The bloody television is blaring as usual and here I am, standing two feet away from the hairy, blond haired, green eyed, fucked up piece of shit, known to probably the most insignificant people on the face of the earth as Hank. The hands on my watch are dancing at a quarter past twelve. It is late, well for my sisters at least. I usually am allowed to stay up on Friday nights; no school on Saturdays, so go figure. I am exhausted but I have this one task to complete. I’ve been putting it off for too long. Leona, my sister, hates procrastination. She’s always telling me not to keep things till the last minute. I take a deep breath. I take small, quiet paces towards the lowlife of society; the scumbag sitting in my living room and my anger grows stronger.

She straightens up her posture, and then she picks it up, gripping it with all her might. Her soft tender skin is stretched. The slender sharp-edged flake penetrates through it ripping it open like a lion ripping the flesh off its prey. Within seconds, a dark fluid starts to form around the surface of the careless (imperfect) incision. Warm beads of liquid, trickle down her face, dampening her cheeks. The wound starts to sting, but she holds back all the physical pain she feels. At least it helps her take her mind off everything else. She closes her eyes, trying to clear the painful visuals that haunt her thoughts. She starts crying but she knows this is the only way out. No one understands the state of mind she is in or the amount of pain she is in. Her pulses start racing, and her hand starts shaking uncontrollably. With all the rage and anger, she slashes the surface of her skin again, only this time with more force. The laceration is deeper than the one before. Blood starts oozing out continuously. She clenches her teeth. The pain becomes unbearable but somehow she’s able to tolerate it. She stares at the medical blunder that she has just created; a work of art really. In a strange and uncanny way, slashing her hand seemed to help. She continues to add more strokes to her masterpiece. By the time she is done, she has six deep, raw wounds and is immune to the pain.

Mom works three jobs and as obvious as this might sound, she is hooked onto drugs. One of her jobs constitutes of sucking up to men’s nonsense. Yea, I think you catch my drift. As for dad, well there’s nothing much to say really. The bugger’s a bastard. He left mom with four mouths to feed; a jack ass in my books. He didn’t even bother to stick around till the twins were born. Leona despises him. Sure, he’d send money occasionally…perhaps when he felt like it. Leona is smart, and hardworking. Figures if she worked twice as hard in school, she’d be able to make a difference; probably change the fate of our family. That way mom wouldn’t have to work her weekend job at the club. Mom, Leona and I knew about it yet we pretended not to know. It ate her up inside every single night. She’d cry herself to sleep after working on her masterpiece. It seemed to be her only lullaby. Sadly, those were not the only strokes on her body.

On the weekends, Hank would come home from his mining job and Leona was his source of entertainment. He would snuggle up beside her, and pretend to tell her a story while his hands slowly snaked their way to places they weren’t meant to go. He’d tell her that he was playing a game with her. Leona is eleven, not an idiot. As weeks passed, Hank would become more violent. What started off as molestation soon turned into rape. Telling mom would be suicide. She’s smiling after so long, Leona could never bear to hurt her. I remember standing outside her bedroom window, watching the tears stream down her face, each time she felt the stiff rod like sculpture pierce through the opening in her body. It sent a jarring, burning sensation through her brain, knocking out all her senses. I felt it then and I feel it now.

No, this has got to end now. It’s been going on for far too long. I pick it up, the frog sticker, long and aciculate. I grip it tightly and straighten up my posture. I take a step forward. “Wait, stop! Salem what are you doing? Think about this rationally for a bit. You’re a smart kid. You don’t want to do this. It’s not right! Just put it down Salem, it’s not worth it.” A sudden voice stops me in my tracks and tries to talk me out of making my move. Before long, the counterpart butts in. “Stop? Have you completely lost it? Why stop now when you’re so close to unfolding your devious plan? Don’t be a fool. Pick up the damn thing Salem and be a man. You’ve worked too hard to end this so stop being a coward and do it.” I actually start thinking, weighing my options and my decision carefully and how much this matters. ‘She’ speaks again. “Salem, you don’t have to be a fool to be a man. Don’t let anger overshadow the best of you. Don’t do this, its wrong.” ‘He’ stands in defense. “Wrong? How would you know what ‘wrong’ is? You’ve never done anything wrong. Everything you do is right!” “Well that’s the whole idea.” I smile to myself for a brief moment, listening to the two voices in my head argue, like little children crying for attention. “Ah, she patronizes too. Look doll face; just leave the poor child alone. Don’t deprive him of his destiny…” “Destiny?”, ‘She’ teases. “What rubbish. The poor boy is fourteen, merely an innocent adolescent with no sense of direction. This clearly is far from being his destiny.” “Ah but you forget your holiness, this here isn’t merely a child. He is the only son, a brother who by all means must protect his sisters, a boy who will become a man someday and…” “A man who is a murderer!” Her voice grows stronger. I never knew the two voices in my head could have such an intense argument. “How is this going to help? How, does this matter?” ‘She’ questions. “You just don’t get it do you? He can’t live with the guilt of knowing that something is happening and he does nothing about it.” “Committing this abominable act will be the guilt he will have to live with for the rest of his life!”

I close my eyes, irritated and angry and speak with my mind. “Please, just shut the fuck up! Leave me alone. This is my decision and I have my reasons. Stop messing with my thoughts!” For a split second, I feel like one of those people with multiple personalities; hearing all sorts of voices argue in my head. Damn! “Ok Salem, focus.” I tell myself as I pick up an orange with my right hand and grip my artistic tool with my left hand. I march up to the hairy bastard, feeling absolutely emotionless and heartless. Within seconds I forcefully stuff the orange into Hanks mouth. I clasp it down on him like a muzzle and perform my version of an abstract masterpiece; I press the severed machete on his ugly, freckled neck and slowly but forcefully drag it across from one end of his throat to the other. “How’s that for entertainment you sick, twisted fuck!” I whisper into his ears. Hank fall’s to the floor, gasping for breath and holds on to whatever is left of the structure that supports his head. He tries to scream, but the orange is in there real tight. He tries to stand up and run, but I walk over to him and stamp on his legs until I hear the bones click. I smile to myself and sit on the chair admiring my work of art. Hank’s eyes are filled with tears. He looks petrified almost as if he could piss in his pants at any given moment. I walk over to Hank and sit on his ugly beer belly. Then I stare into his eyes and go for my finishing touches. I stab the bastard through his heart with full force. With each stab, different images flash through my mind. Stab one; his fingers up my sister’s knickers. Stab two; my sister crying herself to sleep at night. Stab three; the ordeal he put her through each time he fucked her. Stab four; seeing and feeling the fear my sister had for him. Stab five; the mask my sister wore each morning, to conceal the pain hidden in her eyes. Stab six; for all those times my sister slashed her write to ease her mind. Stab seven; scaring her for life! Tears stream down my face. I get off his mangled body and kick it. I chuck the knife aside, trot back to my room and crawl into bed. I just brutally killed a man and I have never felt better!

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