My parents delinced the fact that I can stay at home. They truly wanted me to work my butt off in order for me to go to the places I want to go. The ability to move was annoying as soon I escaped from unconsciousness. The basic everyday things to do bugged me sometimes. Wake up. Shower. Eat. School. Home. Repetitively.
The thing with grades was so competitive. People rudely go up to others, ask about what grade they had and depending on what you have, the bullies would use words as bullets to pierce and harm the victim or use physical violence to encourage them to do terrible. It was worse one time. There was a boy who was kind and lovingly likeable. One of the jocks did the same routine about the grades. Blah blah blah. The teenager the jock confronted had a incredible grade. The jock used the metal water fountain and slammed the kid's face on it. I remembered that scene well and it still created scars every time I memorized that horrible scene. Lush crimson oozing out of his nose and mouth. That shocked, bewildered expression on his face. That jock standing tall, towering over that injured kid as he tried to crawl to safety. The kind kid left that day. His mother and father were outraged. The fact that the jock wasn't suffering any charges for his attacks since his parents were rich enough to pull him out of jail, it raged them just enough to take action into their own hands.
'The jock called Matt River was walking, always looking around, cautious of his own surroundings. What he did shook him. He thought what he did could release stress from the animal inside of him. Mostly everyone in school hated him now for the action he made to brutalize the kid, James Wing. Anyone can take the shot to ambush him and get the same treatment as James... But worse. That's why with his surprisingly suspicious actions. Normally with the jocks, they were tough cookies. Hit with earthquakes many times and come out untouched, no cuts nor bruises. But the harsh reality of it all, they were still human beings. Not unstoppable gods who respresent the school by playing american football. Human beings. With emotions and feelings despite their hard core outside, inside they were soft teddy bears. His heart hammered. His eyes couldn't focus on the single pavement ahead of him. His mind repeatedly took the wheel to always check his behind. Nerves triggered, his fingers slightly ascended and decended to play a invisible piano while stationary or moving. He wore his letterman jacket, royal purple with a pinch of blood from giving James a beating. His parents dragged him out of jail and said to him that as punishment enough, to walk home. He needed the fresh air to recap on the today events of school. His bag, his companion with all of his belongings. Wore black trainers. Wore a coal-coloured shirt, nearly successfully hiden becuase of his jacket shelthering it. He had pale skin, head to bottom.
Suddenly, he wanted to ring up a friend of his, Callum Crane. Callum was always this easily forgivable person. But his actions may alter his behaviour, being more serious than calm. Callum was always calm and collected. Despite his thoughts are scattered on the floor, he was Matt's lifeline. The phone went.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. "This is Callum Crane. If I'm not answering you then please heck off otherwise leave a message that I will never listen to." Beep!
"Callum. This is Matt. Can you pick me up? I get this feeling that I'm being followed or watched. Like fuckin' seriously! I need-"
Whack!
A baseball bat struck him on the back of the head. Matt scrambled onto the ground, yelping in pain. The impact was greatly effective. Matt was confused and couldn't see anything. Tears blurred and distorted his only sight. He looked and looked. Nothing. What hit him? "Come out!" His voice was infected with anger and fear because of the single blow to the head. Constantly calling out into consuming darkness, he instantly collected his thoughts and sprinted away from the scene. But then he felt his head. His eyes couldn't believe it. Blood. Bloody blood! His eye lids were more wake from the sight. He ran and ran and ran and ran. He was a jock. He was used to running away long, long distances. But his head couldn't take it. He panted and halted, gasping for oxygen to retreat into his lungs and back through his mouth. Looking back, there was nothing. Nothing but the lamp posts shining happy beams of light. The moonlight brighting up the exposed pieces of pathways and roads in front of him. He wasn't being a victim. Not yet. Not now. Now ever. As soon as he turned-
Whack!
A swing of the lethal object forced him down to the ground again. Pinned down by pain. The blood felt like escaping from his body as if it was held captive. Teeth clenched, Matt crawled away but the bat striked his leg and another strike, the sound of broken in half celery, was enough to break his leg and for him to drool out tears from his eyes. Matt wished it was a dream but the pain and agony was too real. Too real for it to be a dream. This is the end. The end of life. Matt believed God give him a story and this is what he had to follow. But does God underestimate everyone? Is there a way to escape fate? Just to live another day? Pinned, Matt looked up to the figure dressed in the colour of death. The night time clothing and the night itself collaborated well to keep the figure annoymous. Damn it.
