Out To Play

The rain was pouring in torrents. I felt it already beginning to seep into my skin even though I’d been out for only a few seconds. I saw a flash of lightning so bright, it blinded me momentarily. I was too dazed to remember to shield my ears from what I knew would be an accompanying roaring thunder. And when it sounded, I knew I wouldn’t hear quite clearly for the next week or so.

I needed a reminder. Why was I out at nearly 11 pm in the thunderstorm instead of nestled under a blanket enjoying a much needed night rest? Oh, I remembered why. It was because I had no bed, and I certainly didn’t have a warm blanket to sink myself into. I had the freezing tiles of the warehouse as my bed and worn out machine-covering rafters as my blanket. All. Because. Of her.

Cradling the pocket knife deep in the pockets of my soaked hoodie, I willed myself to focus. I had a mission. A mission that fuelled me with rage so intense, I could feel it choking me from the inside. My rage was bigger than my comfort and certainly more powerful than the fear of being struck to death by lightning.

I guess I was even more enraged than I thought, because I soon enough found myself at my destination. The rain was already slowing down or maybe it was just the effect of being on the nicer part of the city. The rich people side. As I looked through hooded eyes at the neat picket fence and even nicer building behind it, my resolve was strengthened. Taking a deep breath, I jumped smoothly over the fence and crept to the side of the building.

Months of watching this house from the bushes let me know that the spare key to the side door was under the large hydrangea flower pot. Stealthily, I made my way inside and up the stairs to the bedroom at the end of the hall where I knew my victim lay. Even more slowly, I turned the knob and looked inside. The bedside lamp was still on and I nearly smiled at her lifelong habit that hadn’t changed. Nearly.

Then I saw her. The light from the lamp cast an almost ethereal glow on her sleeping face. Even in the dark, in the midst of all the storm and chaos around her, she was calm and she was beautiful. Too beautiful. I could make out her long, sooty lashes from where I was standing and strands of braided hair that peeked out of her head wrap. Her arms were crossed over a book on her chest and I ambled closer to take a look. She had always been an avid reader. An addicted one. She was divine. She was my mother.

The smile I didn’t know had crept on my face dried when I reached her side and saw the book she had cradled in her arms. “Being A Better Parent.” I nearly sorted in disbelief as new wave of rage enveloped me. The irony. It was then I noticed him. It’s funny how oblivious you are to your surroundings when you were fixed on something. I could hear him now, snoring loudly like the pig he was. This is what she chose over her only son. I looked at his face, disgruntled and stretched to a tight frown even when he was asleep.

How could she choose this man that was ugly in heart as he was in face over her family? I let the disgust and anger roll off me and on an impulsive leap, I crossed over to his side and swiftly plunged the pocket knife deep into his throat. I watched with satisfaction as blood sputtered and splashed around, a bit landing wetly on my face. Mother woke up then and let out a shriek that pierced my already wounded eardrums. Thankfully, it was still pouring outside.

“James?” she stammered. “What are you doing? What have you done?!”

I turned to her and saw her back even further into the headboard in a futile motion to avoid me. The cold grin that swept my face was foreign to me but I welcomed it. Was this how it felt? How it felt to finally lose the last thread of your sanity?

“Drop that weapon, James.” Mother whispered authoritatively. “We can talk about this. I won’t even call the cops on you.”

I laughed then. An empty, mirthless laughter. It was funny how this woman, after abandoning me for ten years thought she could still order me around. “Is that right, Mother?” My voice took on a bitter tone. “After ten long years and you finally want to talk?”

I sat on the bed, delighting in the terrified widening of her eyes. “Alright, mother. Let’s talk.”

“I....I,” she started.

“Sike!” I screamed as I sent the dagger flying skilfully into her neck with a wet, sickening crunch. The look of sheer disbelief on her face was palpable and I knew that last look of horror would stay with me for the rest of my life.

The storm stopped then. Like someone had magically turned it off. The silence was eerie but it was no match for the noise in my head. I sat in the pool of my mother and step father’s blood for a long time. And indulged the demons in my head that were rejoicing that I’d finally let them out to play.

Jhymi🖤

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