I failed Public Speaking class

I am dead.

Looking back on my life, I see a few moments of greatness, but by and large, it was mistake, after mistake, after mistake. The Muslims have invited me out for soccer later this evening, so I will just tell you my final, and probably the worst of them all. I am sure if you have a penchant of the dramatic, you will enjoy it greatly.

It was a Sunday, 4.15AM Sunday morning to be precise, and my phone rang, so, naturally, I reached for it and listened to the other end. How I wish I hadn’t picked it up, but I did, and when my “friend” Jess said, “Dude, my toilet is stuffed, get over here. There’s shit gushing everywhere”, I being a plumber, reluctantly grumbled, and he took it for a yes. Threw on some pants, I took off for his apartment.

Of course his toilet was working just fine and he had called me for something much less savory. To make a long story short, my friend was covered in blood and gore, on his floor lay a dead blonde girl I had never seen before, he then asked me to move the thing. I told him he was insane, but then helped him anyway. A cop saw us loading her into a dumpster. Surely, Jess vamoosed, and I ran too, or I would have ran but the girl’s slipper caught on my shirt, and the next thing I knew was 300 pound officer Dunkin slamming me against the hood of his car telling me I am a sick bastard while completely  forgetting about my Miranda rights.

So then I was in a cell and this big black man was looking at me like I am a naked chicken. He told me I looked
sexy. I gave him nothing but the finger. He came at me with his mitts out, looking like a bear. I tried to resist but I was weaker than him so I lost. While I was face down on the floor, all the other rag-tag homeless men were studying the invisible spider webs around the cell, hoping that somewhere in their investigation, they would lose themselves and forgot about the time they were me. But I caught their eyes, and they remembered everything.

After a week of being forgotten in that hole, enjoyed more sodomy than a biker at a Hell’s Angels meet when the lights went out, the cell mates stopped paying attention to my silent cry of help, I finally got to sit before a jury of old men and old women. We were watching a slide show of a girl named Lavender Weisz and the lawyer’s started talking about how she was promising student, smart, maybe in need of applying herself a little bit more, but she had bright things in her future. And as he calls me a demonic monster, comparing me to Hitler, I was thinking about the track marks of Lavender’s arms, and her cold body, half exposed behind the tattered clothes, dangled from the dumpster outside the McDonalds in Brooklyn.

Click, there goes the slider, click-click-click, after a final click there was a picture of the girl as I knew her; all bruised and broken and still in the dumpster. A loud gasps could be heard from the jury. I gasped too, as it seemed the polite thing to do.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!” the man screamed, “HOW COULD ANYONE BE SUCH A MONSTER? WELL, YOU PIG, WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY?” I tried explaining my situation but he did not quite get it so I gave up.

“NO ANSWER EH? WELL WE DON’T EVEN NEED ONE! YOU ARE DONE!” He said, slamming his brief case and that was the end of my case. It took them a whole two minutes to deliberate, and as one man shuffled his glasses, pretending to read the decision, I could see my life rolling by my eyes as he pronounced “On the charges of kidnapping and murder,we find the defendant…GUILTY.”

Clap-clap, clapped the judges hammer as he sentenced me to the electric chair, and I desperately tried to
scream innocence, but they took me anyway.

Three years passed on death row, it was not that great.

Three years passed, and I sat strapped in a chair, staring at a silver screen; and as I heard the audience behind it shuffling, watching me. I probably looked skinny, and dirty, a tad bit insane. In their whispers I heard distinctly one lady telling another that you really never could tell who the weirdo was going to be.

Then there was SILENCE, as a thin man who looked like a dead corpse fondled some plastic gum thing, and told me that I was to die by ten-thousand volts to the brain. “Is that all John? I think I will take fifty-thousand today”, I joked to myself. And when he asked me for the final words, I gave them nothing. He just sighed that I was so stubborn, so he popped the plastic gum thing in my mouth. Next thing I know, I was watching my body from above as it clamps down on its own. And as I watched myself fry and die, I concluded to myself, one: never help people, and two: being mute bites.

Author: Viet Nguyen

I thought what I had do was, I had pretend I was one of those Deaf Mutes

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