Super Avenged

Ten days had passed by since I’d been kidnapped. The sketchbook Andrea had given me was almost full of sketches. None of the sketches were happy ones, either. They were dark and deathly, obviously reflecting my mood. When I wasn’t sketching, I would lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling and just daydream about things I no longer had, like good food and Jimmy. Andrea used to visit every night, just to talk for fifteen minutes before she got ready for bed.

Visits like that stopped when I became contained to my apartment. Revolution (after a few days, I realized that Revolution began with Rev: it didn’t help my mood) was nearly finished. In a few days, it would be ready for my brain. In a few days, I would be killed. I asked Andrea how they planned to kill me, and she reluctantly told me that they were going to shoot me point blank in the heart with a shotgun. That way, my brain wouldn’t be harmed and I would definitely be dead. Lovely, isn’t it?

My apartment door was locked from the outside now, trapping me inside. Christopher feared that I might go psycho and try to destroy Revolution. What he hadn’t realized was that if I planned on doing that, I wouldn’t have waited so long. So he had the apartment locked, and it could only be unlocked with a key, which he kept on his person at all times. Three times a day, he unlocked it to let someone put a tray of food on the floor. I forced the food down my throat, just because I had to stay alive.

There was still hope that Jimmy would save me. Super Avenged might still pull through. I had to stay alive just in case. But everyday, more and more of that hope diminished. Soon there would be none left, and that was what I feared the most. When I lost hope in Jimmy, everything to me was lost.

((*****))

In. Out. In. Out. In....hold it....out. In. Out.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Andrea had banged furiously on the apartment door early a few days later. She had told me that Revolution was practically finished. There were only a few minor touches left. My execution time had been set: four o’clock PM that same day.

Today would be the day I died.

And suddenly, I was aware of everything. I concentrated on and cherished every breath and every heartbeat. I pressed my fingers to the side of my neck to feel my blood thudding through my artery. I stood in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I combed my fingers through my hair, feeling the texture and smoothness. I studied my eyes, my nose, my mouth. I stared hungrily at myself, because soon it would all be gone.

Soon, it would be no more.

Before I knew it, I had collapsed to my knees in front of the sink. I leaned my forehead against the counter, sobbing my time away. I fell back on my heels and buried my face in my hands. They smelled like soap, which made me cry all the harder. I wouldn’t smell anything soon.

My tears dried up, and I collapsed sideways. I began to wonder if this is what it felt like to criminals before they were injected with poison to kill them. I felt delirious, yet saner that I’d ever thought possible. Everything seemed wrong, but it felt right. I loved my life, but at the same time, I hated it. Nothing made sense, yet everything made sense.

“Jimmy, don’t miss me too much,” I whispered to the rug. “You’re the one man who changed my mind about love. Please, find the strength to move on after me. I’ll always watch over you. Watch Spongebob for me. It’s on at four, you know that.” I stroked the rug with my forefinger, imagining that it was Jimmy’s chest, and we were lying next to each other on my bed. And then he would say something that would make me laugh until I snorted. And he would flick my nose and tell me how cute my snort was. We would kiss, and everything would be right and perfect in the world.

“Jimmy, I love you, and that’ll never change. Not even death can change that.”