Flash Fiction: The Point Is

The miscommunication was there. I had told him several times, to be exact, about four. It was four times I told him not to go in there, don’t go into that place where she visits, you don’t belong there in any way. What did he do the following night? The fucker went in there with mouth open and ears shut. He went in there with his gun, pulled the trigger, and shot her in the face. What a mess! Had he listened to me, he would’ve realized this was the wrong action to take. People nowadays never think about the consequences of their actions. They go about doing something, decide on a whim, and worse, drive recklessly into the proverbial brick wall going over 100 miles per hour. This what America has to offer us. Highways where you can drive excessive speeds and never get a ticket unless you’re driving a red car. This is what overpopulated cities offer. People driving away after they rear end you because they know it will take a while for the officers to arrive, if they arrive at all, and hell if they’re going to account for their mistake. America is full of stupid, careless, and bad drivers. This isn’t really the point of this story. The point is no one knows where he began and where he ended.

This ex-friend of mine who killed the only woman he called his lover because she dumped him like a bad habit spent his whole life in prison. He never tried to right his wrong but could he really undue the dirtiness within him if he had tried. Would God really forgive him? Her parents never did. Her parents wanted him to die a long, miserable death. Of course, he was sentenced to life behind bars without the possibility of parole. The jury saw something redeemable within him. I don’t know what it was, but I sure didn’t. I was embarrassed I once called him my friend. If I had been a part of that jury, I would’ve sentenced him to die by hanging for what he did. I’m not related to the poor woman he murdered. She was still a part of humanity. So, what if she was a hooker? Did she deserve to die? The answer is no. She was given a hard life from the start. Unlike some who defend themselves without warrant, she was innocent all the way. At least, the jury was able to see past the defense’s lame reason for why he killed her. I’m about to ask him myself when I made the decision to visit him. I don’t know if he’ll receive me. It’s been ten years since I last saw him. There lies the problem. Why am I doing this? Why do I care? It’s my job now as a reporter. I have to be neutral and keep the rage building inside me to a minimum. The point is he could’ve been anything and he chose to be the one who lied purely and bleed purposely.

As I listened to his words, her face entered my mind like a ghost. She was trying to tell me something. I couldn’t hear her clearly. There was too much noise happening around me. The prisoners were talking animatedly to their visitors. I could hear his voice and scribbled on my notepad. I envisioned strangling him. He asked me why I was hurting him. Nothing came out of my mouth. He didn’t deserve an answer to why I was taking his life away from him second by painful second. By the time I left, all I could do is wonder why me. Who had sent me? The newspaper knew our past relationship. I was not the most objective person to do this. Of course, he would receive me. No one else had visited him since he arrived. There’s only so much ramen can satisfy someone who craves unlimited cigarettes and dead women. The real problem was he knew more about me than wanted to know of him. The real point was we were interchangeable, but no one wanted to hear about that.

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