The greed of humans is truly insatiable, it's a satisfaction that is brief and short-lived, a pollution that encapsulates every inch of air and spreads like an airborne disease. Even children are not spared from this greed. Maybe greed is what brought me here today, in front of an insurmountable obstacle in a room that will be the catalyst of the turning point in my short-lived life. The judge is propped up on his podium and looks down at me like an all-knowing deity while the jury observes placidly, merely a passerby in my life. They don't know me, nor do they know of the hardships I have faced, and yet they are to judge whether or not my life will become forfeit to a system long corrupted by the rich and powerful. No one is on my side. No one. I stand with my back unwaveringly straight in stuffy orange prison attire and tight metal handcuffs that seem to dig into the skin of my wrists. I am a lone girl in a room full of enemies on my eighteenth birthday, nearly six months after I murdered my mom and dad.
The glares of enraged relatives prick my back like needles as I walk over to the witness stand, the uniform that is two sizes too big hangs baggily around my body, and my bangs brush against my eyelids, clearly overgrown. My appearance is unkempt and messy and draws several signs of discontent from the judge and jury. There's caked dirt underneath my fingernails and my formerly well maintained tanned skin is bumpy and rough. I silently scoff. Before I had taken so much pride in my well-maintained appearance, but now the me of today had no time to worry over such leisurely matters.
"Ahem!" The opposing lawyer coughs and the judge simply nods and gestures approvingly at him before he begins to walk in my direction. His suit is crisp and clean and his hair is styled professionally, his eyes are determined and focused. He eyes me in disgust, a disgust that one would have when looking at something akin to a bug. I was a filthy criminal in his eyes, no more and no less.
"Where were you on the night of September 17th?"
***
"Did you kill your mother and father?" Several people eye me intently, keen on my answer. I did kill them, and I felt satisfaction in doing so, at the thought, my lips quirk up slightly, to the undisguised horror of the audience.
"I did it."
"Do you regret it?"
"Did you regret waking up this morning to live another day? I'll never regret it."
When I was a kid, I yearned for the feeling of a family. In my mind, family was mom and dad, two irreplaceable existences. Two people meant for me and only me. They were supposed to love and protect me no matter what. No matter what. While other kids were picked up by their parents after daycare, I was picked up by the nanny. When other kids accompanied their parents to work on bring your child to work day, I was stuck with my nanny in a mansion of empty halls. It was suffocating. When my dad quit his job when I was shy of turning six, I was delighted. I finally had one parent to dote and spoil me; I was loved, but it wasn't in the way I wanted. It was in a way that no one would ever want. What I did was what they deserved, I will never regret it.
***
"The jury finds the defendant guilty of first degree murder. As the murder was premeditated, the defendant will face twenty years to life in a state facility with no chance of parol. Court adjourned."
The judge's gavel comes down and the sound vertebrates across the room as I'm sentenced to life in prison. I catch a glimpse of a couple of joyful smiles and contented grunts, not one face is sad. It was a life altering sentence, and yet I'm the only one who is holding back tears.The world turns glassy as I hunch down until my bangs cover the entirety of my face, the hot liquid tears slowly trickle down as I hold back heart wrenching sobs. My chest is hot and stuffy and my fingers tightly clench onto my seat. A pair of solid black boots slowly approach, the clinking of keys and cuffs instantaneously reveal the identity of its owner. It's the police officer who will take me away and lock me up for life. I slowly rise but my back remains hunched as I follow the black boots; I won't let them see me cry, I won't give them the satisfaction.
Greed is ultimately what led me to my demise. As the prison door shuts and I'm trapped into the darkness, I reminisce of what could have been if I had yearned for less instead of longing for more.
***
I place my fingers on the hard concrete floor in a room of perpetual darkness. In this place, there was no concept of night or day. It was never-ending isolation. My wrists were bony and my hair was chopped roughly by my ear; lines were sketched all across the walls, they were the days that I had lost count of. I no longer remembered my mother's face, and my hatred towards my father had grown weaker with each passing day. How could I have the energy to hate? I was slowly rotting on the inside day after day. I no longer had the courage to remember what he had done to me. I no longer had the will to face what I had become.
I wrap my arms around myself in search of warmth. It was bone chillingly cold; a few rats skitter by and brush past my bare feet, but I no longer have the energy to cringe in disgust. My eyelids were heavy, I wanted the solace of sleep, but if I slept, then I might never awaken again. But most of all I was scared, I was scared that I would be another girl forgotten, buried under a shallow grave. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to die in a world that would move on without me.
A woman in a pale blue dress slowly walks towards me. Her skin is bronze and glows under the sun; suddenly, she smiles in my direction. Her smile is brighter than a thousand stars. I reach towards her, but no matter how fast I run, I'm only met with an image of her back. "Mom!" It's me. It's your daughter. Why won't you look at me again? I'm sorry.
Mom? I open my eyes, but I'm back in the dark and cold cell once again. My breath is shaky, and my arms are covered in goosebumps. An unsettling feeling is lodged into my gut; something was wrong, very wrong. Why was it getting hotter? As if on cue, I hear screams in the distance and the fire alarm begins to blare. A fire? Smoke begins to fill my room slowly. At first, it's only a smell, but eventually the air is so congested that I begin to cough, and my lungs begin to burn. I stumble to my feet and press my hands against the door. "Hello! I'm here! Help me!" Seconds pass and turn into minutes, but no one comes. No one cares about me. The room is covered in smoke; I can no longer breathe. I slowly slide down to the floor. Mom, I'm scared. Mom, I'm scared.