The Puppet Show – Chapter 2: The Interview

Read Chapter 1: Pulling The Trigger

“It’s finally great to meet you Alexander. My name’s Scribus and I’m—”

“Scribus?! What the hell kind of name is that? Haha!-…-…-…-Are you going to continue? Where the hell are you from?” Scribus, what a hilarious name; I could hear my own chuckles every time I repeated his name in my head, Scribus, Scribus, Scribus, Scribus. I could hear him grumble at my remarks and at my chuckles, he sounded like a roaring engine. His face was in shock, his mouth wide opened, his eyebrows clenched in horror. I could tell he was never spoken to like this before; what a joke.

“As I was saying, ahem… My name is Scribus … and I’m from the City News, the local newspaper you contacted regarding your story? He paused for a moment but his mouth was still opened a fly could land there and begin a colony, and his finger was still up pointing at me like a statue—this guy was a damn freak—and just as I was about to speak he began to talk again. “And my name, Scribus, it’s Latin for Writing.” Damn idiot, like I care where your name derived from, I just wanted you to write my story down. And who the hell names their kid Scribus?

“Scribus, I apologize. Please, let’s talk.”

“Great! Alexander. Pl—”

“Please Scribus, call me Alex.”

“Alex … Please, take a seat and we’ll begin with a few questions.” Scribus bounced from one foot to the other, limping over to his seat as I looked over confused. I could feel my cheeks squinting up to my eyes, attempting to find out what was wrong with Scribus’s legs. This man was freakier than I thought; did he have a damn wedgie up his butt?

I took my seat. The damn chair was made out of wood and I kept sliding off as I attempted to readjust my body to sit still. I could feel the cold legs of the chair as I touched it with my fingers; it sent shivers through my arm as my hairs spiked up. I attempted to scoot my chair closer into the table, screeeeeeeech. Damn this chair! I looked up at Scribus who stared back at me with his green buggy eyes, with his eye bags drooping and barely hovering over the top of the table. I looked at his brown head and noticed he was bald. He was the perfect shade of bald; the shade of bald where you could see your own reflection, the shade of bald where you could rub it and it would make squeaky sounds. Anyways, I smiled back at Scribus and he smiled back at me. Damn, I thought this guy had questions to ask me!?

“Alex… Do you know why you’re here?”

“Of course I do.”

“Why are you here then?” Was this guy my therapist? Why the hell was he asking me these questions?

“I killed someone … and they damn right deserved it too.”

“And because you killed someone, you think you deserve to tell us your story? Why should you or any killer alike get a chance to tell their story?  What makes your story so important compared to others? Why do you want us to know your story?”

“My story isn’t just for you Scribus or your newspaper… it’s for me, it’s for everyone. I need to let the world know, to let them know of the true story, the story of me. I need to relieve myself from this guilt. No one’s asked me yet… I didn’t kill that person because I wanted to. I killed that person because I had to… I needed to.”

“And why do you say that? Why did they deserve it?”

“You’re kidding me right? You work for the local newspaper you should know the reason!”

“Of course I do Alex, of course I do. But you wanted to tell your story, so tell it. I’m listening. Tell me why he deserved it.” I closed my eyes, trying to hold back my anger, my rage. I could feel my body shaking the chair; I wanted to punch this idiot.

“…That person I killed … He raped a girl…” There was a long pause. Scribus looked at me with his elbows on the table, while his hands were up with his right index finger connecting with his left index finger tucked below his chin. This idiot was trying to be a damn therapist!

“Answer me this Alex… do you deserve to be here?”

I’ve never been asked that question before. How was I going to answer it? Of course I don’t deserve to be here, but I do… I killed another human being. I looked down at my hands, they were sweating. I tried to wipe the sweat off on my dress pants, but sweat continued to ooze out from them. My perfect hair was coming undone; the perfect comb became nothing more than the hair I woke up with, frizzy and all over the place. I could feel the drips of sweat coming from the top of hair, landing on my lap, making tiny wet marks. Did I truly deserve to be here? To be in prison for the remainder of my life, all because I did something right?

“Alex? Are you still with me?” I looked up at Scribus. He was twirling his small yellow pencil around in between his twig like fingers. I looked at his MacBook, it wasn’t opened. I looked at his legal pad and there was no writing on it.

“Why haven’t you written anything down yet?”

“Because Alex. You wanted to tell me your story. All I’ve heard were excuses. If you want me to start writing down your story you need to tell me the truth, tell me your story.” This damn freak comes into my house of solitude and demands I tell him my story when I already am?! How dare this bastard! But if he wanted to know the entire story, then this bastard better listen up.

“All right Scribus… I’ll tell you.” I looked at Scribus picking up his pencil and gently landing it on his legal pad with the point of the pencil touching the yellow paper. He was ready, but was I?

Read Chapter 3: Becoming the Hero

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One Response to The Puppet Show – Chapter 2: The Interview

  1. bookpino says:

    Reblogged this on bookpino.

    Like

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