I was never one for regrets but theres a first for everything. I could make out the comet clearly, illuminated by the moon on this dark winter night, probably my last one. It was big which was to be expected in the ice rock that was destined to destroy earth. It also had the trademark wisp of flame following behind it.
I chuckled slightly as I looked over the city. I was in a good place, sitting in a comfortable chair on a balcony, much better then the folks rioting in the streets below. The regrets I have span across my whole life. Well since the day I sold my first baggie of weed which was in or around July 7th 1985 and ends when this comet finally kills me.
I didn’t get into the life of crime because I needed money or anything sort of sensible. I was bored to put it bluntly. I took a long drag of my cigar and thought back to that day. It was my 15th birthday to be exact and me and my mate (Alex was his name and boy that man stayed in my life a long ass time) had an idea.
He stole the baggie from an older brother as we were in dire need of money for drink that night. We asked around our group of equally scummy friends and we eventually found someone who would buy some and they did. Oh by God we got shit faced that night. That night is not on my list of regrets.
That sadly led on to more drug deals as they always do but things weren’t so bad. Alex was drifting in and out of the country helping with overseas deals and starting a separate trade for himself. I met up with a girl as welI, was happy as could be. Then it happened.
Fast forward four years and I was in a dark alley with a revolver in my hand, heroin needle still stuck in my arm and my girlfriends brains splattered across the building. It honestly hurts me to think about it. The image of her on her knee’s for a rival dealer is one that still pops up in the occasional nightmare. The dealer ran away but she stayed. She was still on her knee’s staring at me with eyes full of hot tears and regret. Id like to say pulling that trigger was the beginning of my descent into madness but I’m almost positive I was brain fucked from the start.
That was not the greatest of times for my head, a twisted mix of drug abuse and depression really fucked me up but I got over it somehow. On a strange note I think the depression wasn’t an effect of me murdering my girlfriend but because of how at the time I believed I wouldn’t amount to anything more then a druggie. I always felt that she deserved that death up until a few years back.Them few years are on my list of regrets.
I was now stuck in an okay place. I was living in a van and had a part time job that paid enough for me to live. If only I stayed in that shitty van and maybe saved enough for an actual house and had a life things might have been okay but alas Alex walked back in my life.
He had left for Canada when he turned eighteen as a petty drug dealer and came back semi rich and looking for new employees.
I leapt on the chance for something greater and boy did I get it. Alex was sick of the drug trade and was looking for something more exciting .Armed robbery took our fancy. Me, him and a few others took the country by storm. We made over ten hits in that first year alone. Some more profitable the other, and if memory serves me right we only murdered six or seven people through that year. I was responsible for four of them.
Those four people creep up on my mind from time to time. A man who tried to play hero and wrestled Alex’s gun from him but wasn’t fast enough and got multiple bullets to the back. An old man who refused to hand over his wallet at one of the first jobs, he was murdered with a baseball bat. A woman and child who got hit with the getaway van from the eight job I think. I could’ve swerved out of the way, I knew they were there. I didn’t have to hit them. It wasn’t an accident.
Now at the tender age of twenty five I had a body count of five under my belt which grew slowly grew as years dragged on. We were eventually going to commence with our biggest hit yet. It was a reasonably sized bank and if the job went right we would all be a few hundred thousand richer. It failed to say the least.
I barely escaped while dragging Alex’s almost dead body behind me. We made it into the getaway car and made off. Alex was in a coma for over six months and I was shot three times in the back, complete paralyzation from waist down. Which in short is why I’m here where I am today, if not for the loss of my legs id probably be still out there as it is. Fighting till that godforsaken rock gets rid of us all. That is the one thing I thank Alex for. A peacful(ish) death.
If I didn’t have to worry about his sorry ass I wouldn’t have gotten shot to ribbons. Still doesn’t excuse the fact he’s the reason I became the murdering prick I am today which is one thing he cant be forgiven for. That is why he’s lying dead at my feet, missing a portion of his stomach. It was easy enough to get him to call over. I always had the feeling he felt sorry for me and was looking for a chance to make amends with me.
He said two words before I killed him. I had left the front door unlocked and he walked in slowly. He was wearing a long coat, small reading glasses and looked to be at least twice his age. He was a prime example of how not to handle guilt. “I’m sorr-” he spluttered before the slugs of my sawed off shotgun ripped him open. Thats when the thoughts of regrets slipped into my head, right as I murdered my last person.
The comet was practically there now. It was getting uncomfortable to even sit now. Beads of sweat ran down my forehead as my eyebrows were singed off. I had in or around second degree burns on all visible skin which wasn’t pleasant.
I couldn’t tune out the screaming no more. It was the constant background noise that followed me to my death. I bit down on my tongue and felt the blood run down my chin. So this was it then I remarked to myself. Drug dealer turned druggie turned lower class worker turned armed robber turned cripple turned murderer once again. Maybe this was a fitting end after all.
Then I died.