Jericho Jamieson

* Close Up
* Arriving in Los Santos

**Jericho 'Jeri' Jamieson** is a character played by Jeriminia

## Background Information

Growing up in residential schools... there was never enough...

It was like hell in the shape of a church...

Beaten. Starved.

Always told who we must be...

Mentally, I was different from the rest. I wasn't so easy to snap. At least, that's what I thought back then. If I caused a bigger problem, the nuns would forget about the other issue, right? Well, it worked. I'd built a reputation for creating a bigger mess. My access was restricted practically everywhere, the kitchen, the bathroom unsupervised, even the library. They were scared of the damage I might cause to save another student. But I was tired, tired of the bullshit, the pain, all the suffering. No one saw it coming.

I knew they'd never let me upstairs, not with my history. So I asked one of the other children to grab me a spare bottle of Holy Oil on their way to gather the supplies for Sunday Mass. They didn't hesitate. The kid probably thought I'd present it during the next 'retribution circle' to save some poor kid from a beating. The plan was simple, but that's all I needed. A regular spray bottle filled with the oil - we'd received it to help keep our hair tamed and less 'wild' - It wasn't uncommon to use it to help keep cool during the short summers, meaning I wouldn't be suspicious if caught. I left a crinkled paper that read "2 Corinthians 6:2" in Eliza's hand. She'd know to grab the kids and run. Spraying fabrics casually from the dorms on the west wing, I'd make it to the cold, musty basement. A plaque above the door read "Room of Reconciliation." Reconcile to whom, God or their egos? Pulling a bobby pin from my hair, I begin my first job, unlocking the door. Breaking into this room was far safer than breaking into God's Cabinet upstairs. They kept that on the third floor where the priest's office is.

With a quiet click I smile, switching the bottle from spray to blast my descent into the dark begins. Going from room to room, I coated the furniture, particularly anything with fabric in the oil. Let the shithole burn. As long as the other kids got out, there weren't any fucks left to give about this building or the people who ran it. I grabbed as many Bibles and began to shred them, creating a runway of paper throughout the basement. I think I was down there for 30 minutes before tying the final piece of string to its intended candle. Striking the match, I begin to pray. "Great Spirits, as I light these candles, I pray for us to be free. To sever and release any energetic cords that do not serve our highest good." It feels hazy, but I remember walking from room to room, repeating the prayers of my people, lighting each candle. I stood at the entrance of the basement. Turning around to be guided visually by the string towards the lights flickering from each doorway before setting my eyes back on the final candle a few feet in front of me. Climbing the stairs, I grabbed my bag and headed to the entrance, glancing at the clock, never looking back.

Sitting on a grey wooden bench, people pass by in every direction, lost in their world. They didn't care who was around them, just that their selected mode of transportation hadn't left without them. Usually, I never gave a shit about the news, but today was different. I had snatched the local paper before the container closed from the last person. Sipping from a plastic lid attached to a red and white cardboard mug with the bold letters 'Tim Hortons' written in cursive, I began to read.

It had been 18 years since the fire. The building was still standing but no longer structurally sound and condemned. There had been a single fatality, the priest. It wrote about how he was the one to discover the fire, but that his robes must have had traces of oil from his nightly rituals and quickly went up in flames. Over half the children had managed to get free... where they had managed to escape too, I would probably never know. But it made me happy nonetheless. No babies were injured, as they all had a dedicated nun and slept in their dormitories respectively. They suspected the children who had escaped to have started the arson and eventually opened an investigation into the staff after seeing items in the Room of Reconciliation that couldn't burn in the fire. They were arrested and served time in jail. *Thank fuck.* I remember thinking the first time I read that. The article mentioned how the building was built in the 1920s and never had smoke detectors installed in the basement. Arsonists wanted something that would take hours to notice. The kid's sleeping area positioned on the main floor made for an easy escape.

Laying the paper on the space on the bench, I look down at my lap to smile at the envelope with my name on it. Life hasn't been easy since that day. Developing an issue with authority, constantly suspicious, and mood swings are a daily issue; it only takes a single comment to piss me off. That's just the iceberg, but therapist calls it Borderline Personality Disorder. It's like living on a constant rollercoaster. Between unstable emotions and relationships, I never feel like I know who I am...

A bright green bus that reads 'Pearson Airport' pulls up and stops at the nearby post. I rise and head for the vehicle with the envelope. Pulling the smallest of the tickets and handing it to the driver before taking a window seat near the back, excited to shed her fur and leave the snow-covered lands of Canada.

## Gallery

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Jericho JamiesonJerichoJericho in Flannel1st Sunset in Los SantosClose Up