I seem to be doing a lot of 1st person lately, and this is the latest.
Any comments, suggestions or random musings are more than welcome (and I'm not expecting a free meal, I will be reading and commenting other people's work
).
A Child’s Wrath
I suppose the first time I killed I was twelve.
It had been one of those nights straight out of a trashy horror novel; lightning cracking the sky and reflecting off the river running beside us in fractured winks, thunder roaring overhead, and thick, impenetrable rain lashing down. I was huddled in the back of our family car, trying to sink as far as I could into the leather as my parents started arguing again.
My father was blaming my mother for leaving the lights on, even though it was clearly his fault. I could tell by the way she just sat there in silence, gnawing at her fingernails, things weren’t going well.
“It’s not like it’s a hard task is it, flicking a bloody switch?” my father shouted and I pushed my head further into the upholstery “All you had to do was switch the bloody lights off. That’s all, nothing strenuous. I’d have thought even
you could have managed that.”
“I’m sorry.” she said through gritted teeth. As she always did.
But that wasn’t enough. He continued to blame her, continued to shout, dragging up any past transgressions he could think of. It was like watching a master masochist at work. It wasn’t enough to get in his little snide comment; he had to rip her to pieces.
“It’s always the same with you.” he continued “Stupid bitch, can’t do anything right. Some days I don’t even know why I married you. Maybe my father was right after all. Nothing but a cheap, stubborn tart.”
Thunder cracked overhead again, drowning out every sound except my hammering heart. I didn’t know what I hated most; the boiling argument, the roaring thunder or the bright strobes of lightning that dissected time in ugly flashes. My face had begun to sweat as I forced it further into the leather.
They’d be finished soon; my father would have is victory, all gloating smile and pompous laugh, and we could slip back into the forced pleasantries that had become my only comfort. I could already hear the ghosts of my mother’s secret sobs, the ones that would come when we finally got home and she locked herself away in the toilet. So full of pain, yet so melodic; an anguished operetta that was both captivating and repulsive in equal measures.
“You just can’t do anything right can you?” he went on “As brainless as your mother. I can’t take this forever you know. One day you’ll take one step too many, screw up once too often, and that’ll be it. I’ll be gone. What’ll you do then, huh? No money, no car, no house? Go back and live with your parents? How pathetic!”
“What makes you think you’ll get it all?” my mother said, so softly as to only hint at the words. He still heard it.
“Don’t you push me bitch. I’m in no mood for your stupid, little games. Of course I’d get it all; it’s my money, my car, my house. I paid for it all; it’s all in my name. You’ll be left with nothing.”
“I’ll have John.” she spoke louder this time. That was me, John, the only thing in her eyes worth going through hell for. The only thing that kept her going. For a moment I thought she’d actually done it, won an argument, stood up for herself without being cut back down.
“You think?” my father laughed derisively, looking over his shoulder at me and sneering “Not when I’m finished you won’t, not when I’ve told them you’re a junky and a whore, not when I tell them you beat him. You’re name won’t be shit.”
“They wouldn’t believe that!” He just shrugged, brushing off the comment.
“Maybe, maybe not, but it’ll be enough. The suspicion will be there, the lingering doubt. And I’m sure I can drag up a few people who’ll testify to my word as if it were the damn bible! Don’t, for one minute, underestimate me you pathetic woman. You have no idea what I could do.”
“Shut up!” I heard myself screaming, voice trembling “Shut up, shut up, shut up! Don’t you talk to her like that!”
My father’s head whipped round to fix me with a stare; his eyes so wide and bright. He was a daemon, a devil come to bring misery to our lives.
“How dare you talk to your father like that! How dare you raise your voice to me!” He was reaching for me, trying to drag me into his lair, to devour me. I kicked out, I struggled and screamed and bit.
My mum was shouting, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. She looked terrified, more than I had ever seen her before. Was he going to kill me, was that what she had realised?
The windscreen lit up with burning light, dazzling, blinding. Was this heaven, had I died? No, my father was still reaching for me, my mother was still screaming. The light cast a halo around him; a daemon in an angel’s clothes, finally revealed for what he was.
There was another sound now; deep, bass, constant. It was roaring at us in warning. My father noticed the lorry too late.
We collided with the force of an asteroid, the front of our car folding like paper. Metal screeched, glass exploded in a scything wave, doors buckled; the whole car wailed in pain. And then we were spinning, pitched to the side by the lorry’s inexorable advance.
Our tires squealed in protest, trying to get purchase on the rain-slick road. Someone was screaming, but I don’t know who. Something wet trickled down my leg. My eyes locked on the back of my father’s head, lolling on his shoulder as he slumped over in his seat. Was he dead? Apparently not as my mother began to yell at him to wake up.
The car pitched onto its side and I was tossed about in my seatbelt. The world spun again and we slammed onto the roof, metal screeching against tarmac. My face felt like it was on fire, a sea of blood streaming down my chest
And then we were no longer on the ground. The car flipped over the bank of the river and we were flying; soaring through the air in a gentle corkscrew. The sensation didn’t last long. With a jolt that threatened to rip every ounce of flesh from my bones we hit the water. My ears throbbed with the noise and I was thrown forward, seatbelt biting into my chest.
Slowly the water came for us. It flooded through the shattered windows and seeped through the torn, tortured metal. It held us in its grip and dragged us under. I took a deep breath, maybe my last, and I was under. The water was cool and clear, surprisingly refreshing. I almost laughed at the absurdity, but the threat of a lungful of it stopped me.
I knew I didn’t have long; we were being pulled deeper and deeper beneath the surface and I was already aching for air. I fumbled for the seatbelt and set myself free. I was floating in a sea of relief, buoyed by an amazing joy of simply being alive.
I crawled through the glassless window, feeling shards slicing my sides and legs. I didn’t care. I pulled my way along the outside towards the passenger door; to my mother. She was still alive! She was just sitting there staring at me, wide-eyed with bewilderment. She looked more shocked than anything else.
Frantically I motioned for her to undo her seatbelt with a series of impromptu hand gestures. She seemed to understand and groped for the release button, eventually finding it and snapping the seatbelt free. My heart soared; we were going to make it!
I could see my father over her shoulder as she began to wriggle free. He looked like he was asleep, almost peaceful. If I could have spat underwater I would have.
I grabbed my mum by the wrist and we swam. We swam with all our might, forcing our way towards the surface. The starlight twinkled above us through the churning water; an army of angels watching over us. My head broke the surface and I gagged for air. It tasted so sweet, so amazingly good.
My mother broke free beside me, filling her lungs with big, deep breaths. I looked back across the water, watching the bubbles that marked our cars descent towards the bottom until they stopped. For one, fleeting moment I considered going back down, dragging my father to safety.
But I didn’t. No, let him die, let him flounder and gag for breath, finding only the cold embrace of water. Let him die. Let him rot. This is his punishment, this is what he gets.
It’s what he deserves.
