this point in time most students would be angry or distraught. The many reasons for this being that they'll miss an entire
day of assignments that they'll have to make up, or that they won't get
to speak with their friends. I just needed to go to lunch. I planned on having something to drink to wash out the nasty taste that only the cold barrel of a revolver can have. I should have just pulled the trigger, then I wouldn't have to worry about lunch. Oh great I can hear the so called specialist outside. This will be interesting. I wonder if
he'll try to identify with me by trying to use slang. I think that's hilarious. I was kicked out of class for laughing hysterically at a teacher who in all his seriousness said that he had to give mad props to the United States for going to war.

Presenting the specialist, everybody clap with joy it's my savior.
"Hey Casey, how are you?" He's sticking out his hand with the
assumption that I will shake it. To shake or not to shake. Well it
seems harmless, why not. I don't care if I don't have a firm grip or
not, he should count himself lucky that I shook his hand. Now that I've
changed my focus from the floor to him I realize this guy is younger
then I expected. He's probably a little older then twenty but still.
What's even crazier is he's wearing a Pink Floyd shirt and jeans. Other
then that he looks like your basic average Joe with brown hair. He
seems to have been affected by the hesitation I had to shake his hand.
Great now it's kick started an awkward moment. I'll have to spur things
on a bit.

"I don't normally shake hands man, so don't worry about me
hesitating. You can start your lecture thing and then I'll get going."
Great he's not even responding to me, he's just looking around looking
really dissatisfied. Ok here he goes, he's leaning in to speak. "You
want to get out of here? I hate offices, that's why I don't have one."
I don't know if he's just trying to get on my good side or not. It's
not like he's psychic so how could he know that I hate offices. Doesn't
matter, there's no way he'll be able to take me out of this office.
Like the principal would allow a specialist to take a student out on a
whim, who does this guy think he is. There he goes out the door,
ambassador to the troubled student. I give it thirty seconds and he'll
give up on getting out of here. He was probably making the attempt just
to appease me.

Presenting the great Mr. Floyd, welcome back and I'm guessing your trip was unsuccessful. I'll bet you a million bucks. "Alright, let's get going Casey." Okay now we're square hope you're happy. I knew you weren't going to give me a million dollars anyway, so don't get cocky. Where are we going to go anyway, the Quarryville community isn't exactly a hustling bustling metropolis where anything
can happen. The only thing that can happen is being in traffic caused by the modern horse and cart that is the Amish buggy. I'll just leave my stuff here, no point in -- "Grab your stuff, you won't be coming back." Alright, scratch that I'll take my back pack.

I haven't even moved yet, I can't move I won't. This isn't routine. This isn't what's
supposed to happen. I'm am supposed to get your basic easy bake oven lecture and be sent back to class. What sort of way is there to get out of this possibly damaging situation. I don't remember the last time I had to actually think on my feet. Wait a second, the cardinal rule in social interactions. "Hey my parents told me not to ride with strangers. I'm about to leave the high school with a person only known as the specialist. I'm sorry to say but that's not exactly enticing." Maybe I could have come up with a better course of action, but like I said I haven't had to think on my feet in a while.

"Am I hearing this from the fearless Casey?" Oh no, rhetorical questions that infer that
he has knowledge of my past indiscretions. "The fearless Casey that disappeared when he went on vacation with is father? That showed up two weeks later in class unkempt, grime covered, sickly pale and yet willing to tell anyone that asked that he got a ride with strangers from a gas station a state away and got here on his own
accord? I think this situation should be more then enticing." The victorious specialist goes out the door. To him I'll show my cool, my calm, my unemotional exterior shell but I have to hand it to him. He has made my inner jaw drop in awe. No one, and I mean no one has ever brought up my past exploits in a manner such as this. My world is
upside down, the sun that was my understanding is now a super nova ablaze with new abstract thought. Wait here comes the specialist. What wisdom shall he surprise me with now as he leans his head through the doorway. "My name is Jude by the way. I'll be waiting in the car to pick you up at the ramp" Alright for the record just because his name is in a Beatles song doesn't mean he has earned my respect.

