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My plan was to come to Boston to purchase marijuana and pills, but (unknown to me) I was dealing with the devil. It was late on a Tuesday night, in October 1971, and I was almost running out of drugs. I had been binging for over two days now, using heroin, smoking herbs, drinking, taking pills — no sleep! If I could just get a pound of weed and some barbiturates, then things would be alright. At least these were my thoughts at that time.

A neighborhood kid I knew from a New Hampshire high school, had told me early in the afternoon on that particular day that he knew a source in Boston to obtain some drugs. We scheduled to meet later in the evening. At the designated time and location, I met with him and an older woman who drove us to Boston. I should have never gotten in the car with the devil.

Throughout the ride, the other youth and I consumed alcohol and smoked marijuana. For several hours, we rode searching for his contact. I was in the backseat, and I slept for a brief period of time. I awoke to “Let’s go, Arnie!” as the other youth exited the car. I followed! During the ride, the woman had suggested to the other youth that he approach his contact and convince him to introduce us to his supplier, who would be immediately robbed of the drugs. He possessed her gun when he left the car. It was in my hand upon our return.

The young man I killed on Newbury Street that evening possessed no drugs and was not a dealer. Rather, he was celebrating the successful passing of the Massachusetts Bar Exam. This innocent man, with such a bright future, was killed by an 18-year-old during a drunken, drugged stupor. Though it was not a stray bullet, as in a drive-by shooting, it was a shot that traveled astray. I should not have killed him.

From seeking drugs to eventual murder is a major stretch of activity. While drug use has increased drastically in the past thirty years, it is rare for a person to deliberately plan to murder. People actively pursue illegal drugs on a regular basis today on street corners, inside establishments, in the parking lots of high schools, in various work places, and even at bingo games, without the violent death of an individual. Over thirty years ago, drug activity was not so visible and murder was less likely, because of the scarcity of guns and limited amounts of drugs. That evening in October, 1971, I ruined two families — that of the man I killed and mine — for generations and shattered the peace within the community.

The devil was neither of the other people in the car. Not the woman who owned the gun or the youth who said “Let’s go!” I had the devil in me and I was responsible for the fatal event. It was more than the drugs and alcohol influencing my behavior. There was frustration, anger, low self-esteem; I didn’t have the courage to ask for help. I was lonely and so tired of my young life without direction, but I lacked the skills to make changes. I felt incapable of receiving assistance because I didn’t believe I was worthy of love. I was riding to the penitentiary for the remainder of my life and possessed very little knowledge to avoid it. I considered myself, as youth often do, to be invincible, that is, until I got a view of my video. Then I was finally able to change my behavior.

Some of our youth are either dying or killing during their teenage years. Not only is their aim inaccurate, the intention is rarely to actually kill another human being. But once the gun is discharged, the bullet doesn’t return to the clip. Children are dying in the streets, community parks, and housing projects, they are being killed by their peers and it needs to be stopped — now. Youth are jeopardizing their lives, as well as the future of society, with negative behavior. By riding in the car with the devil, they may no longer walk down Blue Hill Avenue again. Life in places like Walpole, Shirley Max, Old Colony, Concord, or Norfolk are not designed for healthy relationships, and youth should avoid lifestyles which may result in spending years in these environments.

By making better decisions in the present, youth, and others, can avoid having to seek forgiveness later for a foolish (and perhaps fatal) act. I wish another brother had shouted out from beyond the prison walls during the late sixties, early seventies. Maybe then I would have been able to kick the devil out of the car. That is my message to you. One Love!

This commentary originally appeared in Edge.

Arnie King writes from a Massachusetts prison cell, which he has occupied for over 30 years. Click here to contact Mr. King. His Website is ThroughBarbedWire.com.