Status: The story is not supposed to end here. I wrote this five years ago and I am now 17; quite unmotivated to pick up writing it again, but we will see. hold on!
Hearts Recycled But Never Saved
Does anyone care if nobody cares?
"This is not for sissies, boy", said the officer with a meaning glance at my skinny body. His eyes were as dark as his skin and the pupil, which made them inconvenient to look into. I turned my face away.
"I'm not a sissy", I said, grittering my teeth.
"Glad to hear. So who are you?" the man chuckled.
My usual response to that question would be "St Jimmy", but suddenly I remembered something my mother once had called me.
As throwing a look at the officer, I succeed in making eyecontact, and told him;
"I'm Jesus, nailed to the couch, suffering my sins."
His creepy eyes seemed to lighten up a bit.
"So what brings Jesus to join the army?"
"Well, being nailed to the couch, suffering sins."
The officer scrowled.
"Anyway, Jesus, we will need your name."
This was the point where I gave up. Since that moment, I didn't care what happened to me anymore.
"Jimmy. Don't wear it out."
"I thought so."
I was just opening my mouth to yell something at him, because I had realized. I knew now. I was not surprised when two fat hands grabbed me from behind.
"'Evening, mate", said the voice of the someone who now started pulling me back. I felt the cold metal of handcuffs.
I began cursing out of control, kicking and shouting.
"We knew you were coming", said the officer with a wide, vicious grin. He was the most disgusting person I could think of.
But maybe, even more disgusting, the ones I immediately understood had betrayed me. I had even lost them.
That thought suddenly made each and every of my moves freeze.
I was so alone now. All that ever had meant anything, was gone. I'd let those goddamned cops kill me if they'd want to. I wasn't anything anymore.
I let them drag me away, hoping to never return again.
"Feel like home, this is the facility on East 12th street", a faceless policeman told me as he pushed me inside the huge brick walls.
"Let go of me! I never meant this to be! I did not kill Tunny!"
Another policeman looked up from a bunch of journals.
"I have a feeling that someone's not sober. Robinson, test him and hand me results as soon as possible."
"Yes sir."
"I'm not fucking gonna do a test, what's it for? Making sure I'm not an alien?"
I was dragged away, kicking, screaming, spitting and vomiting. After what seemed like an eternity, we had reached a room furnished only in concrete, and small enough to turn anyone into a claustrophobic.
“We will start off simply”, said the man who obviously carried the name Robinson, as pushing me into one of the chairs around a concrete table. He went to lock the door, and then sat down in the opposite chair.
“I hope so, after this kind of treatment”, I mumbled, whereupon Robinson’s thin lips slimmed even more with disgust.
“Are you sober, boy?”
I sneered, picking up a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it.
“Actually”, I said and put it to my lips, inhaling the smoke slowly. “I’m in the biggest hangover of my life at the moment.”
Robinson glanced at my cigarette, and looked as if he was trying to breath as little as possible.
“So you’re saying that you’re sober? I think you’re a liar, Jimmy.”
“I didn’t say that. You're an idiot. You have no sense of figurative speaking. Have you ever loved somebody, Robinson?”
Robinson sneered the same way I had sneered at him.
“Of course I have. But I ask the questions, and you give me the answers.”
I ignored this completely.
“Did she ever leave you, Robinson?” I stretched the letters in his name just like I did before.
“Oh but come on!” Robinson yelled and hit his fist in his bunch of papers. “I want to see if you can be honest about the amount of alcohol in your bloodstream! I’m not interested in your previous girlfriends!”
“And I’m not interested in signing papers, or telling you what’s in my bloodstream.”
Robinson once again glanced at my cigarette, with lips slimming even more.
“There’s hell of a load nicotine in it, anyway”, he said with a sting of hatred. “There is not much I can do for a silly, selfish teenager. I’ll get someone else to see you.”
“It wasn’t nice meeting you.” I put out the cigarette in his papers, leaving a black hole. “In fact, it was far from a pleasure.”
Robinson raised from the chair, and opened his big eyes to stare at me.
“H-h-how dare y-you!” he stammered, as collecting his burnt papers, running out the door and locking it with a small click.
