E-Read: December 2009

Jack’s a great person, and a friend too. We’ve known each other since I was in university. We met in the street. We both studied in the same “uni”, but he left after the first year. He had always been a bit crazy or even mad. He had gone to the police station a couple of times. But not to his favour (he went with handcuffs).

Well, recently, he had joined a gang. He didn’t really like to talk about it. When I talked or even asked about it weird postures and noises (I didn’t know if it was on purpose or a tick). I think it was called P.R.A, whatever that meant. He was changing. Jack was turning more violent. When you tapped him fr4om behind he would attack you. I was getting quite scared.

I was in class, when I heard my phone ring. It was the police. Jack had been arrested for arms trade and up on face book how to make a bomb out of normal stuff, how to make a “kofftel Molotov” make a bigger explosion and how to make an entire block of flats explode only with a pin and a cigarette.

I went to help him but I couldn’t. I either had to pay two billion pounds or nothing. I wouldn’t have all that money, even if I won “Who wants to be a millionaire” ten times. He was so upset he tried to kill the police. But that just got him in more trouble.

I got back home feeling very guilty from my actions. -“If I had the money, I’d get him out of there.”-I said.

I kept on thinking about how to get him that money. I came up with some answers: first I could ask my parents for the money or I could ask for a loan from the bank. Even if I could do these things, it would be very difficult to pay it off.

Meanwhile, Jack was getting very mad. He wrote on the wall a trillion times: “must kill”, “must kill”, “must kill”…

I once went to visit him. He was so mad, he tried to steal a gun from a guard, and attack me. Because of that incident, they took him to a mental rehabilitation centre. A mad house really.

On the thirteenth of November 2009, I was in class. It wasn’t the most usual day, but it wasn’t the most unusual either. I got a message from the mad house. It said:

“They’re all dead here, and the next one is you.”

I didn’t know who sent it, but I was quite intimidated. I was so sacred, I went to buy a gun. But I wasn’t going to use it if I was attacked by words, but by physical action would be a different matter.

I hid it in my car box ( it was a box I got when I was born, and its in a shape of a car). I put it together with the bullets.

I had two hobbies: skateboarding and being in the skate-park.
I went to the skate-park and stated to skateboard. Right then I thought I saw Jack. I left there and went to the park across the road. On my way there I saw him again. I went back home and tried to see if I had a temperature. I was just as normal.

I thought I was getting mad by the second. I looked at the message again. It was from Jack. I tried to escape from my madness thanks to a gun shot through my head; when the door fell down. It was Jack with a hand grenade and a machine gun. I pointed my gun at him. He bit the washer off the hand greande. I shouted, while tears shredded down my face:

“¡ Stooooop!”

I shot him by mistake. He fell and the floor made the hand grenade explode.

DANNY AGÜEROS DILLEY 1ºD