Um yeah this is really just a short story I wrote for random, spontaneous reasons and I felt like posting it for no reason at all. This is the one chapter, but I could provide like a background\plot\explanation\actual story if you people wanted.
Okay I lied! There's a second chapter too and I'm actually making a legit story out of this XD (Adri I know you hate that I can't english but deal with it)
The Truths We Hide Even From Ourselves
I am the sole source, the sole reason of the cracks in the perfection, the holes missing in utopia, the shattered image of unrealistic precision that was society. I am the cause--and this--- the effect: pain.
Buildings crumble, promises fail, governments sink to their knees. Societies flip in the wind, like papers cast out into the storm by a careless hand. What have I done???
I failed. I failed. I failed on the test that decided everybody's fate; I bombed the only grade that ever mattered. I failed when I was the only thing between sanity and chaos. I failed when I could not fail.
I can't be forgiven. I won't be forgiven. I am lost.
As I walk to the court---eyes down to the hard, blunt, unforgiving concrete---I can't stop the tears that drip on the steely stone, dissipating in the humid air. There's only one reason for this sweltering heat: too many people in one place, too many people flocking to see me die.
Their blood on my hands....
I can't hear the jeers, can't hear the cries of outrage. Can't hear the witnesses called, or the evidence provided. I am deaf to the pleas of innocence from my lawyer, the protests from the watching crowd. Nobody here believes that I am innocent, not even me. I am guilty, guilty, guilty.
But I am not only deaf to the cries of the courtroom, but blind to the stares that
surrounded me like knives pinning me to my stiff wooden bench. I am blinded by him.
He stands to the back, escorted by armed guards that radiate his importance. I can't take my eyes off him, and he won't look at me, instead looking idly to the side as if nothing had happened, as if nothing was wrong. As if he hadn't betrayed me.
I watch his posture, the way he plays with his hands almost...nervously. I see the way he won't look at me directly but out of the corner of his eye I know he has eyes for no one but me. What is he up to? What more has he done?
When the gavel bangs, my suspicions are only proved right.
My jaw drops, my mind clears. He's a witness.
He walks up to the stand, swears on the Bible---he doesn't believe in God. Then, his dark, dangerous eyes, like whirlpools threatening to drag me under, stare into mine. And I know, know for certain that it is all over.
He begins to talk, and the words echo in my head, haunting me; his words like lies disguised in the truth, a subtle game only he can play.
. . . guilty, killer, what a shame, such young innocents, such a shame, all her fault, guilty, guilty, guilty.
I cannot listen to him. Cannot listen to what I know is the truth. I don't want to hear it, don't want to face it. I. . .I can't forgive myself.
When it is over, when he is done, I cannot face them, the faceless deciders of my fate: the jury. I can't stare them in the eyes with all my irrelevant, indignant fury and tell them what I really think of them, this "justice", and the treason I committed.
I cannot tell them that I know the guilt, know the shame. I cannot say how I greet the hate and fear like old friends long rejected who have finally come to haunt me. Friends who act like enemies, but are the only rocks in my storm of doubt, the only sanity left in my world.
But I cannot tell the jury how I cannot accept them, won't accept them; they with their judgments cannot decide me, cannot control my decisions. What is done is done.
I cannot tell them how guilty I don't feel.