I don’t really know, I’m guessing I never will. Why I lashed out just now or why I ever did. I just know that I was in trouble as I leaned over the boy’s body. He was in a gang, everyone was at one point, and he was unlucky enough to be in my rival gang. They were run by Bill Conti, a hard nosed Italian catholic. He was tough as nails, but nothing in comparison to some other leaders. I didn’t really know this boy I had just killed, but he was wearing colors, so I knew he was my enemy. If I had waited for him to pull out a knife, I would’ve been better off, but I had just gone right in, and cut his throat. I lightly touched his neck, soaked in blood, and I felt it flow out from the wound. He must have still been alive. I turned his head to face my own. His eyes, I’ll never forget them. They were wide open, his face distorted into some fearful blank stare. They were brown, but really dark, almost black. It was as this point when I realized how young he had to have been, and how I took his life. Oddly enough, I didn’t really consider what I had done to be wrong. At least not until weeks later. I wish I could say something to this boy, make him stop staring, just close his eyes. I wished I could ease his pain. But there are no words of comfort your murderer can give you, to make dying seem any easier. None. His lips moved, as if he were trying to tell me something, but his eyes remained wide open. “I’m sorry,” I said, more of a question then consolidation. I held his head, and stared right back at him, wondering what I could possibly do now. Then I felt a hand over my own, gently pull them away from the boy. “What have you done now, Rusty?” It was Kathy, my leader’s sister. She was only thirteen, but she knew. She always knew what was going on, and she always knew how to fix it. “I…”
“Come on, we need to get you out of here.” She tried to pull me away from the boy.
“No!”
“Be quiet, let’s go.”
“I can’t leave him!” I nearly screamed.
“There ain’t nothin’ you can do, Rusty.” I felt her eyes boring into mine, she looked nothing like her brother. He was tall and intimidating, with a shock of wheat colored hair and golden eyes. She was small, and thin. Her hair a light blonde and her face like that of an angel. Sweet, and forgiving. “Please,” I said, more to myself. She gave me a curious look, but bent down to look at the boy anyways. “You poor child,” She whispered in her sing song voice. “You poor baby, if only you had known what was coming.” If the boy was scared when I was looking at him, now he was mortified. He tried to reach his neck and feel the blood spurting out of him, but he was to weak by now. She wrapped her long fingers around his hand and pulled them up to his neck. “The first blood is the worst, but it just keeps getting better, soon you won’t feel a thing.” She told him.
“What are you doing?” I demanded of her.
“Trying to help him, there’s not much we can do anymore.” She placed another hand over his eyes. “Why trouble yourself with this horrid view?” Kathy said sweetly, she pulled his hand away from his neck and crossed it over his chest. “May the road rise up to meet you, May the wind be ever at your back, May the sun shine warm upon your face, And the rain fall softly on your fields, And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand…”
“Why did you do that?” I asked her, trying to fight back this wave of nausea.
“I blessed him, I thought it might calm him down.” She placed a single finger on his neck. “And I believe it has.” Kathy took her hand off his eyes, to show they were now closed. “The boy’s at peace. You are not.” I understand now how this was a deadly sin, how I will be punished eternally for this one boy, but I don’t even care. For if god really wanted us to listen, why would he make us hate each other? Why couldn’t we get along? “'Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir mná, Agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh, Anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Amen.” She whispered, her voice lighter then air. “I don’t know any funeral prayer, so I thought the Lord’s prayer would work just fine.”
“Yeah, it’s fine…” No it’s not fine, it never would be.
“We must go, Rusty. We can’t have any one find us here.” I nodded, and let her fingers entwine with my own. We walked away, her head up high and eyes solemn. I looked back, and I wished I hadn’t. But now at this point, what does it matter? I am going to hell, but that boy is in heaven.