Before I go some parting gifts retrieved from my satchel to be moved to the safety of my pants pockets; my smokes and my mp3 player. Nothing like living your life with a soundtrack. Not that I need the mp3 player. I can sit in class and let all the music I love and cherish enter my mind and completely void out all of the events that make up
the turbulence of my life. If I'm having a bad day (as if there is any other kind) I choose the jubilant sounds of AC/DC, the majestic left handed guitar masterpieces of Jimi Hendrix, and the beautiful melodic inspiration that is U2. All ready and all out of memory without the need of any mechanical entity to bring forth these soothing sounds.

Then again its a lot easier to switch on my mp3 player then trying to memorize a bunch of songs. Ah, another idea is blossoming within my being that just shouts to be acted on. As I dawn my ear phones and light up walking out of the office, I more then savor the taste of the cigarette. I savor the look on the faces of each of the people I see as I walk out. They can't help but hear the gentle whisper coming from my ear phones as I sing along with the AC/DC's classic, TNT. It is almost beyond description, how good it feels to walk out with a smoke and sing to the generic guidance counselor the sweet lyrics of that song in between puffs. I looked to his name plate,
finding his name to be Tom Lowry. More ammo for my arsenal.

"Thanks for nothing Mr. Lowry, your mediocre colleagues would be proud. Hope you
realize the affect your having on youth Lowry, and I hope you know it is a negative one." I say and as I finish I let out a perfectly formulated ring of smoke and a sinister grin. I'm heading for the door, and I'm ready for an escape. After years of having to sit in an office and be lectured on how suicide is not the way out and that I shouldn't
pent up emotion, it's refreshing to let out my emotion in the way I just expressed to Mr. Lowry. That's probably not what they meant but that's the loop hole. No one ever said that wasn't a way either.

Thank god the suns out, a few clouds are present and there's a nice cool breeze brushing along my exposed toes due to my sandals. Sure it's winter, but I feel free with sandals. I am all about freedom now, since I lack a future. I never got the point of this ramp heading out the front of this school. This is the only school I know with such an awkward ramp. There's really no point to it at all, it could barely fit a wheel chair and there's no way you could navigate this path with it. Two red hand guards line it, and I haven't met one person that uses them.

Jude's pulling up in a pretty beat up looking Toyota Camry. Ruby red with aqua and neon green pin stripes I'm sorry to say. To think I was just starting to think the man might have good taste. I hop in the passenger side, a horror for tall people every where. I've had a hatred for small cars since I've gotten taller. Getting out of this tin can is going to feel like being reborn. Maybe I'll find Jesus, or at least get that little kink out of my back on the way out. I'm quiet curious now as to our destination, and even more curious as to why I was leaving at all and what Jude hoped to accomplish. Right, it's a nice change I'll admit but that doesn't make the guy mother Theresa. Maybe if I show the guy some kindness, a rare commodity I assure you, he'll explain all this.

"Hey Jude--" Before I even finish Jude grabs my smoke and throws it out the window and unplugs my ear phones. What's this crap? I've been compliant, I even shook the mans hand. He better be ready for some form of retribution because no one messes with my smokes or my music. Oh you're in for it, just you wait, you're so in for -- "Sorry Casey, brakes my concentration. I'm also an asthmatic, so your smokes aren't
exactly good for my health." Great, how can you plot ruining a guys future who can't run ten yards without stopping for a breather. I can't believe I'm going along with this. Don't get me wrong, I am under certain circumstances quite impulsive. There's got to be a hitch somewhere, an exchange for this freedom. Yet it strikes me as odd that
Jude has not had one query about why I was even in the guidance office.

We've been driving for a couple minutes, and already the silence is
killing me. I've tried to distract myself by looking out the window,
but that doesn't really work in southern Lancaster county. It's either
watch cornfields pass by, trees pass by, or farms pass by. Fine I'll
take the helm. "Jude, not that I don't enjoy an outing of this sort but
I was wondering one thing. Where are we going and why!?!" I know I
probably shouldn't have yelled at him. I may have over reacted just a
little but I find yelling a good way to get the answers I want.

