The Weight of the Juror

In all sincerity, I have not paid attention to the Casey Anthony trial. I did not want to pay attention to it, because I was boycotting the attention it was receiving. I was boycotting the way the media was intricate about reporting every move, and making it so huge. And now, one of the jurors is afraid for her life because of the judgement call her and others had made.

There are so many groups out there that want justice for the Casey Anthony trial. It’s understandable; no girl should be robbed of a promising life. But neither should a juror that made a call in the justice system that has made the call that someone is not guilty. I see Facebook groups popping up, independent comments about how the mother and jurors should be lynched and murdered, and how the justice system “just doesn’t do right.” To those of you who are a part of this prejudicial wave, I have three words for you:

Go Fuck Yourself.

I Need a Waking Day to Fall Asleep

I’ve been mulling over this all day. Though I had a good weekend working on my truck recently, I also had an eye-opener to the thoughts and thought circles on my mom’s side. Particularly, with her and friends (?) that she had kept for a while. My own brother expressed his concerns to me about how mom had been acting lately. I know I am at risk of her (and everyone else involved) reading this, and facing a form of exile as a result, but if it goes unsaid, it’s going to fester and a good friend of mine reminded me of the medicine I had once given her: “There are two people you need to think of first: you and yourself.”

So, mom and anyone else contained in here, I love you dearly. But I feel as if I needed to process my thoughts after hearing both sides, seeing everything from the impartial perspective I was brought up to hold onto so I could see everything clearly. And tonight, I am calling it like I see it. If you remember how you raised me, you’ll understand. I am afraid of this being the beginning of worlds being torn apart, mine included. So each word I type… is probably the heaviest I will have ever typed to this point.

Hunt, Part 2

Ed came up behind me. “Dude, you all right?”

I looked over at him. He was trying to search for some kind of response to what just happened. I knew I had a look of regret on my face. “Yeah, I am good. Just worried about the girl.” I was hoping that would cover it.

“Yeah, looks like she’ll be okay. She was hitting on some premium grade pot. Looks like this guy had all kinds of premium shit. Meth, pot, ex… you name it, it’s in there. But it’s good.” He stepped in front of me, looking back into the room. “Hey, Ty, the girl said she heard the growling too, but that it was coming from you.”

I looked back into the room for a moment. They were getting her a wool blanket. Her eyes averted mine when I looked at her. “We still have to see if she was really just smoking pot, Ed. You know how it goes.” She hadn’t. I could smell it. But it would buy me some time.

“Yeah, I know,” Ed replied. After a few moments, “You know Anderson is gonna be on your case about this tomorrow. You keep feeding him ammunition for him to shoot at you.”

“Fuck Anderson,” I fired back. “I’d give him ammo for a Desert Eagle and he’d find a way to make it into pellets. I’ll deal with him when the time comes.” Anderson was the sergeant’s assistant at the cop shop. I had no idea why he was there, except to piss people off. I turned back to Ed. “Who’s chatting with the neighbors?”

“I’ll get some guys on it.” He left back down to the stairwell. Everything sunk in around me again. The rain outside, the cops talking, the people down the hall guessing what it could be. The rats in the wall. It was time to leave. I started heading towards the stairwell. I took a few steps down it.

“…he probably won’t be dealing around here anymore.”

I’m not asocial, I am anti-people

So I went to Z-Tejas earlier, just to grab some grub and talk with a few people. I didn’t realize how packed it was going to become in the next few hours. As more people started crowding around the bar, I became quieter. I was listening to them… and realizing how shallow-thinking a lot of people can be. The only person I could kind of relate to was the black guy sitting at the end of the bar, who was minding his own business and seemingly doing the same thing. What made me put out my card to leave, though, were the people.

The Hunt, Part 1

2:17 a.m. Possibly one of the most thoughtless stakeouts I have ever been on. We were sitting in the car, with the rain tapping against the roof like needles on my ears. It put my partner to sleep. But he was put to sleep by anything, and kept asleep by anything else. I looked over at him. His breathing was slow, but it was loud. Probably by the way his neck was turned.

I put my gaze back out on the street. The streetlight ahead of us gave off that orange glow, the rain becoming tainted by its light as it came down. A sidewalk beside it, and a fence beyond. I think there was an abandoned construction site next to us. I didn’t really care to look over at it. My eyes had been fixated on the entrance to the little projects complex a little further down the street on the left. No one was coming in or out because of the rain tonight. Just as well since I didn’t feel like having anyone else interfere with my operation.

Her scent still lingered in my nose. Another girl dead, neck cut open, cut like the other two. She smoked pot before she died, and she only used a speed stick for deoderant. No perfume or anything. But there was a smell on her, like the other two, that carried evil man about it like a rotten fragrance. When I smelled it on her, I had enough. I opted for the stakeout. No warrants or anything. I just did my own hunting to find out who this guy was. Homicide didn’t care much for the case. It was just another death in the projects with gang-related carelessly tagged on it.