Look at me, Charles. No, no — don’t look away. Don’t you dare try to get out of this one, Charles. We know what you did, and you’re not getting out of it this time.
You smushed that ant, Charles, and for what — the sin of wanting a taste of your banana-and-honey sandwich?
I’d say we’re here because we love you and this is an intervention, Charles, but it’s not. Not this time. There’s no love in the room right now, Charles. We’re here for judgement.
Where did we go wrong, Charles?
You were such a sweet kid. You were afraid of bees and spiders like everyone else, sure, but you never lashed out. If you caught a butterfly, you let it go unharmed. I remember those days like they were yesterday, Charles. But now, it seems they truly are only that — memories.
So now we’re here, standing around the mangled body of something — a living creature — that you’ve killed. This ant used to live, to love, to move around, to be free. You took that from it, Charles. You robbed it of its future. Did you even hesitate, Charles? Did you even think about what it meant to press your thumb down as it crawled across our picnic blanket?
Tell me how you’re feeling now, Charles. Tell me! You can’t go back from this, Charles — the blood will not wash off your hands. Once a murderer, always a murderer, Charles. And do you even regret it? Or are you only crying now because you got caught?
Just knock on the door when you have an answer, Charles. But take your time, because until you have an answer worth hearing, you’ll be staying down here, Charles — behind this iron door, only a thin ray of sunlight peeking into the room. No food or water for you, Charles. You didn’t give that ant any such pleasantries, did you?
So I’m going to shut the door, Charles, and I’m going to lock it tight. The next time we see each other, Charles, you’d better be ready to tell us how it feels to be a killer.
