Regret Hurts

The air was musty, the scent of rotting fish thick in the air. My breathing was ragged as I looked down on the pale figure. His eyes were dreamy, but somehow lost at the same time.

It seemed like he was searching for something that didn't exist. Or maybe he was. Maybe he was searching for life. But his body is lifeless now. I was the one that caused that.

The 9 mm pistol in my hand fell loose of my grasp and it dropped with a soft thud onto the moist ground. My breathing got heavier as I heard the blare of police sirens.

This is it. I've just killed someone and I'll be killed for it. I hate execution and in my opinion, it's the worst day someone can possibly die.

I wanna die in peace, my friends and family huddled around my sickbed, tears gleaming in their eyes and they whisper their silent prayer fervently.

I wanna be loved. Be cared for. Be remembered as a good person. I don't wanna die with my name on posters telling the whole world I killed Travis James.

Travis used to be my best friend. But, he betrayed me in the worst way possible. A way that stirs up all the anger, revenge, violence in me whenever I think of it.

Travis abused me physically, for he was part of a group of psychopaths that sold people's organs for a huge amount of money.

Little did I know, I befriended one of its members and I shake my head now. I killed Travis to stop him from hurting other people. I don't want anyone else to feel the same hurt I did.

I wanted to protect my neighbourhood, my nice friends, and my loving family. But, I guess, some things that are done as a good initiative, can lead to the worst results.

The corpse lying still in front of me now is a very good example of that. I had let my revengeful hate get ahead of me and I shot a bullet to Travis's head.

It did good, of course it did. But, still, I did the unthinkable. I killed a person. I didn't even know what Travis's motives were for joining into that gruesome group.

Maybe his family was starving and in desperate need of money. Travis probably just didn't realise that there were healthier ways of making a living.

My heart filled with dreadful guilt, and somehow, I thought that I probably deserved to be killed. My life was all okay. Travis was a good friend.

Well, he was.

But that's besides the point. Now, I realise that there are better ways of confronting someone of their bad deeds. Why did I do this?

Yet, the past is the past. I pulled the trigger. The bullet had latched onto Travis's head. He died. There's no possible way Travis can be alive anymore.

The neighbourhood must've heard the gunshot from the woods. And the horrible screams of Travis James. The last thing that spilled out of Travis's mouth were horrible, fear-enticing, heart-wrenching screams of agony.

But even those lasted a mere few seconds. Again, painful guilt welled up inside my heart. Deep regret, deep guilt and the deep want of surrendering fills me up.

But, I have to think and act fast, for the sirens were getting closer and there wasn't much time for me to lament over my sinful deeds.

There's nothing else to do except two, now:

-Surrender and die at the hands of legal execution or,

-Run for my life and move out of the state, even out of the country and try to run from the government for the rest of my life. 

Of course, the first choice seems much more doable and easy. I could just surrender and live with the guilt and regret for the rest of my after-life.

Or, I could run away and try and live a better life by turning a new leaf and moving to a new country. But, even then, I would still be on the run from the police.

A killer won't get away as easily as that.

But then, I thought again, Travis himself has killed many people in his lifetime, yet, he survived. How did he hide? What were his tactics? 

I can't find an answer to those questions, since the man itself isn't breathing anymore. But, a new idea bloomed in my mind, a spark of hope.

What if, just what if, I admitted to the crime and beg for mercy, swear to god, that I'll never repeat the same thing ever again? 

Maybe, just maybe, the jury will take pity on me and let me go free. Or, at least, let me just stay imprisoned in jail. At least I'd live. 

But, the luring thought of spending the rest of my life in a cell doesn't seem appealing either, but I guess it's slightly better than having my life cut short. Right?

Oh well, it's worth a shot and I decide.

The police arrive and one man said, "Hands up and drop your gun!" The point of a gun nudged my back. I draw a sharp intake of air through my gritted teeth.

                     -----

"You have committed murder and broke the law. You will be subjected to execution, if the jury agrees. You have to attend a trial on the 17th of July, and you will be given a place to stay at the police station. You aren't allowed to get out of your room and a guard with a rifle will stand at your door at all times, to make sure yo don't escape."

That's what the grim police man read to me out of an official-looking paper scroll. I nodded, my lips tightly pursed and I answered with a "Yes, sir."

The next month was the most terrible of my life. I had to eat prison food, which consisted of half-cooked corn, plain rice, a bit of salt, bland soup with carrots and a biscuit and tiny brownie that were the only good things in the meal.

A day before my trial, the TV that I had thought was broken switched on and it showed a video.

A man wearing a police uniform was kneeling down beside the pale corpse of Travis James, and in his grasp was a camera. A blinding light flashed the screen for a mili-second.

A picture was taken of Travis James, the man I had murdered, the man I had loved.