I looked down at my hands and wondered when I’d become this monster.
I could still hear him screaming for me to stop, the shock on his face had almost been my undoing, but I was determined to make him feel the pain just like I had every time he hit me, every time I’d begged him to stop, every time I felt his disgusting breath on my face, every time his big hands had held me down and defiled me.
I’d always wondered if every father was like mine, but I’d been too afraid to ask my friends. What if he found out? What if he hit me again and made me skip school for days again so my scars would heal? I’d become such an expert liar because of him. I had learned to come up with excuses for the dried up wound on my leg, my ear, my mouth.
How did I end up all alone with a father like him? Why did my mother have to die without my even getting to know her? Why was I an only child? All of these question I’d always asked myself.
Initially I would ask him about her, my mother, but asking had brought me nothing but more pain. He would call her a slut, a cheating whore who’d done nothing but sleep with every man around. On some days he would scream at me not to call him father, that I wasn’t born from his seed, accuse me of being as useless as my mother.
Maybe I was just fed up with his insults, maybe it was my instinct to defend the woman I didn’t even have the faintest idea what she looked like that gave me the strength to use that knife on him.
I watched him come into my room as usual, but this time I was ready. I jumped out from behind him and drove the knife into his back, he quickly turned around but I continued. Stab stab stab. His chest, his head, then back at his heart. Once, twice, three times, I just kept punching at his heart, that black heart of his. I was ruthless. I was unstoppable.
I’m not sure when I finally decided to stop or at what number, but he was no longer moving. I threw down the now bloodied object and looked down at myself. Blood. There was so much blood everywhere.
He was dead, lifeless. I’d killed him. I had taken his life and I didn’t even know how to go on from there or what to do with the body. And so I just sat there and stared in shock at my handiwork, wondering when I had become this person.
No Fields Found.
