I am perched on the edge of a seat that doesn’t want me, three legs shorter than the fourth.

I am not a natural born pessimist, I believe in good things. Good things for good people, it’s just that I’m not good people.

The preceding events again illustrate why I don’t trust people, I don’t trust what they say and I especially don’t trust how they say it, but it could have all been avoided if not for my pride.

If I wasn’t so proud of my work I could have continued my life and maybe not be on the edge of this damn seat.

My spinal cord shivers, skin explodes in bubbles. Dark eyes blink at me.

“You are being charged with two counts of murder, don’t you have anything to say,” blink, blink, blink.

“Shit,” I say.

“All you can say to your mother is shit?

“Fuck?

“Watch your language,” three words followed by a clip under the ear.

“Sorry.

“Sorry. You will be sorry. Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut? We could have gotten away with this.” She’s right no one would have missed my father or my sister.