xigorx

I wrote this once...

From June 1971 to May 1997 I spent 26 years of my life in a State Penitentiary for First Degree Murder and Assault. Where the prison is, is irrelevant. The shit that happened to me in there, I may talk about one day, but that day is not today. Stile asked me to write about what its like to kill a person, and what its like to be free after doing it.
In January 1970 I was 22 years old, about to graduate college and get on with my life. Unfortunately, I was nearly 50 years old before I was able to really do this. My senior year of college I was at a party with my girlfriend. We had a few drinks and were on this balcony over a frat house throwing bottles at cars in the street below. (Okay, maybe she wasn't, but she was watching me.) It probably wasn't the best idea, but hey, I was wasted. The sound of breaking glass is that much better when you are drunk. Anyway, some frat boys saw me tossing shit off the balcony and got pissed. A few of them grabbed me and tried to kick me out of their house. They actually threw me down the stairs and then pulled me out the door, punching and kicking me as they went. I tried to fight back, but there was like 5 or 6 of the pricks. I got in a few punches, but I was on the losing end of that scuffle. So I am standing outside in the snow waiting for my girlfriend. After about 20 min, I decided to just go home, after all she was a big girl, and I was bleeding and cold. She drove, so I walked bout 2 miles home in the snow, leaving a trail of blood the whole way. I had this sweet cut around my eye and my nose felt broken. I got home and passed out on the floor of the bathroom.
The next morning I got up and looked for my girlfriend. There was still vomit and blood on the floor, so I figured she never came home. This got me kinda worried, but I figured she just went to her place. I gave her a call and talked to her roommate. Evidently she hadn't been there either. Now I was worried. As it turned out, my girl of a year and a half, decided she would stay at the party. She started making out with the same pricks that just kicked my ass. She was drunk, but that's still really fucked up. I wanted to kill her, until I heard the rest of her story. What happened was, after she sobered up a bit, she decided to get the fuck out of there, but these frat boy mother fuckers stopped her. They kept telling her she had to stay and "help them out". These fuckers decided that they would try to get her to suck them all off. When she wouldn't, they held her down and took turns raping her. They finally let her go and she went to the hospital. She spent the night in the emergency room because she was bleeding a lot. I was crushed.
She called the cops and filed a report. 3 months later 4 of them came to trial. I sat in the court room listening to testimony from my girl friend about how they savagely rapped her, it was enough to drive anyone crazy. I then had to listen to these fuckers paint my girlfriend out to be a whore, and how it was consensual. The judge basically called her a slut and sent the frat boys on their way. I was so fucking mad I didn't know what to do.
I thought about it for a few weeks. I knew I had to get even with these fuckers, but I didn't know what to do. I decided I would go to one of their party's and vandalize their house. Hopefully they wouldn't remember me and I could get away with straight fucking their shit up. On April 27th, 1970 I knocked on the door to the frat house. The guy who opened the door was one of the guys who raped my girlfriend. He recognized me immediately. Before any of us could say anything, I pulled out a pen and stabbed him 4 times in the neck. I was in shock. I had never seen so much blood in my life. He just kinda grabbed his neck and fell to the floor. He just looked up at me, rolled his eyes back and died. He just laid there. No one did a fucking thing. I closed the door and ran. I had my car there but I just kept running. Once again I made the 2 mile trek. this time the blood on my hands wasn't mine. Two hours later the cops picked me up.
About a year later I was sentenced to 25 years to life for first degree murder. Since then I have tried to answer the question in my own head a million times. Why did I do it? People have asked me the same question many times, and truthfully I don't know. I never had any intention of doing it. I just snapped. But I don't regret it at all. I can't say I would do it again if I had to do it over, but I certainty don't regret it. I think my main regret is that I only killed one of them. My girlfriend stayed with me for about a year after I was sentenced, but then she graduated and moved away. I haven't heard from her since. It broke my heart. That was the worst part. She was my life...