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ME by Owen Jones
The judge must have been piqued by a twelve year old child castrating and killing his molester because I was given a nice room in a juvenile correctional facility with other like-minded young adults.
That is to say simple, like-minded young adults. It is unclear whether there are other ‘children' out there who thought like I did but I know that had I revealed the depth of thought and capability my eleven year old body was capable of, the piqued judge would have almost certainly passed judgement in the terms of execution. He did not.
There is a cliché uttered by those who fear people of ability, it goes ‘There is always someone stronger, faster, tougher and cleverer than you,' this is true. However it is quantifiable only in the physical, for an individual with the capacity to do anything is unstoppable, irrelevant of his or her opponents strengths. I was unstoppable.
Its frightening after so much time that those first true memories of my formative years are the most vivid, Marco in particular is crystal clear.
The world is created of institutions, how you negotiate these tools of power defines which pigeonhole you are compartmentalised in for processing. You cause a negative stir you become a ‘rebel', ‘wild child' or plain ‘trouble'. Vice versa if you work eight hours a day, five days a week for forty years, drink a little and have the occasional affair then you are a good citizen. Amusing that they then wondered why the asylums were filling up. It has been clear for centuries that as mankind becomes less concerned with the physical minutiae we become more cerebral, or mental depending on your compartment. I was of a physical work, blue collar they call it now, family, albeit for a short time. Thus I have never been predicated toward insular and excessive thought. This is one of my many advantages.
In seeking to contort the institution labelled ‘correctional facility' or more simply ‘jail' it was necessary to first adapt a persona that was compliant with the boundaries and restrictions of said institution. The guards, whose work was hardly taxing, beyond separating the odd bout of fighting brought on by hormonal imbalances and a common enough occurrence in any playground, thought me a model inmate. Adult naivety is one thing but Marco was unfortunate enough to make the same mistake. In an attempt to impose meaning on the chaos of our lives we create form, morality - if there is some to be had, and order. It's a choice we have to make every second of every minute of every day. Some chose to do this by blending in with their surroundings, other, more foolish individuals, attempt to impose their will on their environment.
I believe the common term is ‘bully'.
Marco was just such an individual, a ‘bully' who had been the lucky mouse who escapes from the trap, cheese in mouth.
I broke his back.
His face, as he looked up at me from a blood-flecked mouth with disbelief, followed quickly by the pain one experiences when having one's sixth, seventh and eighth thoracic vertebrae shattered, was amusing.