"Any last words?" The unknown individual said, his voice was too deep for Matt to recognise the person who's assaulting him. What can Matt say? He's sorry for harming that poor kid? Or confess that he was terrible and targetted people who have potential of being better than him? The world around him seem to desert him. His eyelids were heavier than before. Is this dying? He can't die yet. He hasn't lived a full life. Would he get another? To die at the age of 17 here was totally unfair. He decided his words carefully.
"I'm sorry. If you are James Wing or a friend to him, tell him I'm sorry." The sorry route. It was the right thing to say. For once, the bully turns polite. But he didn't give up hope. "Watch your legs." He kicked the figure's crotch. The figure groaned and roared in pain. Matt crawled slowly but his home is right there. Right there! Come on! His mind encouraging him to get home. The person behind him was clever. It threw the bat at him, striking him once again at his right leg. Matt held his audible reaction by holding his breath but the pain caused his breathing to break free into the atmosphere. His urine held in too but uncontrollably, it soaked his pants and then his jeans to just spilling onto the road. "Who are you?" That was his final response unti arriving at the doorstep of his home. He knocked the door in such a hurry. Matt's mother looked out of the window to discover her son but then she witness the figure going up to Matt. She dashed to the door and was going to let him in. But his dad placed his hand to say that he couldn't have entry into the house. Matt was confused. What was the point of going to the house in the first place? His own blood. His own dad, giving a fearful look.
"You can't be here." Matt's father simply said. Oddly, Matt looked behind him to discover the figure waiting. Such a patient person. "That kid is in hospital... He was never going home." Matt covered his mouth in shock. He knew the answer. "He's dead." Both of them said. He looked up, trying to meet their gaze but they looked away. "You were such a good person. What happened to you?" That was the final response from him. He walked away, the sounds of sadness flooded the room as soon he was in there. Her mother with fear written on her slapped Matt and then locked the door when it was securely shut.
Holding his hand on his cheek, the pain was sharp as if bees sting him. "PLEASE! LET ME IN! PLEASE!" He repeated the same sentance, some of them were quieter due to the sadness infected him to cause his voice to be more weak. This was what it was like. Fate arrives and the door to escape vanished. No one was going to help him. Everyone abandoned him. The only friend he had now was this person behind him. To help him execute one last favour. To kill him. This figure in black was the recreation of him. The myth. The legend. But without its curved blade. It was going to have to do. "Alright then..." He then roared out his final sentence. "KILL ME DAMN IT!" Tears slipped out of his eyes and created these mini streams of water that decended down his cheeks.
The figure just walked away from Matt. He had his limit of suffering. It was done. "Come on! You bloody coward!" He charged up to it. But he didn't realise the car that would strike him... And end his life. His story end in horror. It walked away casually but limping because of the impact of its crotch being hurt. It stung. Really, really stung.
"Oh my god! Matt! No!" It sounded like Callum, his voice loudly audible for the neighbourhood to hear.'
That was the story I was told. It was written and placed on his locker out of the many that sit still. Many, many people had their own versions. But somehow the whole school wasn't distracted with that story. There was a girl called Hannah Baker who was stirring things around here. Many, many things happened to her. A photo of her was shared. I didn't see it. She was on this list that spreaded around the school. Something was shared, this poem she didn't want shared. And it drove her to fade away.
'The incident happened so slowly as if someone pressed the slow-mo button. Screaming from her mother. Me, sprinting to the scene of the crime. Tony was there, hand over mouth. It was too late. She was gone. The bath had a liquid that looked like something a vampire would drink in a heartbeat, crimson mixed with water. It overflowed. I closed my eyes. The scene was unbearable. There was no way of describing it.'
And yet, I'm in school while everyone in the school was just focused on their routine.
There was a memorial in the school for her. Her innocent face surrounded with fake or real flowers. There was messages. Kind ones. Just kind ones. But is it the truth though? Who caused her to do this?
The rumours about her truly didn't get to her. Right?
Time sprinted away as I was at school.
One lession. History.
Second lession. Maths.
Third lesson. English.
Fourth lesson all the way to the end was annoying. The fact it was constant squabble about revising and everything. The only thing that caught my attention was that- No. That's impossible! She's supposed to be dead! She was sitting in the same spot she usually sits. My right hand pressured the pencil. Something out of sight controlled my nerves. Please. Not now. Not in front of everybody. Heart hammering. Fingers shaking. Right hand balling into a fist despite my pencil was in the way of that action being complete. Head pounding. Legs jelly.
