The Demon Slayer Part 1
You never know if you're dead or not until your eyes black out and you start to see things you shouldn't. Not when you're alive. Whatever lies your religion tells you, it doesn't matter. Every body dies, and they all go to the same fucking place. Six feet under the ground and in a thousand dollar coffin that everyone sees for only a couple hours. The last person to see you is the one who shuts the cover over your face. It can be anyone. A family member, some person from the funeral home, or any other person you can think of.
This is where I was. Lying like an atrophied statue, my conscious mind still aware, screaming and yelling out that I couldn't be dead. Though your eyes are closed, which rarely happens when you're dead, you can see all around you, seeing everyone cry over your corpse, saying things like they regretted saying things to you, or not being able to say good-bye.
As more people crowded around my body, decorated in a suit and tie, flowers placed around me as if to lighten up the mood, I started to think of what I use to be before I ended up here.
Ch. 1 My Life, My Mistakes
Born and raised in San Diego, I was one of those kids you heard about on the news that just shot some store clerk after robbing him and getting away with it. I was a blank face on a wanted list for killing two cops. My black hair was cut an inch from my skin, and gelled into spikes flowing back. I was never really tall, but I made up for it in muscle. I lifted weights constantly, trying to look as intimidating as I could. My eyes were a dark blue color I was told I inherited from my father. Some asshole that left my mother for another, more attractive woman, supposedly. My mother… She was what her side of the family considered the disgrace. She was an alcoholic, drunk every other day as she sunk into a deeper abysmal depression ever since dad left her when I was seven. She was left with me and my two brothers, and a small junky house in the rundown part of town. Her family was rich, wealthy upper class people that would on a rare occasion, send us money. They barely ever came to visit, and if they did, they always criticized me, or my mom. Telling me to get a job, look nicer. But the truth was, she was the greatest mother in the world on the rare occasion when she wasn't drunk out of her mind. I loved her deeply as a son always did.
I was the one to take care of everybody because my mom was too befuddled to do anything. My brothers, I hoped, would turn out better then I did. Ironically, I told them to pay attention in school and get good grades, when I failed every class I ever entered. Its not that I wasn't smart or anything, I just never got along with the dumbass teachers who got stuck with me. I never had time to do homework either.
Now that you know where I came from, this is how my life went.
Every morning, during the school year, I would wake up to that same annoying electronic alarm beep at seven o'clock in the morning. I would shake awake Jimmy and Daniel, and pour them some breakfast cereal. While they ate, I packed some sort of sandwich or fruit, whatever food wasn't rotting in the fridge, and stuffed it in their backpacks. They would leave for school at seven fifteen, walking the few blocks to Ellen James Elementary, with good-byes from me. I dumped their empty bowls into the sink, and went to check on mom, deep asleep on her bed. I went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and grabbed the last two headache pills left, leaving them on the side of her bed. I put on a black shirt, and some baggy jean shorts. I grabbed my own backpack, filled with little notebooks, pencils and a book. I had to walk over a mile to my high-school. The weather was always cold in the morning, and would warm up later in the day. Despite the sun hadn't risen yet, I put a pair of thin grey sunglasses on. I liked these, because they were so tinted, they were like mirrors.
I heard the roll of tires behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder. There he was again. The truant officer was always following me almost every day, waiting for me to screw up. Sometimes he would appear in a different car, and try to act like he wasn't following me. I hated him. He was always on my case, and always tried to get me in trouble. I turned around, and flipped him off as I usually did. The red lancer went speeding by me, and the fat pig glared out his window as he passed me. I shook my head, and continued to walk.
When I arrived at school, I sat down in my appointed desk, sunglasses remaining on my face. I sat their, listening to the teacher drone on about some subject I didn't really care about. While I was writing the class assignment, some folded piece of paper plopped onto my desk. I opened it up to read a note.
Your dead you mother-Fuck! After school, you and me, park!
The scrawl was written in the sloppiest hand-writing the person who wrote it could manage. I knew who the note was sent by though. Anthony Braddock, the stupidest person on earth, a school bully, and into drugs worse then I was, wanted to fight me. Why? Probably because I gave him a bloody nose a while ago when he was punching Nicks' little brother around. I would just have to kick his ass again. At lunch, I told my friends about it, and they agreed to be their just in case he brought some friends.
"Your not really going to fight him are you?" a girl's voice from behind me asked. I turned around, and their was Anna. A blonde girl with eye's as blue as mine. Her long blonde hair flowed to her shoulders.
"Yeah," I replied quickly. This girl looked almost gothic, always in a long black trench coat, black shirt, black cotton pants. She always seemed to be around me, coming out of nowhere.
Violence isn't the answer," she said in a misty voice. She turned away, leaving me feeling no different about fighting Anthony. I shook my head, and resumed talking with Nick. I regret now that I should have taken her advice…
When the final bell rang, I collected my things and my friends. Their was a small public park directly behind the school; Waiting for me was Anthony and his small gang of friends.
"What the fuck are you bringing friends for?" Anthony yelled stupidly.
"Just in case you brought your little faggot friends too," I yelled back. Anthony was thin with bleached hair put into long reedy spikes. He was wearing a white vest with baggy green shorts.
My friends formed a half circle behind me as his did the same for him. I just stood still, waiting for him to make the first move. He got closer and closer until he had his face right into mine, his breath smelt like a mix between garlic and peanuts. Trust me, it's a horrible smell.
The first punch came faster then I thought it would, and caught me across my face, breaking my lip. I stumbled back a few paces before I stood straight again. Anthony came rushing forward, his fist raised again. I grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm around, and pressed hard on his stretched elbow. A loud crack signaled I had broken his arm. He screamed as I let go, running back to his friends. I left him their, watching him clutch his arm.
Jumping over the fence and grabbing a cigarette from Nick, at that moment, I didn't know that the very fight I just won would start a chain of events that would end with my untimely demise.