Post by Tyler Kurucz on Feb 28, 2008 19:58:02 GMT -6
(Yes, it's long I know, but please don't let it scare you away! Tyler's life is rather complicated, and I figured that to get a feel for what he's going to be like you should probably know something about him...okay, so maybe it's more like everything about him, but what can I say? I had so much muse and nowhere else to put it 
)
No, he actually hadn’t shot that cop, what fifteen year old boy in their right mind could shoot anyone, let alone a cop? But it hadn’t mattered what he had or hadn’t done. The Mexican government in that area was corrupt, if you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time; you went to jail, no trial, nothing. Of course, when you went to jail, you were given the promise of a trial at a later date, but more than often it was a much, much later date.
Wondering what actually went down? Well, here it is in short. His parents were catholic missionaries in Mexico when he was born, and because they were still U.S citizens, he was granted dual citizenship in the U.S and Mexico. For the first five years of his life, everything was perfectly normal…as normal as a missionary kid’s life could be anyway. But the years after that were pure torture. Something happened that he couldn’t understand in his five-year-old mind.
His father basically gave up on the whole missionary thing, and started drinking and getting into drugs and all that good stuff. Shortly after that he would come home drunk almost every night and beat both him and his mother. For almost ten years this routine was carried out. Finally giving up on trying to stop his dad from beating him, Tyler, then fifteen, took his father’s gun and stepped out into the street, having every intention of ending it all right then and there. He was interrupted though, but a policeman, one of his dad’s more recent drinking buddies. The man was drunk, and when he saw the gun in Tyler’s hand, he took out his own weapon, aimed it, rather unsteadily, and fired. A few moments after the bullet tore into Tyler’s shoulder, the cop shot himself.
They hadn’t cared about forensics or any of that, the kid had a gun, and the cop was dead. He had to have done it right? Had this been in the U.S, he would not have been tried as an adult, but since it was in corrupted Mexico, he was brought straight away to prison. They said he would get a trial soon, but apparently soon was a long time away. It was during his time there that he first really truly hated government and the law.
After five years in prison, Tyler’s court date finally arrived. The trial hardly lasted an hour. They admitted that they had looked into the evidence, and he was not to blame. That same day he was released. You would expect that he would be given something for having been forced to waste all of his teen years in prison, but all he got was a ‘sorry.’
He returned home, only to find out that his parents were divorced, his mother had practically disowned him, not wanting to be affiliated with a murderer, and she was now living with another man, with whom she had a two-year-old daughter. It was then and there that he came to the realization that he was on his own. He started working a few odd jobs here and there, and was finally settling into a “normal” life once again when the news was brought to him.
His mother’s boyfriend had shot and killed her, then disappeared, leaving the little girl without parents or anyone to take care of her. Tyler was the only living relative, so naturally, she fell into his care. Not knowing anything about how to take care of a toddler, and barely making enough to sustain himself, he decided to drop his Mexican citizenship and move to the States.
Hardly a year after moving up there, the social services somehow managed to find the record of his murdering the policeman down in Mexico. Apparently they had forgotten to discard that record. Anyway, they ruled him to be too dangerous to be taking care of a child that young, and took her from him. Her new parents allowed him to have visitation rights, which he was able to utilize once a week. Although he didn't see her all that often, she always raced out of the house to meet him when he came, joyful glee lighting up her three-year-old face.
One day, July 9th at 2:00 pm, Tyler stepped out of his car and was met by a tearful little girl. There was a bruise across her face that looked fairly new. Through the sobs, she managed to tell him that her “new daddy” was hurting her. Tyler, of course, was outraged. He wasn’t going to let her have the same life he had been forced into. He promised to make everything better, and contacted the social services. They said they would look into it, though didn’t really believe him. After all, he was a criminal. Finally, a week later, they decided to investigate and check up on things, but it was too late.
