𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐆𝐮𝐧

prologue

IT WAS FUCKING EXHAUSTING, really.

Listening to the jury state what you already knew had happened. There was no reason to repeat it another damn time.

They had said it when I first walked in the court room a week ago, and everyday since then they had repeated what I had done to the crowd (which consisted of a few, one shot, never make it news reporters) and a jury with half the men who looked more interested in what was under my blouse than in my head. Likewise, the women were all disdainfully (some a bit kinder, but still, pity was written all in their features) wrinkling their noses at me every time I walked in.

Fucking law system.

The worst part, though, and I wasn't going to lie, was the temperature.

It was absolutely, positively, freezing in the courtroom.

It was so cold, in fact, that it took me several moments to register that the judge was speaking directly to me.

"Miss Greene. If you make me repeat myself again, I'm afraid I'll just have to choose for you. Now, did you hear anything I said? A single word?"

This sentence took me a second to process. Had I heard anything from the judge, who, so far this whole time, had only managed to look me in the eye twice?

As if a delusional seventeen year old girl who had shot her father was incapable of eye contact.

I shook my head. No, Judge Ignore, I had not heard anything you had said.

There was a sigh, and the sigh pissed me off a little.

If only I could wrap her fingers around the woman's throat and squeeze, much like I had the barrel of the gun. What a satisfying thought.

"You have two options, Miss Greene."

Options? I didn't like options. More often than not, I ended up choosing the wrong one. I had chosen wrong when it came to many decisions, and that's why I was here now. Here, in a dusty courtroom with a man in a gray suit next to me who kept fixing his hair. Here, where an old woman with white hair and glasses that were so thick they could be bottle caps was sentencing me to death.

Well, not death. It sure felt like it, though.

"As I said, you must make a decision."

I rolled my eyes. It was funny how she said I was the one who had to make a decision, like my opinion really mattered to these people. It hadn't before, and it surely wouldn't now.

"You can choose to either be sentenced to jail, where you will stay based on how long your sentence is, or because you are still 17, you can be taken to a juvenile mental institution where you will be kept until deemed mentally stable," Judge Ignore explained, her chin rising a little higher, an obvious display of how proud she was, offering a 17 year old girl jail time or hospital time.

Both of them made me want to throw up. I briefly considered jail time, and waved that thought away. I was tough, but I wasn't sure how tough I would be versus women who were already hardened by their time spent there. That led me to the institution. Judge Ignore had said I would stay until mentally stable, but who were they to know if I was stable or not? I could easily feign it and be out and about in a few months.

"The second option," I replied, making sure complete boredom laced my voice.

Judge Ignore nodded, and waved her hand at the jury. I guess it was time for the verdict.

"Of crimes pertaining to the murder of her father with seven fired shots from a handgun, this jury finds Janie Greene guilty of murder in the first degree, but accepts the insanity plea and requests that she be transferred to a juvenile mental hospital."

My eyes quickly shift to my right to see the response from my lawyer. He had a small, smug smile on his face whilst I scowled, wanting to tear it off his face with my sharp, bitten nails. I was the one who had chosen whilst he sat there and oiled his already greasy hair back. I suppose he thinks he's done me a great favor by landing me a spot in an "institution," but in reality, it will be nothing short of a crazy house with straight jackets and food that all tastes the same. That's how the movie portrays them, anyways. Real life will probably be so much worse. But, I think, I am the one who chose it, so I will be the one who deals with it.

At least I will be surrounded by other wackos like me, which will be amusing, I suppose.

Although none of them are probably there for shooting their fathers.

"Well, Janie, it's been quite the pleasure. I wish you the best of luck in your future, and will be a call away for any matters that you feel need my attention."

He sticks his hand out and gives me a toothy smile, as if he truly cares what will happen to me when I know he's only thinking he's won another case to put on his record.

We both know when I don't take his hand and purse my lips that without a doubt, he will always live in his mothers spare room and struggle to rise in his one story, small town law department. His hand drops, and I am escorted away with a sigh escaping my lips.

Oh, well, I think. Let them think I'm crazy.

I shot my father seven times, and if I could, I'd give him seven bullets more.