“You want to kill me like you killed my sister? I should’ve known better than to take you in. You ungrateful spoilt brat.”
Her words cut deeper than a double-edged sword. I didn’t intend to kill my mother. I regret it every day of my life. If only I could turn back the hands of time. Life hasn’t favoured me and the fact that I haven’t forgiven myself doesn’t makes it harder.
I was only ten years old. I came home from my friend’s place around 5pm. I heard my mom scream and I knew my dad was beating her again. I was really fed up. My mom confused me sometimes. How could she let him do as he wished?
They didn’t even see me when I entered the room. My dad punched her on the face and her nose bled. Anger got the better of me. I loved my mom so much that I hated seeing her hurt. I closed my ears to block out her fierce scream of pain. The harder she screamed, the faster my heart beat. Somehow her scream managed to give me some supernatural powers. I grabbed the knife my mom was using to cut the chicken and fled to my dad. She jumped in front of him, and the knife mistakenly stabbed her. She fell down.
“See what you’ve done to my wife, you bastard!”
He slapped me so hard I went back flying. He knew what my intentions were. He hastily called the whole family to tell them that I was a murderer. The family came but he omitted some details. I was too traumatised to defend myself. Everyone said their part but I kept quiet because I knew it was only going to make matters worse. I kept seeing blood everywhere. The very same day my dad chased me out of the house because he couldn’t live with a ‘murderer’.
Everyone else didn’t want me, except for my mother’s youngest sister. She took me in simply for the foster care grant because she didn’t have enough income. As time went on, she got tired of me. She beat me for little mistakes I did and used every opportunity she got to remind me of who I really was. Sometimes I’d sleep outside on an empty stomach. It was days like that that I missed my mom. My life would be better if she was still around.
When I turned 18, I handed myself over to police because I couldn’t bear being reminded about being a murderer. Some of my family members testified against me and that is how I served five years in prison. Life wasn’t easy in prison but it was much better than the place I called home. I wasn’t happy on the day I got released because I knew I’d forever be a murderer. I’d never be forgiven. One mistake can lead to a lost life indeed.
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