Silence.

There is nothing but dead air in the court room, of course. Whatever is said next, has the power end my life.

A member of the jury stands up clears his throat and utters one damning sentence; "We find the defendant guilty, of all charges," then silence. That's it. It's over, I'm done for. A flash of a camera sets the room into motion. The judge says something about how the day of my death is to be determined, and will be decided at a later date, until then I'll spend my time in a jail cell. Rotting away.

Funny really, all this fuss over a murder I didn't commit.

A bailiff comes over and grabs me my the arm, a little rougher than I would expect, considering I'm barley half his height. He escorts me to the door, parting the reporters like the Red Sea.

Too bad he ain't no Moses.

The reporters are bombarding me with questions and the photographer's cameras are flashing non-stop. I don't know where to look, so I look down. We reach the doors and push through only to be greeted by a wave of angry civilians, who came to hear the outcome of my trial. Do these people have anything better to do?

I hear a woman start to yell at me, "You disgusting bitch!" She kind of looked like my aunt. Maybe it was. I was just convicted of killing her only sister and brother in law. I didn't. Not really, but she doesn't know that. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I think it was a Tuesday. Maybe a Thursday. I came home from school and walked into a living room full of red. Not the kind of red you would put on a dress, but a red so deep it's almost blue. The color of blood. I stood there for a while absorbing what happened. Until I heard a moan coming from the kitchen. I started towards the kitchen with the hope that my parents were still alive. I have never misjudged so greatly.

When I got there I saw that she was a mess on the floor, which had turned the color of her torn up flesh and blood. It looked like she was mauled by an animal. I barley had it in me to approach her but I did anyway. I knelt by her head and cradle it in my lap. She just looked at me, her eyes bleary with blood and tears. She makes a feeble attempt to reach for my face. I know she's dying and she does too.

"Please make it stop," she says her voice ragged, I assumed from screaming. I wasn't sure I what she wanted me to do, then I understood.

"Dad?" I ask, she shook her head then pointed to the bathroom down the hall. I nodded, understanding. Dad was long gone. I got up and walked to the counter where we kept our knives and choose one. I hoped this is what my mom meant. I went back over to her and showed her the knife, motioning what I was planning to do. She nodded. That was it then. I kissed her on the forehead and told her I loved her.

"Be good," is all she says to me. And I did it. I took my mom out of her misery. She took one final breath, then she was gone. I sat there in shock until I broke down. I was sobbing so loud that the neighbors called the cops for a noise complaint. That's how they found me, bloodied with my mother's head in my lap, and my knife in her chest.