3Hey people! Yes, I know I have this story up already. But this is the second take at it. While I did like the first version of this, it had too many plot holes, and Aryan really didn't seam realistic. She was too cold too often. No humanity. So I've changed it a bit. OK I've changed it a lot. If you haven't read the first version don't worry, I promise you won't be lost. This is basically loosely based off of the first version. Same key characters, same-ish plot. Hope you like this version though. Have fun reading.
Justified Homicide
You know that moment when everything seams to slow down? Time, air, and even life itself? That moment when you drop everything and it slowly falls to the ground, and takes ten minutes to finish five re-bound bounces? That one precious moment where no matter how fast you force yourself to move your still going in slow motion, and nothing you do can stop the inevitable from happening? That one moment where you wish you were more alert the moment beforehand so you could stop that moment from happening? And then in the moments after that one slow motion moment, everything is in fast forward? But its still that one slow motion moment you remember the clearest; that one moment where you could tell someone where each raindrop fell? I know that moment well. Even after it's over it still replays itself over and over and over again, not giving you a moments rest.
If it hadn't been for that moment, I wouldn't be here now. One hour of 'counseling' five days a week. My life, over; everything I know, gone; my best friend, dead; and I'm forbidden from doing the only think I know. Instead I have to sit through five hours a week of 'talking' through my feelings. Oh ya, real helpful. Real flippen helpful. Especially since I can't tell this person anything. It's 'forbidden.' Even though I'm not allowed back in the Academy, everything I learned in there is still 'forbidden' from being mentioned. Shoot, I shouldn't even have thought that. Well screw you.
"Aryan," the councilor, April, called softly trying to get my attention. I looked down from the grey ceiling to look into her sparkling blue eyes. I hate her eyes, there so sparkly, and happy like. "Could you please answer the question?"
"Depends on what the question was," I mumbled shacking my wonderful black hair into my dark green eyes so I wouldn't have to look into her happy blue ones.
"I asked you to tell me how your feeling," April said patiently, pushing a stray peace of her disgustingly messy brown hair behind her ear.
"Besides feeling like I'm wasting my times?" I challenged sarcastically.
"Including that feeling," she said. Wow. Someones never heard of sarcasm.
"I'm wasting my time. And yours," I said. "Now all you have to do is let me out of this pointless building and I'll stop wasting both of our times." True it's not like I have any real place to leave the building and go too. But even that foster home I'm in is better then sitting in this pink, teddy bear infested, sun filled horror room of a counselor's office.
"We still have thirty minutes," April said softly. Great! Wonderful! Terrific! Thirty more minutes of hell! If it wasn't for the fact that Miss Rinkle, my foster mother, drops me off right at the door, and waits in the waiting room for me to go in and out of the office; I would seriously be skipping out on these sessions. It's not like I'm actually benefiting from any of them anyway. With any of the councilors. Apparently, I'm so mentally 'unstable' that I need three different councilors to work through my feelings. April on Monday's and Friday's, Nadine on Tuesday's and Thursday's, and John on Wednesday's. I don't need three different councilors, that's three to many. Of course, they don't see it that way, and neither does Smith.
Smith being the biggest jerk on earth. He decided to kick me out of the Academy until I was 'mentally' well again. He does this to everyone who lost a partner slash best friend. Completely forgetting the dangers of just sending us out into the world unprotected. Real genius he is. Real flippen genius.
"Well how about you tell me about Cassie?" April suggested, once again cutting through my thoughts. I resisted the urge to laugh, and leaned my head back against the cushy chair I was sitting on to look at the wonderfully depressing grey ceiling. "Aryan, I can't help you unless you talk to me."
"Well maybe I don't need your help," I said in an even tone not looking away from the ceiling.
"Your shutting down from the world Aryan," April started, I could almost recite the rest of her speech with her, "this is not the way to handle grief. I know it was hard to watch your best friend die in front of you. But dwelling on that, and not letting yourself move on from there is not going to help you."
"According to you," I spat to the ceiling. "Who's to say your right? For all I know, you're a flippen liar who is just trying to get me to believe what you want me to and sucking out all of my individuality from the rest of the world."
"Aryan, we've been through this already," April said patiently, "I'm just trying to help you, not change how you think." Right; and I'm a monkey's uncle.
"If you really wanted to help, you'd leave me alone," I growled forcing myself to stare at the ceiling, not trusting myself to look into her annoyingly cheerful eyes.
"I can't do that Aryan," April said simply.
"Whatever. Is the hour up yet?" I asked, the faster I get away from here, the faster I can lock myself in my room and mope in peace.
"We still have five minutes left," April said.
"Close enough," I said standing up, and started for the door.
"Aryan wait," April said; I could hear her getting up to follow me. "We still have five minutes to talk about whatever you want." I, happily, gave her the finger and walked out of the room. Granted, I'm not usually this moody; and I rarely ever flip someone off; but she's getting on my nerves and so I act accordingly. I swear I've never met someone as annoying as April and the other counseling morons. Although he would come close.
"Aryan!" Miss Rinkle scolded standing up. She was dressed in a light pink skirt, and a white t-shirt, typical really. "You still have a few minutes left. And you've heard them say that every moment counts. Now get back in there."
"By the time I actually do the time will be over anyway," I said walking to the door. Miss Rinkle can be annoying, she's only twenty-six with dark brown hair in a really tight bun, and has at least ten foster kids in her house; me, the oldest at sixteen, and nine others. I really don't bother with them. But while Miss Rinkle can be annoying, you can tell she has your best interests at heart. Not like the councilors, who only have your money at heart.
"Alright, come on then," Miss Rinkle said catching up with me and going toward the door as well. Just before the door I caught a glance of my reflection in the wall to floor mirror. Talk about a mess. I was in old black converse shoes that were almost in need of replacement, a black pair of pants and a black hoodie; under the hoodie was a simple black cotton t-shirt. My hair, naturally black, fell straight down to my waist; it was a little messy, I should brush it later. The rare glimpse of bruises were still on what I could see of my face, but they were almost faded away; finally. And on my left wrist was a brace. It was a cast a week ago, but the doctor decided that after two weeks with the cast on I only had a fractured wrist, and not a broken one. So I got a brace instead. It looks like one of those things rollerblading people wear on their wrists. Three weeks ago, I looked exactly like this, minus the bruises and brace, and yet these councilors think all this black is a sign of grief.
I sighed and followed Miss Rinkle out the door as fast as I could. I was limping slightly because of a now 'sprained' ankle. First it was almost broken, then it was twisted, and now it's been demoted again to sprained. Like I care, either way I still limp and can't run. I swear, if I ever see him again I'll, I'll. Well I don't know what I'll do. But I promise it won't be pretty. I could kill him. Ah heck with it, theirs no way I can kill him now. Smith took all my stuff. Heck, what's wrong with me? I couldn't kill him with all my stuff any way, what makes me think I could do it without all of it? Ah well, he's not here anyway. So it's not like I have a problem. Right?
I know in the first story I got right to the point of everything, but I'm trying a completely different approach here. But for the record Smith is not him. It will all be explained in later chapters.
Thank you for reading.
Please review.
Rebellion Author.