I have always considered myself as a survivor. From many dangerous situations I had made it with only a few scratches. Nuala had always told me to stop living like that but what could I have done about it? If life wasn't fair for me, why should I have let it control me like a robot who is controlled by annoying children? Shattering, smashing and finally tearing me apart, one circuit after another. That's not life, that's not life at all.
In my life, I was willing to do whatever I wanted to make sure that my family stayed wealthy. I had robbed people who had done nothing but caused a lot pain to others, like drug dealers and company men who fire workers for their own purposes. The local police and rich men saw red everytime they heard my name or saw me. ”A boy who hasn't grown since kindergarden”, they often said.
Then again my existence had been good for them. I heard new police officers have been hired almost every day just because of me. A few months back I would have laughed to the idea of more blue trousered men running around the streets looking for me. You see, I was like gold, worth a lot but hard to get. I would have survived my entire life living like this but I made a small mistake...
It was on the 24th day of December. Everyone was enjoying their holidays and it was snowing a bit. Grownups were making food ready for the evening meal while their children were gliding down the hill me and my friends use to play at ages ago. I can still feel it, the wind blowing you hair back and your body feeling a refreshing blow when you slided down the hill. Wish I had time to take Alicia there too.
As for me I had one job planned for that day before I would have gone back home. I was going to steal one famous painting back from a criminal gang which had caused some resentment for a few people in the art business. I thought it was time to give them a lesson about good stealing and bad stealing. So, I went inside their base near the junkyard and snatched the masterpiece without anyone noticing. Piece of cake, I thought...Piece of cake.
Then I started driving home, to my wife, to my small girl. For some odd reason I was really satisfied, when I was driving back home. The feeling was something I hadn't experienced for a long time. It brought back good memories, memories of the times when I was different, lived a different life which other people controlled for me. But those days were over, I reminded myself. I shouldn't start to miss that kind of life, not when I had everything.
So I returned to my house, opened the door and yelled: 'Honey, I'm home!'. But no one answerd. I left my car keys on the table near the front door and tried one more time. Nothing happened. The house was dark and seemed really empty, lifeless, abandoned. I thought that it was nothing. They must have been already sleeping. But when I went to the bedroom door, I only managed to open the door, just a little until everything suddenly went black and an enourmous pain struck on the back of my head.
The next thing I knew, I was somewhere else. Lying on the ground like a body on a crime scene where the police officers weren't feeling sorry for me. Instead, they were laughing and making fun of me. I cumbersomely rose up from the ground and started to think what had happened earlier. I tried and tried, tried to remember until finally the memory came back to me. I had been knocked out but by who? Who had been at my house and had done such a thing?
”Okay fellow, time to go. We have a good cell waiting for you”, said the police officer who came to pick me up. I was taken to this large police van and inside I sat down. They left the door open for a small moment. While I was waiting for them to take me away I quickly saw Nuala getting some money from the police. She took it all and then looked back at me with her innocent blue eyes. She didn't have to say anything. I knew she was sorry. And still is. I smiled back and nodded good bye. As the door slammed behind me, I knew I would never go back.
Miia Muukka 2B