I leaned backwards, sneering to myself. But I wasn’t happy. I knew why he found me so disgusting and awful; and still I didn’t try to change. I lit my tenth cigarette of the day and put my feet up on the table. The very next second, the policeman who had ordered Robinson to test me showed up.
His pig like face was brightly red, and the eyes covered by wrinkles in his forehead.
“TAKE THOSE FEET OFF THE TABLE!” he shouted and ceased all movements, breathing heavily and hiding his eyes even more as I didn’t obey. Nevertheless, he slowly sat down on the opposite chair.
“I’d rather say pile of bad taste concrete than table”, I plainly said to him and sifted his ridiculous uniform with a glance that said it all. He interpreted it correctly, causing his cheeks to turn more purpleish than red.
“This”, he said as showing me a bunch of papers, “is all I require.”
I gave him a look of disbelief and indifference.
“Put out… that… cigarette”, he now said, discovering my smoking which he hadn’t noticed in his first rage.
“So”, I said and inhaled again. “How come I needn’t do more?”
“Well. We’ve discussed, and came to the conclusion that you’re one scary bastard. You’re not just stupid enough to commit crimes, and you’re not mentally ill.”
I laughed hollowly.
“Oh, really? That's pathetic! You’re fucking afraid of me?”
The policeman muttered something beyond what I could hear.
“You will be fined. Your list of crimes is not a short story.”
He held up a paper full of minimal letters and numbers. I sneered at it, and obviously he was not pleased, according to the color of his face.
“You’ve had enough second chances from us, kid. But you’re 19. You can change. But soon we can’t pretend that you’re not see-through.”
“I don’t care.”
There was suddenly a silence, this kind of silence that you're not prepared for. This silence wasn't one of the fights without weapons that I could imagine silences with him to be. There was some sort of honesty about this silence.
"Does anyone care if nobody cares?" I eventually said in a low voice, and watched the cigarette smoke rise towards the ceiling.
“It’s a pity. Please, I beg you, for your own good, fill out these paperworks now.”
He got up from the chair.
"Fill them out, and go home. Please, Jimmy, go home."
Then he stood there, for a few seconds that felt so long, looking at me; his mouth slightly open.
Moments later, he realized the situation, closed his mouth and without another word, and exceptionally normal-faced, he left through the door.
"I'm not a sissy", I said, grittering my teeth.
"Glad to hear. So who are you?" the man chuckled.
My usual response to that question would be "St Jimmy", but suddenly I remembered something my mother once had called me.
As throwing a look at the officer, I succeed in making eyecontact, and told him;
"I'm Jesus, nailed to the couch, suffering my sins."
His creepy eyes seemed to lighten up a bit.
"So what brings Jesus to join the army?"
"Well, being nailed to the couch, suffering sins."
The officer scrowled.
"Anyway, Jesus, we will need your name."
This was the point where I gave up. Since that moment, I didn't care what happened to me anymore.
"Jimmy. Don't wear it out."
"I thought so."
I was just opening my mouth to yell something at him, because I had realized. I knew now. I was not surprised when two fat hands grabbed me from behind.
"'Evening, mate", said the voice of the someone who now started pulling me back. I felt the cold metal of handcuffs.
I began cursing out of control, kicking and shouting.
"We knew you were coming", said the officer with a wide, vicious grin. He was the most disgusting person I could think of.
But maybe, even more disgusting, the ones I immediately understood had betrayed me. I had even lost them.
That thought suddenly made each and every of my moves freeze.
I was so alone now. All that ever had meant anything, was gone. I'd let those goddamned cops kill me if they'd want to. I wasn't anything anymore.
I let them drag me away, hoping to never return again.
"Feel like home, this is the facility on East 12th street", a faceless policeman told me as he pushed me inside the huge brick walls.
"Let go of me! I never meant this to be! I did not kill Tunny!"
Another policeman looked up from a bunch of journals.
"I have a feeling that someone's not sober. Robinson, test him and hand me results as soon as possible."
"Yes sir."
"I'm not fucking gonna do a test, what's it for? Making sure I'm not an alien?"
