Life On The Murder Scene

Yay, Support group session time!
My favorite, least forgetting the first, time of the week.
It all sounded too fun when i process it. In fact, that's how it should of been, but i couldn't understand it. As soon as i stepped into the pasty-smelling, dank-filled room i choked. Not surprisingly, that sent a chain reaction through the rest of the group stumbling around the room behind me.
"Ugh, it stinks of shit in here!" Jimmy yelled, forgetting the volume of his voice could travel to the staffs ears and seriously offend them. It wouldn't with me, but i'd learnt, passing cells and eavesdropping, that many of the people here were weak-minded and thick.
"Why does it smell so fucking disgusting? I mean i know i smell bad, and that after i shower the smell still sticks, but still that does-"
"JIMMY FUCKING URINE TAKE A SEAT, WILL YA'?" Lindsey ended up pushing herself up on her chair to get his attention. Her voice was even louder than Jimmy's, one not to be messed with.
By now Jimmy had settled down in his chair, the gelled up Mohawk on his head now drooping at the ends. Pete,Patrick,Ray and i just watched as Lindsey brushed up her skirt and sorted out her hair like her throat didn't feel like sandpaper right now.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer." She muttered down at her lap, eyes fixed on her.
Silence followed for a while. It was shocking that no one had heard us from in here. I figured the walls might of been sound proof, and if so i should of kept in mind to use the room with Gerard when he has his nights off.
But as usual i was unfortunately wrong.
"Excuse me?" A fairly tall, pig-bellied man had walked into the room and shut it abruptly behind him. "What is this racket for?"
He was the usual insulting consultant. A bit out of place and probably the scatterbrain, even though his job didn't allow such standards. His hair looked untidy, much like Jimmy's, however more fake. It was almost like he had a wig on underneath the fringe of brown hair.
"I said, what is this RACKET for?" I felt his voice ring in my ears, the word 'racket' echoing through me. He looked unfriendly now, not like he did a the start, more hunched up and questioning.
"I am SO sorry Mr..." Jimmy attempted to cover for the noise, solely the blame for it anyway.
"Umm..." He seemed to stop for a second, a lump in his throat. "Br-.....i mean Benjamin. Mr.Benjamin, but you can call me..."
"Bert?" Jimmy said once again, this time his voice cracking. Bert surely was the name of his old pal....Gerard's too. With ought pressing on it, the name jumped out so much that it brought back some painful moments of the time when Gerard had explained too much than i'd wanted.
"Why Bert?" He was curled up even more in his chair now, hunched like his back limb was floppy and weak.
"It's...it's a good name." He just muttered. Maybe, just maybe if Mr.Benjamin, or fishy asshole, stuck to that name, Jimmy would rise up a little, and use less gel for his wacky hairdo.
"Right....ok Bert it is!" He began to file some paperwork that he retrieved from the bottom of his chair, magically getting there in the last five minutes i'd sat. "Lets get this started!"
"Yay.." We spoke in unison.
"Can each of you start off by telling me how you arrived here at Bellevile prison?" My back sunk further into my seat as he spoke, the ounce of concentration i had slipping away.
"Well...lets go clockwise. Lindsey first." Lindsey stood up slowly as he spoke, narrowed eyes scanning him up and down, obviously curious about something.
"Well....i asked some guys to look after my motorbike one day, beauty it was. They did a good job...only thing was is that i didn't have the right money to pay them. I was twenty pounds over, and they were penniless.....so they said they'd get back to me with the change soon-
"What happened?" Bert barged in.
"They never did dummy." She took up a black lock in her hair, twisting it slowly "I never really liked em' anyway. Soon, my friend Kitty knew the news and went to their place to give them a telling off. When she came back the next day they were pissed with me, turns out i was next on their hit list-
"I saw them a few times over the next months, always fucking chasing me or some crazy shit. One time they broke my ankle with a beer bottle, fucking painful, hurt like a bitch. The hospital got it fixed soon though, then after that i only saw them once.....well not really-
"I was at a club, pissed out of my mind, trying to have some fun. I needed to remind myself that home was the best place because of how i was....completely and utterly fucked. I was seeing things, crazy things. That was when it happened...i saw the lot of those bastards, and they didn't even have my change! It wasn't them though....the leader was Kitty-
"Turns out instead of getting my gun out and shooting the leader, which you have to carry around with you in Bellevile, i shot Kitty...my best friend.
