Gospel 217 ~You’re Killing Me, Will~

I believed the worst crime any human could possibly commit is the destruction of another person’s soul. Hell, I would give mine to God or sell it to the Devil if either brought back my son, my best friend but why is he gone? “You’re Killing Me, Will”

Wednesday, February 3, 2021

Gospel 217 ~You’re Killing Me, Will~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now. There I said it because; only a “rich” man… Inspector, no one is above the law.

I am GUILTY of Misanthropy, Murder, and Madness. Misanthropy like a mother fucker (pardon my language). It started Wednesday of last week. I came home, and I was tired. God, I was so tired, and all Braxton wanted was my attention. The one life who gave a damn about me, and I ignored him because I was done with people. There’s this girl at work that’s been ever so sweet since his passing. Only she doesn’t know how to talk to me. Hell, I don’t know what to say. I wouldn’t have to say anything if I had been reading the signs that night. Only by hating people, I didn’t care for him. That’s how it started, Inspector, I killed Braxton, I killed my son.

Murderer… I don’t want to be a murderer. I am, though. Not the vets, no, not in the slightest, they gave him mercy. I thank them for their service. There was nobody else, only me, Inspector Echo. To think what I worried about all last week, STUPIDITY. Let the cops take me to jail, after what I’ve done to my son. For nearly five days, I ignored him Wednesday, my greed Thursday, my hesitation Friday. I let go of everything Saturday, and I prayed. I was on my knees praying, following, cleaning. Sunday, I gathered him up and murdered him.

Madness, fucking madness!!! Not Anger, not yet anyway. Well, other than at my “father.” Braxton’s body was still warm, and my father says, “get a new DOG.” They would say I’m still in Denial. I always open his gates as if he were walking with me. Every day I refill his water bowl. The trash was picked up today, but I didn’t throw out a scrap of his food. I won’t wash his bed, the sheets, my hoodie, which I’m still wearing. I walk into his room and lay down a treat. Three treats for three days. I keep his final papers, so I’ll never forget Inspector Echo. I need to see the proof of what I PAID for!!! I did this, Braxton is dead because of my Hate, with my Help, and now I dream of Heaven to be.

His last look, I swear, “Daddy.” You’re Killing Me, Will.

I Am Afraid Without Braxton

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