I was dragged away, kicking, screaming, spitting and vomiting. After what seemed like an eternity, we had reached a room furnished only in concrete, and small enough to turn anyone into a claustrophobic.
“We will start off simply”, said the man who obviously carried the name Robinson, as pushing me into one of the chairs around a concrete table. He went to lock the door, and then sat down in the opposite chair.
“I hope so, after this kind of treatment”, I mumbled, whereupon Robinson’s thin lips slimmed even more with disgust.
“Are you sober, boy?”
I sneered, picking up a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it.
“Actually”, I said and put it to my lips, inhaling the smoke slowly. “I’m in the biggest hangover of my life at the moment.”
Robinson glanced at my cigarette, and looked as if he was trying to breath as little as possible.
“So you’re saying that you’re sober? I think you’re a liar, Jimmy.”
“I didn’t say that. You're an idiot. You have no sense of figurative speaking. Have you ever loved somebody, Robinson?”
Robinson sneered the same way I had sneered at him.
“Of course I have. But I ask the questions, and you give me the answers.”
I ignored this completely.
“Did she ever leave you, Robinson?” I stretched the letters in his name just like I did before.
“Oh but come on!” Robinson yelled and hit his fist in his bunch of papers. “I want to see if you can be honest about the amount of alcohol in your bloodstream! I’m not interested in your previous girlfriends!”
“And I’m not interested in signing papers, or telling you what’s in my bloodstream.”
Robinson once again glanced at my cigarette, with lips slimming even more.
“There’s hell of a load nicotine in it, anyway”, he said with a sting of hatred. “There is not much I can do for a silly, selfish teenager. I’ll get someone else to see you.”
“It wasn’t nice meeting you.” I put out the cigarette in his papers, leaving a black hole. “In fact, it was far from a pleasure.”
Robinson raised from the chair, and opened his big eyes to stare at me.
“H-h-how dare y-you!” he stammered, as collecting his burnt papers, running out the door and locking it with a small click.
I leaned backwards, sneering to myself. But I wasn’t happy. I knew why he found me so disgusting and awful; and still I didn’t try to change. I lit my tenth cigarette of the day and put my feet up on the table. The very next second, the policeman who had ordered Robinson to test me showed up.
His pig like face was brightly red, and the eyes covered by wrinkles in his forehead.
“TAKE THOSE FEET OFF THE TABLE!” he shouted and ceased all movements, breathing heavily and hiding his eyes even more as I didn’t obey. Nevertheless, he slowly sat down on the opposite chair.
“I’d rather say pile of bad taste concrete than table”, I plainly said to him and sifted his ridiculous uniform with a glance that said it all. He interpreted it correctly, causing his cheeks to turn more purpleish than red.
“This”, he said as showing me a bunch of papers, “is all I require.”
I gave him a look of disbelief and indifference.
“Put out… that… cigarette”, he now said, discovering my smoking which he hadn’t noticed in his first rage.
“So”, I said and inhaled again. “How come I needn’t do more?”
“Well. We’ve discussed, and came to the conclusion that you’re one scary bastard. You’re not just stupid enough to commit crimes, and you’re not mentally ill.”
I laughed hollowly.
“Oh, really? That's pathetic! You’re fucking afraid of me?”
The policeman muttered something beyond what I could hear.
“You will be fined. Your list of crimes is not a short story.”
He held up a paper full of minimal letters and numbers. I sneered at it, and obviously he was not pleased, according to the color of his face.
“You’ve had enough second chances from us, kid. But you’re 19. You can change. But soon we can’t pretend that you’re not see-through.”
“I don’t care.”
There was suddenly a silence, this kind of silence that you're not prepared for. This silence wasn't one of the fights without weapons that I could imagine silences with him to be. There was some sort of honesty about this silence.
"Does anyone care if nobody cares?" I eventually said in a low voice, and watched the cigarette smoke rise towards the ceiling.
“It’s a pity. Please, I beg you, for your own good, fill out these paperworks now.”
He got up from the chair.
"Fill them out, and go home. Please, Jimmy, go home."
Then he stood there, for a few seconds that felt so long, looking at me; his mouth slightly open.
Moments later, he realized the situation, closed his mouth and without another word, and exceptionally normal-faced, he left through the door.