I was a year older than my little sister so there wasn’t much of a gap between our ages. The old man left the house and that night we all had a great night without him; no one cried or left the house. On the following day he returned home and when my mother asked her why, he gave her a cruel look and went to the room. My mother followed him to the room. A minute later my mom was screaming.

This time my brother just left without going to the room to stop them from fighting. After beating my mother he also exited the house and I decided to follow him. He went to a house that was next to ours and knocked there. The girl who lived with her mom who worked during the night opened for him and gave him a warm hug and the closed the door.

I was nine at the time.

I snuck around the house and went to the back. Luckily there was a window and the curtains were not closed properly, so I could see everything that was going on there. I watched what they were doing for five minutes then I decided to leave. I had seen enough. I was so angry at him; I mean how could he do this to my mom?

Damn I am so going to tell her, I thought to myself.

I turned around and there was a dog behind me. I asked myself how long it had been watching me, waiting for me to turn so that it can bite me hard. How could I be so stupid? How could I forget that they had a dangerous dog that had injured many people in our neighbourhood?

It looked me in the eye for like a minute and it saw how afraid I was.

Before I knew it I was down, with my hands covering my face, and this huge big dog on top of me tearing my jacket. I had no choice but to scream. Both my father and his mistress came out rushing. They stopped the dog and took me inside the house where I was ordered not to scream and I was beaten up.

I wanted to prove myself to him; I wanted to prove that I am a man. After all that, we went home and my father made up a story for me. How could he disrespect me like that? Who was he to beat me up and tell my mother the wrong story?

That was my experience, my story to tell.

Ever since that day he would beat me for no reason and I hated him more. My big brother never bothered to stop him. What kind of a brother is that? A brother who didn’t stand up for his own little brother? I mean I would kill for him, I’d do anything to save him, but he couldn’t stop my father from beating me.

This thing took three years.

So for three years I was my father’s punching bag. But there was this one night; my brother was not around as usual. It was I, my little sister, my mom and dad home. The big guy was drunk, so he called my little sister. She went to him and he told her to sit next to him, and she did as he had said. He then started to touch her. I wanted to tell my mother, but I knew this bastard would beat the hell out of me.

I could see fear and confusion in my sister’s eyes. My mom was washing the dishes, and she came back and she saw it all!

I was happy when she asked him what he was doing. But instead of answering her he stood up and gave her a hard slap. She screamed and fell on the couch. The big guy sat on top of her and threw punches on her. I was so angry and I was sick of him. I pushed him and told him to stop. He was shocked; he could believe that I was the one who had pushed him.

I pushed him hard that he fell down and rolled under the table.

He got to his feet and took of his belt and I knew it was my turn. My mother was still struggling to get up, so he came and I told him that he must stop abusing me or he would regret it. That made him mad. He came even faster at me. I ran to our room and I took out a knife that I had stolen from my big brother. I came back and went straight to him.

I knew exactly what I was going to do and I had to make it count. I knew that I had one chance of doing it. That’s what my big brother always told me, “Make the first move count.”
The old man didn’t see the knife, he threw away the belt and grabbed me, raised up his arm and when he was about to hit me…

I stabbed him right in his heart.

***

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