Chapter 1: Conviction

"We, the jury, find the defendant, Ernest Page, to be guilty of the charge of first degree murder."

Wait, what?

Did I hear that right? Guilty? Guilty? Guilty...

Oh dear, that's not right. She said not guilty, not guilty, right? Yeah that's right; I just heard wrong.

No, wait! This is a nightmare! A horrible illusion that my mind's created to torture my sanity. That explains it. Yeah, surely it must be a dreadful phantasm! I've done nothing wrong...

Of course she said guilty, Ernie. Of course you're done for.

Ha ha ha. No, I know I heard right. I know she confirmed me as guilty. I'm might be in denial but I'm not delusional.

Even so, I can't really process it fully. It's not over, though, they're sentencing me to life; at least I think they did. I'm not quite there anymore. It's as if I was a spectator, watching my life crumble apart before my very eyes. Although, that's not really how I view it. I'm not even sure what my perspective on this whole issue is but I know I don't think my life has shattered, on the contrary I think this is a new beginning. The beginning of the end.

I'm sure I'm staring blankly at the juror who announced the verdict, even if my insides are slightly in turmoil. I'm sure the court-appointed lawyer is trying to mollify my 'distress', when in reality, I'm absolutely positive he's relived I'll be secluded from society, probably thanking a God, I won't murder him as well. I'm sure the people behind me are weeping with joy at the fact that they received justice for their loved one, whom I took away. I'm sure my mother - my lovely, caring, loving, precious, good-natured, dearest mother - is mourning for the downfall of her youngest child, her only son, wondering how she could've messed up so badly; undoubtedly blaming herself for neglecting him, for not paying him much attention.

But it's as if I'm not there at all. I'm spaced out; listening to painful sobs of my mother, barely able to discern her whimpers from the others' jubilant howls.

Don't blame yourself, mother. Please, don't. I want to say, but I can't find my voice. I can't even turn around and face her grieving self. She'll look heartbroken, I know it, and it's all my fault. But you don't understand, mother, you don't understand. This was all for you.

Once the judge sentences me, the guards come forward to retrieve me from where I'm sitting. Noe, my appointed lawyer, gives me a brief summary and other information concerning appeals, and I'm really not paying attention but he tells me he'll most likely see me again, bids me farewell, and turns to leave. The guards are quick to subtly rough me up, and lead me towards the back doors. I can still hear my mother; she's still crying behind me. Just before I'm through the exit, I spare a look back, and, boy, do I instantly regret it.

She's standing there, gripping the railing that separates the accused from the spectators, her knuckles white from holding on to it too tight as though that's the only thing keeping her upright. Her tear-stained face, puffy, gray eyes, details the most sorrowful, hurt expression, and it pains me. Deep within her sullen expression, is a grave stare that emits an subtly serious aura. Her whole appearance looks as if she's convincing herself that everything's wrong, that I didn't commit the crime, but knowing, knowing, the jury's convictions were the truth.

It hurts. She's supposed to be happy; she's supposed to thank me. I mean I did this for her. I only ever thought of her benefit. And now I've hurt her more than I could possibly imagine. I'll be gone and I can't even try to explain my side of the story, my thoughts.

For it to make any sense I'd have to go way back. Back when my family was whole. Back to when I was happy and, some might say, sane. Back to when I was seventeen years old.

It's a dark part of my life and no one should relive it but for the sake of understanding, here is my story:

A/N: This story came to me one day when I was trying to explain I was writing a novel to my sibling. Except I didn't want to explain that it was slash so I made a whole different plot and I thought 'ooh this sounds interesting'. So here I am, trying to write this spontaneous story. I actually really wanted to try writing different genres, though I'm really not sure what genre I could classify this as. But, I am so excited to write this story.