"Are you alright, Judy?" The teacher, Mr Ghost, said in such concern. Senses overloading. Always check my behind for anything.
"I think she lost it, sir." Someone said.
"Keep quiet, Bryce." Mr Ghost calmly ordered. Hands bouncing up and down. Wow. This is the worst one ever. "Judy, do you want to go outside?" I couldn't say anything despite the urge to do so. I simply nodded and paced outside of the room. I noticed someone looking at me in concern too. I remember his name. Uh... Clay! Clay Jensen. I couldn't talk to him becuase of class. Actions speak louder than words. I shook my head to my left. He looked behind to see Hannah's empty chair. As soon that distraction happened, I dashed out of the school. Not even sharing a glance at the place.
Dashing home was never something I did. Ever since Matt River's death, I have changed slightly in my behaviour and my interactions with people. I... Got on with the same routine. Never shared any regret. He killed James. But to be murdered in such a state like his, it was if he went to hell and back. I can only hope he's in a better place than here. The world was hell. School was hell. Everything around me is hell. What would I say to my parents? The teacher let me go and I was given consent to work at home? Or I was sick? Or I was terrified of exams? What? I hope it wouldn't come to that. My parents work when I'm at school so I should be able to slip in and easily not disturb them.
I love my parents but when it comes to school, they really want to get me the best grades. I tell them constantly that I don't want them. But the only way for me to be whoever I want to be is to do them. Why doing this attract so much stress onto me? Why? I could retreat but I would only cause a pursuit. I'll be a missing person and everybody will look for me.
Both of my parents do great things. Many, many great things and that's why I love them. But I can never repay them enough. I rarely take them out. They mostly take me out.
Entering my house, the walls were worryingly faded. The coal colour of the walls began to be transparent. Yet everything else was ship shape. Every room I went in, I was only welcomed by quivering quietness. The sunlight tackled through the square glass barrier of the window without harming it beamed the room up. This was paradise. The worrying about successfully finishing exams was taken away by the whistling wind that carried those worries away. I inhaled and then exhaled.
But then, I approached the living room. There was a mysterious note on top of a slightly large package. It said,
'I know what you did. This tape is for you.'
My heart wanted to run away and hide somewhere. I felt like going unconscious due to the shock that someone knows what I have done. But I got nothing to hide! What have I done? I didn't kill Matt or Hannah. I didn't! I snatched the package in panic and hurried up the stairs, stopping sometimes to be sure of hearing footsteps. The door was a bouncer of day and night, only letting you pass if only you had the keys.
I paced into my room and ripped out the cardboard. Inside was a walkman with basic headphones and the tape. That tape. The tape! The tape that will ruin me. I'm innocent! I am! I'm truly am!
I plugged the headphones into the walkman and placed around my head, accurately the speakers sitting next to my ears.
Shaking, I placed the tape in the walkman itself.
I can't rewind to the past and I sure as hell can't fast forward to the future. All I can do now... Is press play. And that I did.
"Hello. This is Clay-" I stopped it in an instant. I knew it! He had his eyes on me the entire time I was here. Taking a deep breath, I pressed back wards and then played it.
"Hello. This is Clay Jensen. Ever since Hannah Baker's death, it took me on this adventure of just getting her the justice she needed and the justice she deserved. Nevertheless, things happen at the school. Things people hear. People listen. People just listen at the fact that they instantly believe one photo. One conversation. One video. One rumour. Like this one-"
Oh no.
"Matt River. The jock that murdered poor James Wing. Despite his death was undeserved, someone thought it was the best idea to murder Matt. Murdering him doesn't get him to jail. He's free now. Peacefully sleeping or in heaven... Or in hell."
What the hell this person has done?
"Judy Rocket. Innocent. Loner. Loved James Wing." There was a short pause, "Surprising, right? I discovered her behaviour with James. Always cheery and happy. When Matt came along and attacked him, Judy was next to James as he was taking the punches. She was in shock and in horror. She wasn't at the hosptial at the time he died and I realised that... That was because she was too busy trailing Matt." Clay explained.
This isn't true! I was at the hosptial. I loved James! I wouldn't ditch him! Maybe I loved him! We kissed unexpectedly and it transformed into something else!