I may have made a serious error in yelling, because he is smiling. In normal human nature that I have so far experienced being shouted at does not normally warrant a smile. Then again Jude does not seem to be one for normalcy. "I always thought you would be more laid back. You'll find out where we are going when we get there, and I've already been given permission from your parents to take the time necessary to work with you." What appears to be the smirk that you can only get from a subtle
victory has crossed Jude's face. Having permission from my parents suggests that this was in the works for a while. My attempt or attempts as I will refer to them from this point may have compelled them to gain Jude's services in order to help me. They are probably doing this just to make me look normal to our community and to possibly subdue me just to give themselves peace.

Jude has said something but I haven't paid attention to it. "Hey, asked you a question Casey." Really, oh how exciting. If this is that stupid twenty questions game I'm going to open the door and jump out. Might as well find out first before I make myself into a bloody mess on the side of the road. "What question would that be Jude?" I ready my
hand on the handle of the car door and unlock it with my index finger. "I asked you why am I here." I ease my hand off the handle slowly. I am pretty sure I know this trick. He wants me to explain the side of the events that my parents have already told him and have put there spin on. "Why should I tell you what you already know?" One point for Casey, zero for Jude. "That's entirely fair, but the truth is I told your parents not to tell me anything at all besides what I already know. So this morning when I arrived I was actually supposed to pull you out of class, but it seems that something happened that apparently had a need for a guidance counselor. So why am I here Casey?" The rules and regulations of my game state that he only gets one point for all of that. Now the object of the game is to keep away from what he wants to know. Now let's officially begin with my handicap score of one. "Perhaps you enjoy the scenery." alright, two points. His rebuttal is the key part for my next play. "I hate the country first of all, and second--" I shall interrupt him at this point by screaming violently, therefore gaining two more points. "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Watching Jude jump in his seat and scream himself is an extremely satisfying experience at this point in time. The unsatisfactory part will soon commence. It's the cruelest move in the playbook, and the most effective. You can completely control and manipulate anyone with it. It makes everything seem so plain and mundane. It makes time creep to a stand still, and it can bring you to tears.

I never could stand silence. In it's absence it's still so deafening. It reminds me of death which reminds me of?Well, things I don't like to remember. "Please, Jude stop. I can't take the silence. I know why you're here." He's just sitting there, letting the silence take hold and torture me. "Jude stop, I know you're here to help me, and if you
really want to help me you'll speak!" He flicks on his turn signal. It's click is a monotonous but welcome departure from the silence before. "Tell me what happened this morning Casey." Game over, Jude wins by a technicality; forfeit of the opponent. I guess I have to sum up everything. I always talk about my attempts like a guy reading out of a technical manual. I figure why add more emotion to the explanation
of a purely emotional event.

"This morning I proceeded to make an attempt at my own life due to the circumstances of which I have been subjected to. This involved finding my fathers revolver and placing it in my mouth. My parents told me they had gotten rid of it after they found me playing Russian roulette by myself but I knew they didn't. My mother had been a victim of a burglary a while ago while me and my father were out, I knew there was no way they had gotten rid of it. I pulled the trigger but, to my surprise, they had not left it loaded. An obstacle that lead my parents to suspect that I was in the process of the attempt was that I was trying to locate bullets. The hilt of the weapon was sticking out of my pocket as I searched. I couldn't find the bullets therefore I am here at this point talking to you."

Now that I am finished my summary of the mornings events I have a chance to look at Jude's expression. He seems slightly taken aback by all of this. The expression that I know so well now and irritates me has come upon his face. It's almost as irritating as offices are to me. It's the expression you get when you have a question that you think you can't ask. "Oh just ask Jude, it's why you've come to see me, to ask questions. Do your job." He's thinking, and still thinking. He hasn't uttered a thing yet. "What has caused you to think life so horrible that it is not worth living?" Much better, at least he has the question out. Now the answer may not be as well done. "Certain events in my life have caused me to conclude that death is the only solution." I know he's going to ask me what events are these but I lack the initiative to
take the first step.

