Confession of J. Trull

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
He has murdered... Raped... and taken his own life. Read his confession and know the truth.

Submitted: March 02, 2015

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Submitted: March 02, 2015

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The confessions of J.Trull

 "If I do recall, it started off as a sort of lust and then transformed into a need, a want, a longing..." His long, unclipped nails scraped along the typewriter. A cigarette ablaze in his mouth and a two day old unshaven stubble of a beard showed how long he had been under house arrest.
 It had been three months since he committed the murder and the police just found out about it had he not turned himself in. He, of course claimed it was self defense and the court room actually believed his constant “under-oath” lying therefore sentencing him to six months house arrest. He had a charming personality, dark brown medium length hair, green eyes, of average height but just a little over weight. His parents had disowned him at the age of four, forcing him into foster care. He bounced around the different foster homes (none worked out) until he came to live with a caring, almost perfect middle class family. His adoptive mother, a short blonde and his adoptive father, a tall and balding man, again disowned him at the age of eighteen for getting his sixteen year old girl friend pregnant.
 "Oh well," James Trull’s mind wondered. "Boys will be boys..."
Trull’s mind was a dark place despite his charming looks. "All I really meant to do was to get a little... “sugar” from her. I was just too caught up in the moment... the feelings... the realness of it all to truly step back from the situation and look at it with a fresh pair of eyes. Her name was Wendi Brooks. And we...were... lovers."
His fingers stopped peck typing at the ancient technology. He put out the cigarette butt on the desks ash tray. These things will fucking kill me one day, he thought. His teeth yellowed from the tar, he grinned. But not yet. His fingers shaking from the buzz of the nicotine, he lit up another Marlboro 100.
The smoke from the cigarette spiraled into the ceiling fan and then dispersed around the room into a random pattern. Trull went back to typing.
"We met in high school. She was a southern girl who wanted to move into a big city and use her voice to become famous. I promised her that we would go to the biggest of all... New York. She grew up in a shit hole of a family, her father a drunk whom spent all his days at the bar, and her mother, a stay at home mom having an affair for the past year with Wendi’s history teacher. After I got Wendi pregnant and we both got disowned, it only made since that we run away together with six hundred dollars in our name and pursue her dream of becoming famous.
 Once in the great city of New York we bought a shitty, cheap apartment. The wall paper was cracked and pealing, the bathroom wasn’t much but at least it had a shower, sink, and toilet, all with running water. The first week was just trying to orient ourselves from the country to the very large, diverse city of New York. Week two, we went to all the bars and did karaoke to try to get people to recognize her marvelous voice. At the end of our first month in the city was when the problems started happening. She had her baby, it was a boy. We named him Michael. Michael B. Trull. And then she threw away her talents, started snorting cocaine, smoking marijuana, and met up with a pimp twice a week. I tried my best to talk her out of the bad choices but she just wouldn’t listen. So I had to take initiative..."
Trull stopped typing. His heard his back door opening, and then close. "Ahhh, it’s probably the probation officer," he thought. He puffed on the cigarette thinking about how to tell this last part of his confession. Footsteps were stomping up the stairs. He got up and looked out the window. There were armed officers below in his driveway. A knock on the door woke him out of his trance.
 "Yes?" Trull turned around.
 "Random drug screening. Its mandatory." A chubby police officer stomped into his office.
 "Whatever. Just give me the goddamned cup." Trull unzipped his zipper and started peeing. The officer turned around to give him some privacy. When he was done he handed the cup to the officer and asked him to leave.
 "Back to the letter... I have to finish this letter before I... before I..." Trull lost his train of thought as the officer walked back in.
"I really need some privacy at this moment! Will you please just leave me alone??" Trull practically yelled.
 "Sorry sir. I was just wondering if I could help myself to a glass of water."
 "Oh... Yes, yes... go ahead."
 Trull almost pushed the officer out of his office as he closed the door and bolted it. They have the keys you stupid fuck. He sat down heavily in his chair and started to peck type again.
 "Now I know what you must be thinking... I’m a criminal and need to be put to justice for murdering my lover and her... pimp. Not only did I murder both of them but I raped them both with a candle stick up their asses. THAT, only the police know. It was never published in the paper. And another detail that wasn’t published was that her breasts and his genitals were sliced open and displayed in the apartment window. I’m not just crazy... I’m fucking insane. I deserve what is about to happen. And more. Tell my son, where ever he may be that Daddy is sorry, but he got what he deserved. So as last words I say... Fuck all of you cheating, beaten down people... go straight to Hell."
 Trull smacked the secret compartment in his fireplace and withdrew the sawed off shotgun. Its body was shining with sin, and the shells he put in were crimson red. As he placed the letter in his office chair, and the barrel down his throat, he smiled his yellowed smile, put out his cigarette on the desk, and pulled the trigger. 


© Copyright 2020 R A Hicks. All rights reserved.

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