Over My Dead Body, Page 3

  Great. She has a hero.

  “Ma’am, if you can hear me, go wait by the river. There’s help on the way.”

  Little did Mr. Hero know, I was waiting by the river. Trina ran to the tree I had stood under earlier to change clothes. Heart racing, I killed my light, and crept towards Trina. “Surprise!” I snatched Trina. “Time to d—”

  A shot rang out.

  ***

  Orange is one color I swore I wouldn't be caught dead in. I can't tell you how many times Trina tried to convince me to wear that silly looking orange sweater she had bought for my birthday two years ago. Over my dead body, was my response. So when the Corrections Officer—on steroids—handed me that orange jumpsuit, I could hear Trina laughing hysterically and taunting me.

  See, I told you I'd get you to wear orange one day. That's what she would have said, if she were here.

  “Open cell number four!” The Corrections Officer pushed me inside the four by four cell. “Home sweet home for you, pal. Enjoy!”

  There wasn't anything sweet about prison. Well, there was just one thing sweet: my cellmate. I shared a cell with Little Richard’s twin.

  Tooty, fruity

  Cautiously, I acquainted myself with Little Richard. Come to find out, Little Richard was a big time serial killer in Georgia. Here I was, living out the rest of my life with this prissy mass murderer. All because of Trina. And what did she get? A chance to move on with her life; a clean slate.

  Had it not been for that Game Warden shooting me in the shoulder, Trina would be dead and I would be in France with my parents. It would have only been fair for it to have ended that way. Why had God allowed this to happen to me? I know I turned my back on him, but it wasn’t like I didn’t have my reasons. I guess my reasons is what really landed me in prison serving a life sentence.

  Lord forgive me for I have sinned.

  “I told you, son,” Father sat to the right of me. “If you would have listened to me, then none of this would've happened. God don't like ugly, no matter what the cause. Vengeance belongs to God.”

  “Oh, hush your mouth with all that preaching.” Mother sat to my left, looking as radiant as ever in her mink coat with the matching purse. “Now here's what we’re going to do,”—she scooted closer to me— “we're going to get out of here. I've got a plan that's error proof. We can't lose.”

  My father shook his head. “Lord, help us.”

  THE END