"Casey, what happened to cause all this." Well, at least he is somewhat predictable. First, an agreement must be made. "Before I get into all this you must promise me one thing Jude. You can't tell my parents any of this. Also know that I am not a bad
person. I just have a cruel heart that I can't control." Jude nods solemnly in agreement, and I wish more then anything that I was back with that generic average guidance counselor. Remembering a painful event can be like pushing on a bruise, but recalling your memories to someone is like reliving the injury ten fold. Your mind has a habit of repressing all those memories so you never truly let go of all of
them.

"Her name was Leila. I loved her the minute I laid eyes on her. I didn't have the courage I do now, so I didn't make a move during the school year. I dreamed of her all summer. She was a striking beauty that I've never seen in anyone else, something that just wants to make you scream in joy that you're alive. I had reached Elysium. The girl loved her oldies, so at one point I had planned to give her a promise ring at a David Bowie concert I bought tickets for. I loved her." I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.

I can't stand the pain of it, that empty cold. Death is better then that. God I never used to cry. "Casey you alright?" Just peachy, couldn't be better. I'm already about to lose it and I haven't even begun to scratch the surface yet. I guess the show must go on. "We all do something we regret in our lives, that's a certainty. Someone of my age shouldn't have the regret of not saying one last good bye to their soul mate. I know you'll say I'm too young to have a soul mate. I can feel the truth in it, down to my very
bones." I know that hesitating will only cause Jude to prod me further, so I beat him to the punch.

"My parents never knew about her. I knew they would never even respect my love for her. They have always had such high standards and expectations for me, and they have always been impossible for me to reach. Layla grew angry at this and she started having this insane desire to experiment with drugs. We had a fight about all of this and she took her car and drove all the way to Philly. She called me from there, drunk and high. I remember hearing her apologizing to me, and she was saying I love you."I stop speaking. There's always some minuet detail that anyone can recall from something tragic. Mine is the absence of a voice, a few bands, and then the deafening presence of static.

"She--She never finished her sentence. I listened as hard as I could. Sometimes I swear to myself that I could hear the phone swinging, but I can't be sure." I wipe my eyes with my middle finger and thumb, a gesture that begs for patience. "My dad was still a cop around then, but he retired after a successful drug bust. He shot a sixteen year old girl four times." Fury is a strange thing. It can sneak up on you in a
second, and when fueled with loss and sadness it can push you to do strange things. For example, as I said that last sentence I pictured my father shooting down Layla in a hail of gunfire. I elbowed the passenger side window so hard the glass cracked. The second strange thing about fury is its ability to numb pain and/or make you want more of it. I don't know how Jude reacted, I'm just going to keep talking.
I've come this far I might as well continue.

"My father felt like he had won something after that drug bust. He was given a medal, got a spot in the newspaper, even a TV interview. What kind of cold cruel bastard do you have to be to enjoy the attention you get from killing such a beautiful thing. When most people lose someone they can't bare to look at pictures of them or have their material possessions around. What Layla and I had could not be contained in a
photograph, in a letter, or in a thought. The love we shared was far too grand for that." Layla is the only one I speak fondly of if you haven't noticed so far.

She's the only one deserving of my fondness, and the only one who could show me a reason to be kind to everyone. Once that was gone, the sarcastic jerk who cares nothing for the future came around . Everyone has that special someone who can make them want to change, want to be something more. I figure when you lose that, you're allowed to let chaos ensue. You're allowed to contribute to your own demise. I can tell at this point Jude is no Dr. Phil. I'm turning to look at him, and I lean forward to look at his face. Something strikes me about him. I look deeper into his facial features, into his eyes. I know those eyes.

"You knew her, didn't you." Jude doesn't look at me, he just keeps his
now glassy eyes on the road. "Jude don't jerk me around tell me if you
knew her! Talk you son of a bitch or stop the car!!" he has seemed to
compose himself. He slows down the car, and slowly pulls to the side of
the road. He's taking the keys out of the ignition. The solemn air in
which he is doing this staggers me. "Casey, the pain and misery you are
enduring now I've sought to stave off. I've done this by my pursuit of
the bastard that killed my sister." I look forward to see my house, in
plain view. My mothers Volkswagen Jetta is suspiciously absent, but my
fathers Ford F-150 sits in the driveway. My god what have I done. I've
led a man with vengeance on his mind straight for my parents.

