The darkness of the night wrapped itself around me like a suffocating shroud, its icy fingers closing in tight. I lay on the cold, hard floor beside a grimy dustbin, my body shivering uncontrollably as if possessed by some unseen force. My teeth chattered loudly, and my whimpers turned into anguished wails that echoed through the desolate night air. The chill seeped into my bones, and I felt like I was freezing from the inside out.
As I lay there, thoughts of the orphanage crept into my mind, and I wondered what Miss Cathy would say if she saw me now. Would she be shocked by my condition? Would she rush to my side and wrap me in her warm, comforting arms? The thought of her gentle touch and soothing voice brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes, and I sobbed uncontrollably, the sound of my own despair lost in the darkness of the night.
I thought of Josephine, imagining her smile and glowing face. What would she be doing now? Were they missing me?
Then I thought why would they, though? After all, Miss Cathy had planned on sending me away, so I saved her the trouble by running away. I'm sure she's smiling right now. I had thought Miss Cathy would happily wrap me in her arms... why? Why did she want to send me away? Was I a bother? Or did she find out the truth I hid from everyone... the truth behind why I left home and spent countless nights on the streets?
It was late on the night of Mom's burial. I struggled to sleep, my mind consumed by thoughts of her. Each time I closed my eyes, her face appeared, followed by memories of the treatments she endured before her death. I shook, turned, and rolled on my bed, finally getting up to gaze out the window. The rain drizzled, and the wind blew. Then, I heard a voice within me, familiar yet unfamiliar. It wasn't Dad's or Mom's. It groaned, growing clearer: "Kill him... Kill him." "Kill who?" I asked. "Kill your mom's murderer, make him pay for what he made her go through... Kill him, Mia!"
My body froze. "What's all this... murder? I couldn't possibly do that." I rushed downstairs, hoping to confide in Dad and find peace in his arms. As I ran toward his room, I heard noises from downstairs. It was Dad, drunk and staggering toward the couch. "He's drunk?" I thought. "What's this behavior, not even a day since Mom was buried?" My fist slowly folded, and I felt a boiling sensation within me.
The voice whispered, "Mia, make him pay." I felt an eerie sense of detachment, as if my body moved on autopilot. I walked to the kitchen, picked up a knife, and returned to the sitting room, an evil broad smile written all over my face.Dad stumbled towards the couch, whiskey bottle in hand. I crept closer, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. As I stood over him, he struggled to sit up, but couldn't. I hid the knife behind my back.
"Mia, dear... why are you still up?" he slurred. I didn't respond. Instead, I slowly revealed the knife and plunged it into his chest. A rush of intense emotions consumed me as I repeated the act, fueled by anger and a desire for revenge. "Die," I whispered, my laughter maniacal, his blood bringing joy and happiness to me at that moment.
But as the knife sank deeper, my sanity returned, and horror washed over me. I stumbled backward, gazing at Dad's lifeless body. "What have I done?" I cried, my voice shaking. "No... this can't be real."
I ran away from the sitting room pushing my frightened body upstairs, I burst into my room, slamming the door behind me, and dove onto my bed, my heart racing like a jackrabbit. "What have I done?" I screamed into my pillow, my voice muffled by the softness. "I've committed murder... I've killed my own dad!" The words echoed in my mind like a haunting mantra, sending my entire body into a state of utter panic and shock.
My mind was a whirlwind of frantic thoughts: "What will I tell Grandma? How will she ever forgive me? How can I face Uncle Jammy, Uncle Tammy, Aunt Laura, and Cousin Tony? What kind of monster have I become?" The weight of my actions crushed me, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of guilt and shame.
Without hesitation, I leapt out of bed and tore downstairs, out of the door, and into the unknown. I had no destination in mind, no plan, no direction. I just knew I had to escape, to flee from the crime scene, from my family, from the weight of my own conscience. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, driven by a desperate desire to disappear, to vanish into thin air, and to leave my past – and my guilt – behind.