It was an accident, they said, she had fallen down the stairs and fractured her skull. Tyler didn’t really care if they said it was an accident, he knew he had killed her. At the funeral as they lowered the tiny casket into her grave, he could hardly hear the words the pastor said. He hardly heard the people as they apologized for his loss. All he saw and heard was the man who had killed his little sister. All he saw was the mock sadness, the pretend pain and tears. All he heard were the well rehearsed, empty expressions of sorrow that flowed from his mouth in a stream of vile poison.
For a month he fumed over it internally, though never let on to a single soul what he was thinking. Exactly thirty days after the little girl’s death, Tyler pulled out the gun…the same one that had sent him to prison for possessing…and took a drive over to his house. He parked his car several blocks away, and walked to the house. It was late, and his wife was out working her job, leaving him in the house alone. Tyler walked up to the door, which was unlocked and stepped in.
He found the man in the living room watching a game on TV and drinking a can of beer. He hadn’t heard Tyler’s entry. He did however, hear the sound of the gun being thingyed, and turned around. “Tyler?” He said, sounding worried as he looked at the gun pointed steadily at him. “What’s going on?” Silence resonated between them for some time, finally broken by Tyler’s reply. “You killed her didn’t you?” He asked, but continued on without giving him a chance to make up an excuse. “You killed an innocent three-year-old girl who only wanted to please you. She couldn’t do anything right in your eyes could she? So you killed her. I know you did it, she told me only days before that you had hurt her. Intentionally, blatantly, you killed her.” He paused once again, hardly able to keep the gun leveled steadily at him as he fought the urge to shoot the man right there. "Any why? He continued yet again, "Because you were too selfish to see past your own nose and into the eyes of a little girl who never knew a father's love, and now never will." By this point, it was pretty obvious that he was fighting back the tears that attempted to well up and spill over as he reopened never fully healed wounds with each word.
The man’s look of worry changed to terrible realization. He had thought he would get away with it. He had thought no one would ever know, and here now it was all falling apart around him. “Look Tyler,” He said, trying to convince him that he hadn’t done it, though he wasn’t very good at lying at that end of the gun. “I know you’re upset, but I loved her like…” He was cut off as Tyler took hold of him and slammed him against the wall, rage and hatred filling his normally calm eyes. “Loved her like a what? A father?" He practically laughed at the seeming insanity of this suggestion. "You never loved her. What father would abuse his child? What father would kill his child? You were no more a father to her than some stranger on the other side of the world.” Tyler said, his voice almost a hiss as he pressed the gun against the man’s head. “She deserved better.”
He turned and started to walk away, leaving the man relieved, though still worried, he could easily go to the police. A slight smirk crawled across the man’s face as Tyler walked away. “They’ll never take your word over mine.” He said, stopping Tyler in his tracks, “What’s stopping me from calling the police and telling them about this?” Tyler turned slowly, looking the man in the eyes. It seemed like an eternity, though it was only a few moments, and Tyler slowly brought the gun back to the level of the man’s head. He said nothing, not a single word, but pulled the trigger.
The gunshot resonated though the streets, and a few lights popped on, curious neighbors stepped out onto their front porches. Several people phoned the police, then watched as the red and blue lights swarmed around the house. By the time anyone arrived though, the killer was gone, leaving behind not even so much as a finger print as evidence to who had murdered the man.
About 20 miles out of town, he disposed of the gun in a muddy river, knowing that no one would ever find it, and even if they did and happened to report it to the police, the gun had come from Mexico, and therefore there was no registration where the owner's name could be found. He never went back there, and the police never suspected that he had done it. Sure, they considered him a criminal, but was he capable of killing a man in cold blood? Several people he had known around town had testified that he would never do such a thing. They were, every one of them, wrong.
************************************
Tyler leaned against the rail of the smoothly fenced paddock, his eyes following the equines that gallivanted about in the pasture. His own horse was still some time in coming. After all, it was no little thing to transport a horse from California to Colorado...especially one like his Honor. The horse was a devil when it came to trailering, and he'd given express instructions to the driver to take it slow, and make the ride as smooth as possible for the former racehorse.