I never thought I would care if anything would happen to my parents, but now
these circumstances have brought to me a dire need for their existence. Before I can even say a word I feel the cold steel barrel of a pistol on the side of my head. "I was truly studying to become a psychologist specializing in children of your age, but I gave that up to retain my sisters honor." The pistol is digging into the side of my head and pushing it against the window. My breathing is becoming shallow and raspy in my panic. My temple throbs with the pressure from the pistol barrel. I can't believe I didn't recognize the resemblance between Jude and Layla. The eyes, the taste in clothes, Christ even the rash actions! "You pushed her to drugs didn't you Casey." I don't respond for a second, because I still don't believe that this is happening.
Before I could speak he-- "DIDN'T YOU, YOU PUSHED HER TO DO HORRIBLE
THINGS AND YOUR FATHER FINISHED HER OFF FOR YOU DIDN'T HE." Now he's
putting the gun to my belly he's cocking the pistol, and I start into hysterics. "JUDE WAIT, SHE WOULDN'T WANT THIS, ST--"

A small flash emits from the barrel. Muzzle flash it's called. I can only refer to the wound as what I hear in action movies; gut shot. I take my left hand to wipe my own blood off my face. I didn't realize that my hand itself was covered. I can see my blood covered face in the rear view mirror, and I start to cry and panic. Jude just sits there with an air of grim satisfaction. He leans in closer to whisper into my ear. "You'll take a while to bleed to death Casey. I'll be back and you'll have a little company?" He kisses me on the cheek and then gets out of the car. He pulls out a knife with his other hand and he starts to head towards the house.

The car is starting to steam up with my irregular breathing. He's about mid way from the car to my house now, a little under twenty feet. I can't let?..let this happen? But I feel?.so weak. I open the car door and fall onto the ground. I want more then anything to just lay here and die, and for a little bit I lay there readily accepting death. It
was so quite, then my mind began to wonder.

Something that had been coursing in my veins did not spill along with my blood; the rage. I start to fuel it with the whispers I hear when silence prevails. The comforting voice of Layla caresses my ear softly, echoes of dead future. The anger at being shot, the anger at the loss of Layla, the anger at my fathers abuse, the anger of losing the life I was supposed to have, the anger that I've kept close and dear to me. The only thing that can sustain me now is the passionate fury I've kept inside. I
scream the loudest I can as I stand up. The pain is undeniably excruciating, but thanks to a lovely little thing called endorphins I don't really care.

I grab onto a wooden fence and start using it for support with determination and focus. My abdomen muscles are twitching violently, each twitch feels like getting shot again. A struggle can be heard inside and then a large bang and a scream. I am starting to run out of fence for support. I wish I had done all the chores I was
supposed to like put up this fence. I have to get there by my own devices, my rage now turning to desperation. As I reach the steps I let out a horrible excruciating cough that I can feel down to my bowels, and blood pours out of my mouth. The blood in my mouth is causing me to salivate, and the taste is horrible. I have trouble with the brass door knob, my hands being covered in blood and all. I get a dry portion of my shirt and wrap my hand in it and open the door.

I fall right in onto the hard wood floor. I land in a puddle of blood that is not my own. I look up to see my father slightly slumped over at the kitchen table, a red trail leading to him. His black hair is wet and disheveled, and sweat is pouring over the dark pronounced stubble on his face. A cut from his temple then following his jaw line is quite visible from my position on the floor. I start to crawl to the kitchen when I sight Jude. That sick sadistic bastard is getting milk for the Oreos he found in the kitchen cabinet. He's seen me already but he doesn't seem to care.

"You're late Casey. I was just about to have a snack, hope you don't mind. I don't think you'll want to eat. I've never heard of anyone enjoying bloody spit and Oreo's. Come in, stay a while." He continues pouring his milk into a glass, all the way to the
brim. My father is pale, beads of sweat going down his cheek. His whole body convulses as he tries to breath. If he looks like that just being shot I can't and don't want to imagine what I look like at this point.