"That is tragic." Bert whispered, not quite caring enough to be in a state of tears.
"Y-yeah..i know. B-but she was everything, a-and the cops thought i w-was....was crazy. Ended up getting sent here, luckily enough not a mental institution, even though it was highly recommended and still is now!"
"Would you like to sit down now Lindsey?" Bert's voice was calming as he reached over to pat her on the knee. He was ever so warming and kind, shame the glint in his eyes spoe against that. The spit to his words made me clever enough to know he was hiding something.
"Who's next?"
"Jimmy." Pete spoke out, the slight tone of a hiss to his voice.
"alright,alright." He stood up slowly, just like Lindsey had done "I used to belong to a gang, much like the one Lindsey had pointed out...it sucked ass. After i left i was messed up bad. I was in a bad place...things had just turned to shit. It wasn't that that made me do what i did....it was that fucking car-
"That's right. On the 5th of February i was hit down by a Black Ford, zooming down my home lane like it fucking owned the place. I got brain damage when that happened. Nobody cared though. Either that, i had nobody to tell. I was stuck with seeing things and becoming the bearer of screaming voices for the rest of those months-
"I met a friend....name was Bert. He had a fairly nice life....before i messed it up that is. Took his ambitions down the dumpster and turned em' to shit. You see, i was just getting told i needed to have a hole in my life....a big fucking abyss. The hole had to be the best thing in life for me though; think it was because, when that prized thing was gone, we'd all be equal and not living with that height above us-
"Bert's hole was his family...shot em' all one day to save my grief. He ended up here and soon died after of complete possession of the mind and the fact he had gone mad. I then did the same, at least in the fact i created the hole. Ended up creating a huge hole through my grandparents bungalow and flattening the both of em'-
"That's sick." Fishy asshole whispered again, his voice stiff and cold.
"It was....OF COURSE IT WAS!" His tone was stuttery and matching Bert's coldness now. It was sad to see his broken expression "Don't think i didn't cry. Don't think my life isn't fucking torn into pieces....it is. Damn well is a shame i didn't follow down the same route Berty boy did after he got in this shit hole!" After that he was sat down, limp and tired.
It felt like, now if i wanted to, racks of sobs could travel through me, or a migraine could shovel out all my depressing thoughts. I just watched, almost like i didn't care....almost like the same way Bert did now. What a sick guy.
"Who's next? And don't make me laugh." No warm smiles were given after that.
"H-hi, i-i'm Patrick.." Patrick pulled himself up shakily, probably ridden with worrying thoughts.
"Go on then boy."
"I don't really want to say much.." His fingers were twisting against his left palm, like there was a point of dialect he was attempting to get across silently, but failing.
"What is said here stays here."
"Fine. I was at a family gathering....i wasn't so social or confident so i just sat there. Late in the evening my parents said they needed to pop out to the shops to get some cigarettes, typical....funnily enough they didn't get back-
"Not long after, i had a phone call claiming they'd been involved in a car crash...it was fatal. Surprisingly enough the driver was Mr. Pete Wentz himself." Patrick, for the first time, sent a deadly glare to Pete who was slouched in his chair. He didn't bother returning it to my dismay. Another argument might of been created and i could leave here and go back to my cell.
"I got SO done with everything i just flipped out. That night i injured my whole family....life now completely sucks!" He then sat down with a loud 'plop'.
"Thank you for sharing Patrick." Bert's papers were now buzzing with ink filled notes and little sketches. The eccentric style of his writing made me want to pick upt he pages and set my mind into overdrive reading them. It wasn't that they looked full of notes; it seemed he had just done shitty doodles from boredom and probably written down a full scale plot on how to kill us all.
"Now, who's next?" Everyone shuffled uncomfortable in their seats, Bert's stare becoming antagonizing. "Aw c'mon, i was only just beginning to have some fun!"

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