-Being Someone else-


I had been wondering the streets for quite some time looking for a place to spend the night and get out of the cold windy air. It was well after 1 Am, when I stumbled into a 7-11 parking lot, the brightly lit sign, much to my delight, told of the stores 24-hour service. At this time I found myself less worried about sleep, and more hell bent on purchasing a slurpee. I walked into the store and, despite some odd looks got what I wanted. A medium sized pepsi-flavored slurpee. Upon making my transaction I exited the store, took a few steps then realized that something was wrong, yes, my straw did not have the little spoon on the bottom, and I was always partial to eating my slurpee, instead of sucking it in. I thought to myself, no way am I going to pay 89 cents for something and not have it my way. I turned around and went back into the store. I grabbed myself a straw with a spoon on the end, I paused a while admiring the fact that some one was genius enough to have invented such a thing, and then I plunged it into my cup.

I turned around and saw a strange looking person. Strange in the fact that he was wearing some sort of a mask and carrying a large firearm. He glanced at me, and without a second thought, went about his business. After he had acquired the money from the register, he shot the very same woman, who not more then 2 minutes ago had helped me count my small change in order for my slurpee purchase. The man looked at me. He smiled and said the store was mine now. And he left, running. Why I wasn't shot dead was plain to see. What difference can a homeless person make, witness to a crime or not. I stared a minute at the splattered blood against the wall behind where the young woman had been shot. Sort of a sick admiration you could call it. I sipped my slurpee. I looked around, indeed, the store was mine. However soon it would be overrun by police officers, asking the same questions. So, what the hell was I doing there? I couldn't move. I sat, staring, sipping my slurpee. Funny isn't it, that I would have gone through the trouble to get me a spoon straw, only to find myself sipping my slurpee anyway.

After what seemed like hours, I approached the counter, gently setting my slurpee down; I crossed over to the other side. The pieces of her head on the ground only further proved my assumption that she was indeed dead. I kneeled down to take a closer look at her. She looked so clean, young and new. I looked so dirty, old and used. I stood up and once again took a look around. At times like this, all you can do is enjoy the silence. Finally, the police arrived; they were shocked of course to find me standing over a woman, her brains all over the place. They drew their guns and told me to put my hands on my head. I did as I was told. I believed in the law, and that the people who enforced and withheld it were good people, so I did what I was told.

After an extremely brief question period in which I was asked if I killed the young woman I was sent to jail, to be held over night until things could get sorted out. It ends up, of course, that I was convicted on charges of murder and armed robbery. They didn't need much evidence, obviously, because they had none. I held no ill towards the fact that they needed someone to blame. After all, who would believe a homeless person, even if I did tell my story? You see, I neither admitted to, nor denied robbing and killing, I can't say why, because I'm not quite sure. The only things I regret now are that I never got to finish my slurpee, and that spoon straw that had been so ingeniously designed for it, never got put to use.

Some people wonder how you can live a life that you were not destined to be part of. To them I say it is easy to be something you aren't especially when what you used to be is nothing. Over the weeks I had adopted to my role as a robber and murderer quite well. Various court hearings had judges and prosecutors and such asking me how I could kill someone in cold blood. I look up at them with a smile on my face and the words that escape my mouth aren't even mine "I don't know, it was pretty warm when I felt it splatter all over my face" with that the courtroom erupts into screaming and shouting while I am in the middle of it, smiling. All the while being someone I'm not, and enjoying every second of it.

I never was a big fan of me.

Written and Owned by Dan Chubaty