I use the wall for support and fall into the kitchen chair across from my father, knocking over a picture in the process. I look to see the bloody streak I've left on the wall. The picture was taken while I was dating Layla. Regular dirty blonde hair, slight tan, and something even harder to find about me these days; a true smile. Since then I've died my hair black, become extremely pale, and a default expression of misery is engraved into my face. Jude glances at us then continues with his snack arrangement and says quite plainly "I'll be with you in a moment if you will kindly wait." My father grunts in pain and looks to Jude. His eyes tell you that he wants Jude dead, and more. Those were probably the eyes Layla saw last.

A tray of cookies is sat in front of me and a pitcher of milk beside it. Jude sits down perpendicular to me and my father. We sit in silence for a little while, the only sounds
being me and my fathers rough breathing. "Casey, how impolite of you. Would you please introduce me to your father. I'm sure he is dying to know who I am, pardon the pun. I feel that corny puns like that are the cherry on top of a sundae of torture." Jude manages a smile at this as he looks upon my father. I muster up the strength and swallow the blood in my mouth in order to speak clearly.

"Dad, this..this is Jude Tennor." a curious look appears upon my fathers face. He is searching his memory for the name, his thoughts among mug shots and wanted lists. His search will be fruitless. "Oh surely sir, you must know the name of your victim." as Jude says this he hits my father in the stomach with the hilt of his pistol. He spits
in Jude's face in defiance. Unfortunately this did not have the desired effect my father had hoped for. Jude takes a sip of milk, eats a cookie, and then spits it all in my fathers face.

"Sir we can have a who has the nastiest spit fight later, but we must seriously come to the business at hand. You sir, are a sick individual. You killed a 16
year old girl and gladly received a medal for it. Somehow you completely missed the fact that you killed your sons girlfriend. I bet you were searching everywhere for an answer to your sons suicidal tendencies. What you didn't realize is that the answer could be found in that plaque over there commemorating the event, or that framed
newspaper clipping of you shaking the mayors hand. My sister was a god among insects sir. I know you had to sense that, who couldn't. Two things are going to occur in order to retain her reputation as an extraordinary and noteworthy human being. First, vengeance will be had. That task being almost completed, lets move on to the second for now."

Jude places in front of my father a yellow legal pad and a ball point pen. Dad just sits there, Oreo crumbs covering his face, staring at the yellow legal pad. "You will right a statement sir, in exchange for a plea bargain. You will admit your flawed and that you made a huge mistake in what you did. The plea bargain is that you won't be
sentenced with life without the chance of knowing your son as well as you should have. With my assistance we will resolve the issues between the two of you. The fine print being that I don't know when exactly your going to die. Any questions?" I barely heard all of this. Delirious thoughts start entering my brain and all of a sudden I have ahankering to listen to music. My father winks at me once as he leans over the legal pad.

A song comes to mind by a folk singer. I can't quite remember her name, she sang a really weird song. Something about roller-skates. I started humming it, and I notice that I have grabbed Jude's attention. I start to sing it, barely remembering the lyrics. I
stare down Jude maliciously as I do. "I rode my bicycle past..your window last night. I roller skated to your door at day light. It almost seems, like you're avoiding me?"

I know exactly what you're thinking at this point. Why in the hell am I singing an old sixties folk song in an intimidating manner at Jude? Well the answer is simple. First of all it will irritate Jude so as to draw his attention. Second is the way that families can communicate without having to speak to each other, even dysfunctional ones. In
psychology the id, or part of the brain that calls for desire, adheres to self preservation. Me and my father don't want to die here, that's for certain. That's a strange contrast, I don't want to die for once. Anyway, as I do all this odd singing my father -- "AHHHHH!! WHAT IN THE HELL!!" stabs Jude in the bicep with the ball point pen. Now this is where I come in. I've lit a cigarette and I am about to flick it at
Jude's furious expression while his attention is on my father.

I am wishing, hoping, dreaming of the worst damage I could possibly do with
this burning cigarette. The results are in, and I have a standing
ovation from Jude. Well he's not clapping, more of dancing around
trying to get the hot smoldering cigarette ash out of his eye. I've
lost too much blood to try to attempt any other sort of attack, and my
father is struggling to stand but to no avail.

