I knew exactly what I was doing; I didn't think it was wrong. I’m referring to the time I was released from the “Happy House.” It’s basically just a sugar coated term for mental institution. I never thought I belonged; I never fit in with the others. I was the odd one out, but obviously not everyone agreed with me.

One day I was walking along side a typical jogger. She had a t-shirt, gym shorts, and a ponytail. I remember thinking how insignificant she was to the world, or so I thought. She eventually passed me by because like I said, I was walking and she was jogging. She had a half smile on her face, but she continuously looked down, she never looked up once, except when I tried to trip her. She just gave me a cold glare and fastened her pace. I couldn’t help but giggle at her expense.

A small amount of time passed by, and so did the countless blocks that I traveled. I stopped when I reached the park. I was told that I couldn’t go to the park, because I was known as a “Sex Offender.” I don’t like labels; they give people a reason to judge me, or more of a reason. People judge me anyways because of my appearance and general persona.

I’m usually not one to follow rules, I make new ones for myself as I go, but I felt obligated to follow court orders. Well, that was until I saw something that caught my eye. A little boy that looked about four or five was playing catch with his friends. I decided a few minutes couldn’t hurt. Those few minutes turned into an hour, and I was lusting after him at this point.

His mother stood up from the bench across the park, and walked towards the boy as if she had the right. I mean, technically she did, but I disagreed immensely. The little boy looked kind of tired, he signaled for his mother to carry him. I couldn’t even describe the distress that I felt when I couldn’t be the one to hold him. It actually burned; he was so beautiful, so small and innocent. His flawless complexion matched with his distinctive features was astonishing.

I came everyday, and soon enough, I learned his schedule. He showed up everyday to the park from 3:30-4:30. It gave him time to play with his friends, but it also gave his selfish good for nothing mother time to herself as she silently read. The boy once got hit with a tennis ball and she just did nothing! Her negligence led me to believe that I had to do something, something drastic or her son would perish, and I of all people didn’t want that.

One day, they came a little later than usual, and the adorable little specimen had a small bruise on his left thigh. I couldn’t help but feel it was my fault; I wasn’t there to protect him. I wanted to kill the mother; I wanted to slaughter/hack her into pieces. The rage I felt burning inside my inner soul could have been described as the very thing people refer to as “Hell.” My mind was made…It’s go time.

I followed them home that same day; I waited until night time where the realms of darkness surrounded me with every step I took. I managed to open a window that led into the kitchen. I didn’t exactly know my way around, but I was quiet, so I could go as I please without waking anyone up. I brought a container of gasoline, so I could make sure the mother never hurt her child again. She didn’t deserve him; he needed somebody that appreciates him…All of him.

There were toys basically covering the living room floor, it was like going through a maze. I managed to surpass it with only a little effort. I held my flashlight in my mouth as I peered under door frames trying to see anything that resembled a little boy’s room. It paid off too, because I found him. I quietly opened his door and walked closer. He was asleep half under the covers and snuggled with a little stuffed bear. I couldn’t help but awe, it was one of the cutest things that I have ever seen.

I gently picked him up and held him in one of my arms, and a container of gasoline in the other. I opened it and started to pour. I ran downstairs and out the door, by now the whole area stunk of gas. I used the door, because even if their alarm went off, it wouldn’t have made a difference in a matter of minutes. The boy woke up just in time to hear his mother call out his name one more time.

The little boy cried for weeks, he wouldn’t let me in. All the time I tried to comfort him, tell him that he was better off, and all he did was shut me out! Well, I just had to use force…I had to…I couldn’t stand the sight of such a tasteful creature. I hated to see him cry, but he asked for it. He wanted just as much as I did, I swear it.

It was good for a couple of months, nobody bothered us; we were happy. One day I left for not even an hour and the cops were searching my cabin in the forest. I remember dropping my bag of groceries all over the ground and running towards the police officers. The told me that they were going to arrest me. I couldn’t believe my ears, I asked them why? Before they could answer, I saw them come out of the house with my lover.

I completely lost it at that point; I leapt onto the cop’s back and screamed for my boy back. Unfortunately for me, they had a teaser with them. As I spasm uncontrollably on the ground, I had to watch them take the one good thing in my life away. I couldn’t control the tears that ran down my face until I eventually passed out.

The next day, I woke up in a hospital bed. My wrist was handcuffed to the bed, so I could do nothing but lay helplessly as they did god knows what to my boy. The nurse came in accompanied by a police officer, but it was nor ordinary police officer. She looked so familiar, like maybe I’ve seen her somewhere before…

She left for a brief second, and when she returned, my memory did too. She was that jogger from when I was first released. She was the woman I tried to trip, that insignificant soul that took up space that wasn’t hers. I hoped to god that she didn’t remember me; she would try to get me in trouble. After a long conversation with the nurse, she walked over and started asking me questions.

“Who was that boy I took? Did I murder his mother? Do I feel any remorse for what I have done?” My response was short and sweet, “I was justified, and I didn’t do anything wrong.” After saying that, she just kind of looked at me for a minute before she left.

The nurse told me that I had to stay there over night for observations, and then the officers were going to take me into their station for further questioning. At that point I was very fidgety as you could probably imagine. The nurse gave me some pain killers, because apparently I took nerve damage from the high voltage shocks I received. I didn’t really feel pain like other people did, I got beat a lot when I was a child; never felt things the same since. She also gave me sleeping pills, because I fell asleep almost instantly after consumption.

A few days of detectives searching my property and collecting “evidence” went by very slowly. I thought it was because I was locked up with nothing to do, but any time I spend away from my boy felt like a lifetime. Whenever I asked to see him, they just blew me off. They didn’t give me the time of day! You could understand how mad I got. I frantically started to bang my head repeatedly again the brick wall in my cell.

The cop at the desk started yelling at me, I could feel the blood drip onto my hands, but I just kept going until I was restrained. They put me in a straight jacket, and threw me into an enclosed space. I could tell they were frustrated because they had to postpone my arraignment again. Unfortunately, that dreadful day had to come sometime, and that sometime was today. The fourth of October was when I had to go to trial they said.

Until then they had to keep a close eye on me, I felt like I was on a reality television show called “Suicide Watch.” The room was patted, and I couldn’t move; I didn’t really understand why they watched me twenty-four/seven. I stood by my statement when I said, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

My day in court came, and I had a terrible lawyer. He was late, and he didn’t really do much to defend me. I was tempted to fire him, but I suppose that wouldn’t do much good. I wish I had the lawyer that was against me; she seemed like she knew what she was doing. She called for somebody to go on the stand. My heart stopped when I saw it was my boy.

I nearly screamed in joy seeing his magnificent face after such a long time apart. He put his tiny fragile hand onto the bible and swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. Both lawyers asked him various questions, and he was crying when he pointed to me. I was so mesmerized by his glorious existence that I wasn’t really listening. My boy walked off the stand and walked with a woman towards the court room exit, he looked towards me as the jury found me guilty of rape, kidnap, arsine, and murder in the second degree. The last thing he saw of me was when they snapped handcuffs on me. They wanted to put me up for execution, but they found out that I wasn’t released from “Happy House.” I had escaped, and I was sent to a different mental institution. I was sentenced for life in prison. The opposing lawyer said I was going to rot there like the scum I am until the day I die. I flicked her the finger as best as I could in those handcuffs before they took me away for ever.