Can't Be Saved

• Jacob Debets, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2007

I walk the streets at night, I rarely smile, I don’t make eye contact with people, I sleep in homeless centres, on park benches and in bins. People look at me like I’m scum. Like I don’t matter. As if I’m not there. Sometimes I find myself agreeing with them. If I died today no-one would remember my name tomorrow. I’m a waste of space, a waste of time. When I was in year 9 My Math Teacher told me I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up. She said I had terrific learning potential. But now I have no money, and a criminal record. I killed my father at sixteen years of age. The last 8 years of my life have been behind bars. The things I’ve witnessed will haunt my dreams possible beyond the grave. The single moment where he spat his last insult, all the memories of abuse flooded back to me and clouded my conscience. Overtook what common sense I had left. My pure hatred devouring any thought of walking away. Enraged I grasped the blade and imbedded it in his heart. I remember the crimson blood, his dying breath. The horrible realisation that I had done this. I stood shell-shocked, the corpse of my own father at my feet. I remember the police breaking down the door, I heard them shouting, shoving me against the wall, cuffing me. I remember driving away in the police car. I remember overhearing their conversation. A call from the neighbours had brought them there. They had overheard our shouting. I vaguely remember the courtroom, the people glaring at me as I pleaded guilty, the judges sneer as he condemned me to eight years in that urine soaked hell-hole. I remember the prison guards, driving their batons into my chest, causing me to stumble and fall. Inmates taunting me, threatening me, some even fearing me. Some hitting on me. Sleepless nights. It was all I could do to keep from going insane. I remember attempting suicide. The sharp acid sting of the wire against my wrists. The guards pulling me away, stitching me back up. I spat in their faces, Screamed helplessly as my dream of death was dismissed.

And possibly the most meaningful memory was that of being set free. I thought things would be different, I thought the life of a convicted criminal was over. I thought I could go back to living, I thought I could put my past behind me. I was wrong. I remember going to the bank, taking all the money I had obtained working at the supermarket as a kid. I remember showing up at job interviews, my face hopeful. My look new and snappy, shining my shoes, wearing a new suit. And getting rejected. Every single time. With no form of academic or qualification, a criminal record and a fast descending bank balance I was driven to the streets. Surviving on what others no longer need. I have no purpose in life, I am a lost cause, don’t bother praying for me, its only a waste of breath. I am Charlie Bates. Goodbye.

By Jacob Debets

In closing i wish to spologize in sending my previous entry as it had far too many words. Thankyou for taking the time to read my essay.