The Murderer Who Wasn't a Monster
Chapter 6
Next morning, I wake up and see the Santa man again. It's too bad that magical Santa don't fucking exist.
"Hey, son, how you doin'?"
"Please stop calling me son."
"Oh...sorry, son. I mean..." Then, he laughs knowingly and says, "I'm sorry. I truly am. But how are you? Better than yesterday?"
My eyes dart to him and then back. "Every day's the same."
"What's your name?"
"Darryl," I say with my last bout of energy.
"Roger is mine. It truly is a pleasure to have you in my life right now."
I shrug and mutter, "I guess."
"I just wish you'd smile more, Darryl. I think you'd be happier if..."
I grip my fist. "I'd be happier if I killed that son of bitch."
"That's understandable, but..."
"But...what? That man ruined my girlfriend's life permanently. She can't even get a job. She can't even function on her own because of him. Oh, what? Am I suppose to soften up and forgive? Well, I refuse. And maybe you should stop trying to help because you can't. No one ever can."
I walked off. I can't even function. I guess I'm trying to go back to my cell, but the guards make me stay here. I go to a different table.
And the Santa man sits there stoic, with no more "presents" to offer.
Fuck him.