As he stood there alone in silence, his thoughts drifted away from the present and back to his torturous past. He wasn't proud of himself for killing that man, in fact he was quite remorseful about it. He realized that he had acted in anger, and that had he given himself more time he never would have done it. However, there was no going back now, and he really wasn't to keen on going to jail again, so he would just just go on living the way he was, and wait.
)No, he actually hadn’t shot that cop, what fifteen year old boy in their right mind could shoot anyone, let alone a cop? But it hadn’t mattered what he had or hadn’t done. The Mexican government in that area was corrupt, if you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time; you went to jail, no trial, nothing. Of course, when you went to jail, you were given the promise of a trial at a later date, but more than often it was a much, much later date.
Wondering what actually went down? Well, here it is in short. His parents were catholic missionaries in Mexico when he was born, and because they were still U.S citizens, he was granted dual citizenship in the U.S and Mexico. For the first five years of his life, everything was perfectly normal…as normal as a missionary kid’s life could be anyway. But the years after that were pure torture. Something happened that he couldn’t understand in his five-year-old mind.
His father basically gave up on the whole missionary thing, and started drinking and getting into drugs and all that good stuff. Shortly after that he would come home drunk almost every night and beat both him and his mother. For almost ten years this routine was carried out. Finally giving up on trying to stop his dad from beating him, Tyler, then fifteen, took his father’s gun and stepped out into the street, having every intention of ending it all right then and there. He was interrupted though, but a policeman, one of his dad’s more recent drinking buddies. The man was drunk, and when he saw the gun in Tyler’s hand, he took out his own weapon, aimed it, rather unsteadily, and fired. A few moments after the bullet tore into Tyler’s shoulder, the cop shot himself.
They hadn’t cared about forensics or any of that, the kid had a gun, and the cop was dead. He had to have done it right? Had this been in the U.S, he would not have been tried as an adult, but since it was in corrupted Mexico, he was brought straight away to prison. They said he would get a trial soon, but apparently soon was a long time away. It was during his time there that he first really truly hated government and the law.
After five years in prison, Tyler’s court date finally arrived. The trial hardly lasted an hour. They admitted that they had looked into the evidence, and he was not to blame. That same day he was released. You would expect that he would be given something for having been forced to waste all of his teen years in prison, but all he got was a ‘sorry.’
He returned home, only to find out that his parents were divorced, his mother had practically disowned him, not wanting to be affiliated with a murderer, and she was now living with another man, with whom she had a two-year-old daughter. It was then and there that he came to the realization that he was on his own. He started working a few odd jobs here and there, and was finally settling into a “normal” life once again when the news was brought to him.
His mother’s boyfriend had shot and killed her, then disappeared, leaving the little girl without parents or anyone to take care of her. Tyler was the only living relative, so naturally, she fell into his care. Not knowing anything about how to take care of a toddler, and barely making enough to sustain himself, he decided to drop his Mexican citizenship and move to the States.
Hardly a year after moving up there, the social services somehow managed to find the record of his murdering the policeman down in Mexico. Apparently they had forgotten to discard that record. Anyway, they ruled him to be too dangerous to be taking care of a child that young, and took her from him. Her new parents allowed him to have visitation rights, which he was able to utilize once a week. Although he didn't see her all that often, she always raced out of the house to meet him when he came, joyful glee lighting up her three-year-old face.
One day, July 9th at 2:00 pm, Tyler stepped out of his car and was met by a tearful little girl. There was a bruise across her face that looked fairly new. Through the sobs, she managed to tell him that her “new daddy” was hurting her. Tyler, of course, was outraged. He wasn’t going to let her have the same life he had been forced into. He promised to make everything better, and contacted the social services. They said they would look into it, though didn’t really believe him. After all, he was a criminal. Finally, a week later, they decided to investigate and check up on things, but it was too late.
It was an accident, they said, she had fallen down the stairs and fractured her skull. Tyler didn’t really care if they said it was an accident, he knew he had killed her. At the funeral as they lowered the tiny casket into her grave, he could hardly hear the words the pastor said. He hardly heard the people as they apologized for his loss. All he saw and heard was the man who had killed his little sister. All he saw was the mock sadness, the pretend pain and tears. All he heard were the well rehearsed, empty expressions of sorrow that flowed from his mouth in a stream of vile poison.
