Attempted Murder

You read that title correctly.  I have attempted murder.  Obviously I'm not in prison and my attempt was merely an attempt and not successful...although if it had been successful I would have got off on "crime of passion".

The following is actually a paper I wrote my Senior year in AP Language.  Mrs. Rawlings was a paper writing nazi.  I would think my papers would be so great, flawless, but always came back with red marks all over.  That woman really taught you well...maybe not me.  Don't judge my writing or anything.  Well this paper was autobiographical and I thought my wit and unique experience would get me an A.  I mean she'd been issuing this assignment since my parents went to AF High and had anyone been able to write about their attempted murder?  No. Please! This is Utah County.  I knew she'd love it...just like the scene in The Christmas Story where the A+++++'s just went clear around the room. 
Reality: I don't even think it got a B+.  But don't let that deter from reading it, Mrs. Rawlings had super high standards, and I think her class ruined more than one students' perfect 4.0 record.  And by the way, Mrs. Rawlings was probably one of the best teachers I've ever had.

Every family has one.  You know--the sibling no one gets along with. Whether older or younger, this person fights with everyone.  Every conflict involves this particular sibling.  I was this dreaded member in my family, and make things a lot more exciting. 

Each person in my family is very talented.  I think my older brother's most developed talent is teasing me.  Our personalities created constant bickering.  Most of the time we'd just use words as our weapons, but sometimes I got a little out of control and was forced to go beyond mere language.  You know what I'm suggesting--death.  Murder. Killing!  I was raised in an extremely religious home, so I knew all about Moses and the Ten Commandments.  The rules about lying, stealing, coveting (whatever that means), and all the other things you weren't supposed to do.  I knew it was a sin to kill, and even worse--I knew where sinners go.

It was Sunday afternoon when I decided to become a "sinner".  Not just an ordinary sinner, but a really "wicked sinner," which we'd discussed earlier that day in church.  The family was being herded into the living room for the dreaded Family Home Evening where we'd begin by talking about church and end by fighting.  I was the only one still lingering outside the French doors that afternoon, delaying my entrapment.

Looking across the kitchen, I had a perfect view of the maroon Lazy-boy in the corner in which my nemesis perched.  He was thirteen, six feet tall, broad shouldered and ugly as sin.  His beady, pig eyes squinted at me through that fuzzy hair, which looked like rat fur.  The cold-sore infested lip curled into a smile, revealing a mouth full of shiny metal.  His tongue licked across his braces, and I could tell he was thirsty for torment.

"Hey! We're trying to start.  Get that scrawny body of yours in here." he called.  I glared at him, thinking how much I hated that jerk.  "I don't have to do what you tell me to.  You're not my mom!"  I snipped.  Seeing that the kindling had been lit, James added a few more logs to the fire.

"Mom will make you....even though no one wants you here," he said rocking back and forth in the stained armchair.  I clenched my teeth as the anger surged through me.  The fire was burning steadily now, and James continued his game.

The disgusting zit-covered face turned in my mom's direction, but she was too busy changing the baby's diaper to notice the contention building beyond the French doors.  "Mom...Don't you think the orphanage will take Jessica back now that we don't want her?  She's really skinny and won't take up much room.  They'll just have to replace all their mirrors after her ugly face breaks all of them."

James had thrown gasoline on the fire. I snapped.

At that moment I was so mad the only solution was that James must die. "I hate him so much! The only thing to do is kill him! I don't care if I do go to H-E-doublehockeysticks!" I thought, sprinting across the room and leaping right into Goliath's lap, grabbing his neck with both hands.  "DIE!" I shrieked, squeezing as hard as I could, putting all my strength into it.  The rage gave my 65 pounds power I'd never had before.  The giant was choking for breath! 

A roar of laughter erupted from his throat, which was right beneath my death grip.  He wasn't choking his last breaths; he was laughing!  I gripped harder, digging my thumbnails into the premature Adam's apple.  I began shoving his head violently into the back of the chair--maybe a combination of choking and shoving would at the very least cause some permanent brain damage!  But the laughter just got louder.  "Why...won't...you...die!"  I screamed between head thumps.  Suddenly Goliath hit my shoulder.  The huge hand swatted me off like a fly, tearing me from victory.

As penance for my outburst, I was assigned to say the opening prayer.  I began a short, simple prayer to my God, but I could feel the coals of hatred still glowing within me.  Opening my eyes and squinting from under my bowed head, I saw that jerk smiling at me.  What made it worse was it wasn't a ha-ha-I-got-you-in-trouble smile, but a sincere you-make-life-interesting smile.  Oh how I hated him.

We actually became friends in adulthood.  This was our sister's wedding.  I was a Senior, probably around the time I wrote that paper actually.  You can see his acne cleared up... and I put on weight.

We made Christmas gifts for people with iron on letters.  Mine said "sweet sassy molassey" James' said "jump & choke" from a sketch on old school Conan.

So I guess it was probably a good thing my grip strength was pretty meager back then and he survived.