Insane
I wake up with a fuzzy feeling in my mouth, but don’t open my eyes. The last thing I can remember was drinking with my friends at the bar. We had just aced our end-of-year exams, and decided to celebrate. I had drunk too much, staggered home, and crashed in bed with my dog at my side. With the darkness pressing in on my eyes, I used other senses. The comforting warmth of my dog lying next to me. The cool, floating feeling of the cotton sheets, with a high thread count. They were the only sheets I felt comfortable in. The white light shining through my eyelids. The warm summer breeze caressing my face. As I became aware of my body, I felt a lump on the back of my head, and realized that my ponytail was still on. I also remembered I had not taken off my shoes. I stood up, still not opening my eyes, and my head started spinning. I reached my hand out to rest on the nightstand, met only empty air, and crashed over. My eyes flew open, and saw a ceiling. It was not mine. As I got my feet under me, I staggered to a window and looked out at a vast horizon. “What the…” for it was not the one outside my humble Montana home. It looked like those landscapes of Mexico you see on buzzfeed, with rushing blue water, and tall white buildings. My head spun faster and faster. As the ground rushed up to meet me, I got one word out. “Fuck”.
That was 30 years ago. Now I live a broken life. A half life. The things I saw, the things I experienced, were all in my head. Soon after that, I thought the people who had brought me there were coming to take me away. I always kept a gun in my house.
BANG
BANG
BANG
With the unerring accuracy of someone who spent hours down at the range, I shot all three of them dead, before I realized I was in my rose garden. They were my elderly mexican neighbors. When I went to court, my attorney pleaded not guilty, saying I was insane. During the court trial, I had another attack. I thought I was, again, in Mexico, being interrogated by drug lords. Screaming I would tell them nothing, that I knew nothing about their drug dealings, I collapsed. Soon after, I was put into a mental hospital. I sense I am near my dying days. Other people have told me about what I was like before that night of partying that ended so tragically. I was funny, entertaining, smart, kind, loving, and loyal. I had a boyfriend, named Mark. My mom had been a lawyer, my dad an astrophysicist. I remember not a drop of all this. The Caroline that was, is no more. I decided to write all this, as a sort of confession. I don’t want to die without telling someone, anyone, about those 3 people that I killed. Their faces still haunt me.
Caroline Redmont, May 14th, 2019.
Caroline Redmont
June 17, 1968 - May 15th, 2019
You will be missed.