1 Prologue 1: Aren't mistakes meant to be forgiven?
authors note: fuck asking for power stones man, give me your comments, I wanna know what you think and get entertainment out that shit. Thanks. Enjoy.
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"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! OH GOD FUCK!" I couldn't help but panic as I stumbled out of my now smoking truck and to the other persons wrecked car. The truck was made In the 90s and built like a tank, so my hopes weren't high...
'Oh fuck...' I couldn't help but curse in fear.
It was a Volkswagen beetle.
"They're fucked..." I whisper my thoughts in fear, and with a new found fear, run faster to the totalled vehicle.
...
Blood.
Fire.
Torn metal.
'Is this what Deaths face looks like?' I think to myself as I try to rip open the banged in doors. Another car pulls up. They tell me to sit.
I sit.
I try to calm, as nothing in my head makes sense.
...
'Its really cold.
...
Its hot.
...
Is this the adrenaline wearing off?
...
Oh
...
They weren't the only ones bleeding
...
Is that white thing my skull?
...
There isn't pain... So is it really that bad?
...
As I'm ushered into the ambulance... Wait, ambulance? When did those get here?
...
can't help but wonder if they are okay.'
...
'I don't know what to think anymore.'
'Its all a blur now, was I going fast? No that wasn't it. Oh right, it snowed the night before. Did it freeze? Did my brakes not work? ... That sounds right, but the other people were going faster than me, why was my vehicle the one to lose traction?'
And with that final thought, nothing more was to be thought. It was as if my brain simply shut down, I wasn't able to reply to the doctor telling me I need stitches and that the elderly couple in the other car was dead. I wasn't able to understand my lawyer saying I should just plead guilty. I wasn't able to process the judges verdict.
I simply couldn't.
"I declare the defendant, Victor Johnathen Korstuvsky, guilty of the following crimes: Section 68-45-1, otherwise known as driving too fast for conditions, and two violations of Section 78-53-2, otherwise known as involuntary manslaughter,"
(Authors note: legal disclaimer: I am not in any way a lawyer or a judge, this is not an accurate representation of a court of law. I am not in any way trying to show myself as someone who is fluent in this. Aight now back to the book)
"The crimes warrant the punishment as follows, you are to spend 15 years in federal prison and are fined 120 dollars for violations of 68-45-1, and will be fined 5000 dollars for each violation of 78-53-2."
"This court is adjorned."
Bang!
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*click*!
"Turn 90 degrees to your right."
...
*click*!
Turn 180 degrees to your left.
...
*click*!
The prison guard behind the mug shot photographer laughed, "damn mate, you ugly as shit!"
'Huh? I shouldn't be that bad right?' My thoughts fly blindly as I try to look at the mugshots.
The expression was the worst part. It had nothing but boredom, as if going to prison didn't affect what will happen in my life in the slightest, as if I simply did not care that I was being punished. The black, greying, slightly wavy hair was singed at the ends, making me think that the crashes fire was a little worse than I thought. My originally pale white skin seemed different, its as if it was slightly tanned now. Even the height chart in the back seemed off, as it said I was six foot exactly, even though for most of my life, I was 5"11'.
The sheet underneath the mugshot shows some more info:
Name: Victor J. Korstuvsky
Age: 48
Time Served: N/A
Time To Serve: 15Y
'... Well the guard isn't wrong, I look like shit.'
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'You know, now that I am here, in this position, handcuffs are a lot tighter than they look.' My thoughts dully fill my own head, barely even registering themselves as thoughts, as I'm ushered quietly out of the room.
"You're going in for a long time buddy." Said the officer on my right.
'Ah yes, I totally didn't understand that, as the one being punished here.' Dull, again. Why are my thoughts dull? What makes a thought dull?
...
'Who cares? If I'm going to prison, worrying about that is irrelevant.'
...
'I wish I could see that tree one last time, it truly was beautiful.'
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"Pick it up, white boy."
'You know, with the way he's talking, you'd think it was some big ass muscular black guy, but its just some mexican guy who's muscles are no larger than mine. The fuck is he thinking? I can just ignore him'
...
'Huh, dull thoughts again. Eh, doesn't matter.'
"You ignoring me, White boy?"
"Guards! Jamal has contraband!" I yell in a deep voice, so the guards can't trace it back to me, simply since there aren't cameras here and they ain't gonna believe the guy they are detaining, especially when the guards hear Jamals description of my voice doesn't match the one I have.
As I follow the others out of the shower room, I see 3 guards running in at poor Jamal with batons.
"Pfft" I couldn't help but snort.
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'Huh, guess those conspiracy theorists were right for once, prison really just turns people into full blown criminals huh' the dull thoughts roll, as I hold a broken piece of the concrete floor as a shiv against my roommates bloodied chest.
'I don't feel much, even though I killed him. Although I worked as a psychologist, I always thought I would meet the psychopath on the chair opposite of me. How strange.'
I drop the shiv and walk around the room a little, as he seemed pretty dead.
'It honestly is fascinating how everything works out, huh? He didn't even try to yell out once!'
The bloodied man on the floor grabs hold of the concrete
'If god is real, he sure does have a sense of humor, huh?'
...
"Ugh, fuck man, if you filthy bastards are gonna kill each other at least do it in a place where it isn't my job to clean up!" Yells the exasperated guard at the two dead men.
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1045 words