"James died in that hospital the same time when Judy was following a freaked out Matt. I talked to his parents after his death, I was disgusted by what they did. They left him to rot in the hands of Judy Rocket. I argued with them. But they didn't want to continue to raise their child now he was a killer. A title Matt never wanted. He thought James would live.
"However, someone else caught my eye. Callum Crane. Matt's so-called friend. Judy's other lover." Bull! That's bull! This is mad! "That's right! I was searching through Callum's place to discover many messages from his phone. He really needs better security. From a number that was Judy. Asking to have sex. To hang out. Everything. Know what? Let me break it down.
"The car hitting into Matt was planned. They were working together in order to wipe him off the map. That's it. How do I know? Everything was taking place next door to me. I witnessed some things. Him being rejected entry to his home. Her walking away. The car hitting him. So case closed.
"What they didn't know also was that the real jail was here. On this earth. They gifted Matt the easy way out. So they did him a favour. James wouldn't have been happy. I promised him on his deathbed in that hospital that I would find Matt and get him justice... The right way. But you two beated me to it. I dashed to his place to discover his parents closing the door on him and you, Judy Rocket, behind him. Such a patient girl can be quite psychopathic."
That was the end of the tape. I sobbed. I did give him that exit. And... I also loved Callum. We both didn't have sexual intercourse. Of course not! I loved James! I would say that on the rooftops just to prove it.
In surprise, I discover the note had a mini side note saying,
'Turn the tape around.'
So I obeyed. I ejected the tape and whirled it around so it was the other section. I press play.
"If this is Judy Rocket, I'm sorry. This is the weirdest way of starting to expose you but... I have seen the person you are. James' death altered you. But this needs to stop. If you can confess to me only, the tape will not be exposed to the public and no one calls you and Callum a murderer. I promise you that. I am a man of my word." Clay's audible voice continued to speak, "Everything. Paper saying you did it. A note to me. You don't have to speak. Anyway possible works. Goodbye, Judy. I hope you make the right decision." A Hannah wannabe. Justice will be served. He'll stab me in the back and send me to jail anyways. He's also a witness.
Is this truly the end?
The next morning, I went to the back of the school. Clay was there. A bandaid on his left forehead. Grey clothing. Walkman in hand. Headphone speakers bursting out music he liked. Suddenly, he noticed me and halted the music. Taking off his headphones, he looked at me. "Wasn't thinking you'll be here."
"Did I have a choice?" I said. I was at checkmate. Pinned into a wall with no gaps or spaces to crawl out of. This was it. He won.
"I gave you the choice and I'm thankful you did the sensible thing. Would hate to see this turn into a bloodbath."
"Same here..." I sighed. I confessed. "I planned the assasult on Matt River. Callum Crane struck him using the car and acted like he wasn't involved. Both of us worked together to kill Matt. He killed James. Why not kill him?" The recording stopped. That was it. It was over.
"Thank you, Judy." He simply said. He added though, "Have a good rest of the day."
That was it. That was the story. How I killed someone. But I and Callum still lived to see another day.
The school was quiet. Rows of lockers stood in line, still as stationary rocks. A flood of students socializied and had conversations on something not Matt River or Hannah Baker. It was peaceful. Finally, I was-
'I planned the assasult on Matt River. Callum Crane struck him using the car and acted like he wasn't involved. Both of us worked together to kill Matt. He killed James. Why not kill him?' What! No! I ran away into the room that controlled the speakers. A walkman was played publicly without heaadphones next to a microphone in a room. No! No! No! I zoomed into the room. There was a note.
'The truth comes out one way or another.'
Clay, you son of a-
"Judy Rocket, you are under arrest of the murder of Matt River." Two poilcemen arrived before I can sprint out of the door and run away from the danger zone. I was already in handcuffs and out of the door before anyone knew what was going on. Clay was at his locker, looking at me. One final action before I go. I spat in his face.
"Screw you!" I called out, "You smart arse! I will kill you when I'm out! You hear?"
Clay noticed the police car outside. Callum Crane was in there, serious and still. Judy Rocket struggled and screamed. In a few minutes, they were gone.
Clay looked outside the window, wiped off Judy's savila and gave one final response in a whisper that no one can hear, "Loud and clear." He walked off. The clock ticked. Ticked. Ticked. As he advanced to his next lesson.