For a month he fumed over it internally, though never let on to a single soul what he was thinking. Exactly thirty days after the little girl’s death, Tyler pulled out the gun…the same one that had sent him to prison for possessing…and took a drive over to his house. He parked his car several blocks away, and walked to the house. It was late, and his wife was out working her job, leaving him in the house alone. Tyler walked up to the door, which was unlocked and stepped in.
He found the man in the living room watching a game on TV and drinking a can of beer. He hadn’t heard Tyler’s entry. He did however, hear the sound of the gun being thingyed, and turned around. “Tyler?” He said, sounding worried as he looked at the gun pointed steadily at him. “What’s going on?” Silence resonated between them for some time, finally broken by Tyler’s reply. “You killed her didn’t you?” He asked, but continued on without giving him a chance to make up an excuse. “You killed an innocent three-year-old girl who only wanted to please you. She couldn’t do anything right in your eyes could she? So you killed her. I know you did it, she told me only days before that you had hurt her. Intentionally, blatantly, you killed her.” He paused once again, hardly able to keep the gun leveled steadily at him as he fought the urge to shoot the man right there. "Any why? He continued yet again, "Because you were too selfish to see past your own nose and into the eyes of a little girl who never knew a father's love, and now never will." By this point, it was pretty obvious that he was fighting back the tears that attempted to well up and spill over as he reopened never fully healed wounds with each word.
The man’s look of worry changed to terrible realization. He had thought he would get away with it. He had thought no one would ever know, and here now it was all falling apart around him. “Look Tyler,” He said, trying to convince him that he hadn’t done it, though he wasn’t very good at lying at that end of the gun. “I know you’re upset, but I loved her like…” He was cut off as Tyler took hold of him and slammed him against the wall, rage and hatred filling his normally calm eyes. “Loved her like a what? A father?" He practically laughed at the seeming insanity of this suggestion. "You never loved her. What father would abuse his child? What father would kill his child? You were no more a father to her than some stranger on the other side of the world.” Tyler said, his voice almost a hiss as he pressed the gun against the man’s head. “She deserved better.”
He turned and started to walk away, leaving the man relieved, though still worried, he could easily go to the police. A slight smirk crawled across the man’s face as Tyler walked away. “They’ll never take your word over mine.” He said, stopping Tyler in his tracks, “What’s stopping me from calling the police and telling them about this?” Tyler turned slowly, looking the man in the eyes. It seemed like an eternity, though it was only a few moments, and Tyler slowly brought the gun back to the level of the man’s head. He said nothing, not a single word, but pulled the trigger.
The gunshot resonated though the streets, and a few lights popped on, curious neighbors stepped out onto their front porches. Several people phoned the police, then watched as the red and blue lights swarmed around the house. By the time anyone arrived though, the killer was gone, leaving behind not even so much as a finger print as evidence to who had murdered the man.
About 20 miles out of town, he disposed of the gun in a muddy river, knowing that no one would ever find it, and even if they did and happened to report it to the police, the gun had come from Mexico, and therefore there was no registration where the owner's name could be found. He never went back there, and the police never suspected that he had done it. Sure, they considered him a criminal, but was he capable of killing a man in cold blood? Several people he had known around town had testified that he would never do such a thing. They were, every one of them, wrong.
************************************
Tyler leaned against the rail of the smoothly fenced paddock, his eyes following the equines that gallivanted about in the pasture. His own horse was still some time in coming. After all, it was no little thing to transport a horse from California to Colorado...especially one like his Honor. The horse was a devil when it came to trailering, and he'd given express instructions to the driver to take it slow, and make the ride as smooth as possible for the former racehorse.
As he stood there alone in silence, his thoughts drifted away from the present and back to his torturous past. He wasn't proud of himself for killing that man, in fact he was quite remorseful about it. He realized that he had acted in anger, and that had he given himself more time he never would have done it. However, there was no going back now, and he really wasn't to keen on going to jail again, so he would just just go on living the way he was, and wait.
