Written by Baby Rucelle Cogal
The door creaked open and a woman in her thirties entered the room.
“How are you, Ms. Alice Stanley?”
“Fine, I guess.” I answered as I continued to create doodles on the notebook without looking at her.
“That’s brutal.” She commented as she peeked at what I was drawing.
“It’s art.” I answered nonchalantly.
“Well, are you ready to tell me what really happened?”
“…”
“Ms. Stanley.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I answered irritated.
“Why did you do it?” It is obvious her patience is being tested by me.
“Why shouldn’t I? It's not like he’s a good person. In fact, he’s the worst.”
“It's not a question of whether he is a good or bad person. I am asking you why did you do it.”
“I did it because I wanted to. Is there anything that you cannot understand with what I said?! I am not explaining myself because it will be no use. I am already here, and I have no intention of running away.”
“Then why did you end up informing the police yourself about your father’s corpse? Okay, we are here to help you. So please cooperate and tell us the details. Tell us why you killed your father and hide him in your closet for months before informing the police.”
I sighed heavily as I tried to recall what really happens on that day – August 7th.
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We were once a happy family – or so I thought until things started crumbling down.
My mother was the kindest and the best mom one would ever wish for. That is why she did not deserve all the things my father – that jerk bastard – did to her.
I witnessed how he always spent his money on alcohol and vices, how he did not hesitate to slap mom when he was drunk, how he cheated on her without even trying to hide it. I also hate how mom decided to put up with that jerk just for me and my brother. Honestly, I would rather live without a father like him than have my mom put up with something like that just because he is the one working and having money.
As I grew older, I learned how to protect my mom from her. When I knew he was drunk, I would sleep with my mother and would make sure to lock the door. I would even be ready to give him what he demanded and be his maid if that would make him stop hurting mom. But although he stopped hurting mom physically, he then switched to hurting her emotionally. He cheated, went to text and call another woman in front of my mom and I hate how my mother cannot do anything but cry. And so, I started preparing for that day – the day I would kill that bastard.
August 7th. I told my mom we would leave that house. I found us an apartment near my high school and brought them there while I went back to our house. I waited for that jerk and when he arrived home drunk, I did not hesitate to hit his head with our chair. When I saw him lying on the floor, everything just looked bloody red as I remembered everything he did to mom. I directed my anger to every stab I hit him while crying and only stopped when my arms already felt numb. I hid her in the closet in my room and locked the whole house.
I started living with my mom and brother and worked my way off. Months later, I was able to save them enough money and decided to turn myself to the police and inform them about the skeleton in my closet at our old house.
If someone would ask me if I ever committed a crime, I did. I killed my own father when I was sixteen. And I never regretted it one bit because he deserved it.
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