It Wasn’t Me!

I’ve always known about my other me. He’s been that small whisper in my ear encouraging me to do things that I either knew I shouldn’t or was too scared to do. My harsh upbringing at home together with a strict, almost barbaric, schooling, gave me the tools I needed to rebuff those enticing whispers, until now.

I’m not sure if it’s a case of him becoming more clever and devious or me weakening. He’s always had this knack of knowing when best to appear, usually when I’m feeling down or unsure of myself.

The combination of me losing my job, the excessive drinking, and Mary walking out on me, must have seemed like a golden opportunity for him. When the whispers started this time his ideas were more outrageous than ever before.

I still can’t explain why I took any notice of him. Normally I’d dismiss him as soon as the whispers began and, with a bit of a grumble, he would admit defeat and disappear. This time though I made the mistake of listening to him.

He recognized this chink in my armour and went for it. Before I realized what I was doing I was engaging him in conversation, questioning him, trying to counter his arguments. It was at this point that he knew he’d won. I could sense the satisfaction in his voice, knowing his patience had finally been rewarded.

So that’s why I’m here today. It was all his idea. I know when my friends and family hear about this they’ll be flabbergasted. I can picture them telling the police and press that what I’d done was completely out of character, not like me at all. And, of course, they will be right. It isn’t really me standing here with this shotgun in my hand. It’s him.

He’d convinced me everything would be OK. All I had to do was go in, wave the gun around and walk away with enough money to solve all my problems. He told me not to worry because he’d be there with me the whole time telling me what to do and of course he was.

Once we were in there he took over. I didn’t want to do any of those things and I kept telling him that but he wouldn’t listen. As soon as the police arrived he left. I dropped the gun straight away and told them it wasn’t me. I kept shouting out how sorry I was as they handcuffed me and led me away. All I could see was the carnage he’d left behind.

He’s deserted me now. His job is done. I’m the one left with the nightmares that are going to keep me awake in my prison cell. I’m praying that he’s gone for good but deep down I know he’ll be back one day.

MikeJackson©2018

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