Animal

I can't escape this Hell.

I walked calmly down the aisle, past the boxes of paper towels, mop heads, and other cleaning supplies layered on the shelves as if the store was expecting a mob of maids to suddenly storm inside.  It was late, but still there was a good amount of people inside; those who had just gotten off a long shift at work only to have to stop at the twenty-four hour market in order to supply their families with the necessities; paychecks in hand.

So many times I've tried.

They would all prove to be troublesome later, but there was no longer anything that could be done about it.  My target was in sight as I approached the dairy section.  The light-headedness I felt cleared pieces at a time the more I convinced myself this was the only way it could end.

But I'm still caged inside.

In a single, fluid motion I unveiled the glistening weapon I had hidden inside the lint-filled pocket of my jacket.  Without blinking I aimed as if I had been planning for this exact moment my entire life, as if this was the only purpose I had been given in this world.  One.  Two.  Three.

Somebody get me through this nightmare.

Four.  Five.  Six.

I can't controll myself.

Seven shots fired before someone finally had the courage to yell, "Stop!"

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?

Three more before my victim collapsed to the floor in a lifeless heap.  The screaming of the other civilians erupted into a deafening roar, their most basic instinct- the instinct to run -finally overtaking their brains.

No one will ever change this animal I have become.

I stood motionless, frozen inside my own bubble where there was no such thing as time.  There were no other beings in the world, only me, right then and there.  I could feel the blood pulsing through my veins in a mad rush around my body, carrying adrenaline to every cell contained within it.  It seemed like years went by before I blinked and centuries before I inhaled.  The alarm was going off now, and the police would be here soon.  My resolve was gone, but my calm was not.  I felt immensely tired right then, as if I had aged a hundred years during that single moment of stillness.  I lowered myself to the floor, crossing my legs and placing my hands on my lap as if I was still in first grade and it was story time.  The gun I had placed beside me, far away enough so the police would not be worried I would pick it up once again.  Yet, I left it close enough to me to show them I had no intent of hiding the weapon, or what I had done.  

Help me believe it's not the real me.

I waited patiently, and contemplated the statement I would give when they first questioned me on my course of action.  I wondered if there were any truth to the Law&Order drama shows, and whether the police who would show up were at all like the ones on television.  It took them quite a long time to show up, which was worrisome.  Had I made the decision to flee the crime scene, I would have had plenty of time to stop for doughnuts and coffee before taking a taxi out of state.  When the officers finally came inside, they had no trouble whatsoever locating me.  I made their job as easy for them as I possibly could.

Somebody help me tame this animal.

Calmness washed over me like a flood, but in a different way than before.  This time I had no idea what was to happen; it was like an adventure you only half chose to go on, not exactly wanting to, yet perfectly willing.  I placed both of my hands on the back on my head, my palms toward my warm skin, and stood slowly when they requested.  My back was to them, but I could still feel their eyes boring into the back of my skull, and knew exactly what they were thinking about me.  It would take one only a split second to sense the tension in the air between us, like an animal can sense the change in a forest the moment a hunter from the city breaches that protective, invisible barrier.

I can't escape myself.

As the arresting officer placed the cold, metallic handcuffs tightly over my wrists, reciting my rights, I decided that I had not a single regret.