Suddenly Jude just stands straight up and doesn't move. He turns
around and starts laughing, just like you would when you've done
something stupid. "God this has got to be hilarious to someone
somewhere." He wipes the gray ash from the cigarette out of his eye and
is now walking towards me. He wrestles the lighter from my hand and
lights a cigarette in his own mouth. He then places it in my mouth and pats me on the
back. With a shrill shriek he pulls the pen out of his bicep and places
it in the trash. Out of his back pocket comes some duck tape. A
haziness due to blood loss struck me as my arms were being bound with
tape. My perception of time turned into a cosmic long hallway effect.

Jude starts talking about where he went to college, what his dreams were and I lost track of time again. I don't know how long I was asleep, or if I was dead and the sound woke me up. All I remember hearing was Jude saying "I had so many ideas,
dreams, hopes. All these things that I wanted to see Layla accomplish.
Just like that--" I hear the front door open and then two gun shots
ring in the air. I look to see my mother shot once in the head and once
in the chest. She crumples to the floor, groceries spilling out onto
the floor. I look back lazily at Jude as if a bird had just caught my attention for a moment. He continues in the same vein.

"Just like that, they are gone. The heart beat of her future
started going erratic with the possibilities she had. Then it all flat
lined with what you did Mr. Diedrich. Now I had a mind at one time to
help you two resolve your differences, but I feel that more hostilities
would come upon me. I bid you farewell." Jude stands and walks out,
stepping over my mothers corpse as he leaves. I can hear his shoes
crushing the gravel as he walks farther away.

I hear it stop for a second, and then I hear it come closer. He comes back in, leans over my mother, and takes the apple from her hand. Tosses it in the air and
catches it, and then takes a bite out of it. The sick twisted and oddly hungry maniac walks out without a care in the world.

I know these are my last moments, so I turn to speak to my father one
last time. Yes, my luck indeed. The one time I want to talk to my dad,
the time I need him the most, and he's not there. I find that the tape around my arms are loose and soaked with blood, so I pull them out. I shuffle my feet to pull me and my chair over to the kitchen counter.

I grab the phone, and dial the sacred numbers 911. An operator picks up, and of course they seem very at ease and very bored. "911 what's your emergency?" Gee, I wonder what my emergency is. I muffle a laugh at this because I don't want them to think this is a prank. Plus, laughing hurts to much right now. I am still trying to think how to respond. "A man came into my house and has shot my entire family. You're going to have to get enough ambulances for three very bloody people over
here. I think my moms dead, my dad maybe as well. I myself was shot in the belly." I try to explain everything like an instructional manual. No use adding emotion to a purely emotional driven situation. She starts a list of really pointless inquiries. Sir when did this occur? Sir is he still in the house? Sir are you alright? I answer I have no freaking idea, would I call you if he still was, and are you freaking kidding me.

Oops, almost forgot something. "I would like to request Waterloo ambulance. I had a run in with East Petersburg ambulance before and I know for certain that they have no clue what they are doing. I know you'll say that it really doesn't matter time is of the essence and I whole heartedly agree. It would take hours for those idiots in
the Willow street ambulance company to figure out how to use a freaking gurney." I may have been a bit harsh. Forgive me if my patience is a bit short, but I lost my appetite for pleasantries and abiding a gun shot ago.

I hang up the phone after she says Waterloo ambulance is on its way. Then I spot something that tells me that god loves me. A lighter is sitting on the kitchen counter. I get another cigarette and light up. I scoot back to the kitchen table and use it as a foot rest. My mp3 player is digging into my hip, and I pull it out and turn it on. I put the ear phones in and slowly drown in the melodies of third eye blind. I let out a ring of smoke and muffle another laugh. The combination of pain from smoking and laughing is horrible, but I can't control my humor or my addiction. I hope a paramedic has a camera, because this will probably be one of the strangest sights in the world.

There is one phrase I heard and have always agreed with. Life is like a
lit candle, we all assume we are guaranteed the length of the wick but
you never know when a stray breeze will come along.