The doctors said I was lucky that damage had somehow completely missed every life-important part of my brain, only barely skimming my hippocampus (the memory portion of my brain). They say the chances of that are incredibly slim, especially under the circumstances by which I got the injury. Now I’ve got you curious… all you need to know is that it was a job gone wrong; yes, by “job” I mean robbery. My injury was actually the result of a malfunctioning explosive designed to blow through a five-foot-thick titanium door. It’s funny, you know… I don’t feel so lucky. Here I am, rotting in prison with not even the memory of a family to keep me sane, not even an accomplice from the job with which to spend my time, law enforcement said that I was the only survivor. My accomplices, who may have even been my friends, are all dead now. Oh, and I forgot to mention the fact that I now have a terrifying hole in my skull as a constant reminder of how damaged and broken I am. It has been ten years -or so they tell me- since the accident, and I’m supposed to appear before the parole board today, to tell them how remorseful I am for a crime I can’t even remember. Seems stupid, right? Well, its my only possible way of getting out of here before I’m too old to care.
“Welsh! Cell 556, time to go!” Well, this is it…
I’m brought into the courtroom, where up on the stand is a powerful woman… she looks somewhat familiar… “Mr. Lucas Welsh…” I ignore everything she says, up until its my turn to speak. I give what I think is a pretty convincing remorse speech, and by the way everyone is looking at me, and by the triumphant look in my lawyer’s eyes, I know they believe me. “Mr. Welsh, you are free to go rejoin society as a citizen in good standing, under the condition that you will continue to meet with your assigned therapist.”
”Thank you, ma’am.”
”Do you agree to these terms?”
”Yes.”
I thought after ten years, freedom would feel better, but it doesn’t feel good, not at all. As I walk through the streets, people stare at my head and my disfigured face. I try to ignore them, walking to the bank to access my previous savings account to start over. When I reach the bank, people give me space as I wait in line, like they’re afraid that they’re going to catch whatever it is that I have that’s causing me to look like this; when suddenly, three masked men storm in, wielding guns. They shout at everyone to get down on the ground, and to not try anything… that’s when I snap… I just start laughing. They immediately point their guns at me… but it doesn’t phase me.
“What’s so funny?”
”You.”
”Shut up and get on the floor!”
”I’m not scared of you, you have no clue what I’ve been through…” they all simultaneously look at the hole in my head. “Go ahead, stare, because in a second, you’ll all look like me…” this throws them off for just long enough that I have time to knock the guns out of two of their hands, but the third recovers faster, shooting me, as I simultaneously shoot his partners. I feel the bullet penetrate my skull, but not before I’ve shot off another round at my assassin. He falls a second after me, but he’s dead before he hits the ground, I know where I shot him… As I start to fade, I see police lights, and EMS doctors running toward me.
Lucky again… I still can’t remember anything… I now have the trauma of having killed three men… but I’m a public hero, a symbol of reform… screw it. The bullet barely skimmed my head… lucky, I guess, but I’m done with this… I take an elevator to the top of a building, climb to the roof… and jump… who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky again.
135Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIIJSTuBpDb
