The Bestial Justice
It’s been one year since that day, the day I ended life of the man I hated more than any other: my father. I remember every detail as if it were playing out on a television screen in front of me. The crimson blood, the agonizing screams, the mixture of fear, guilt, and exhilaration in my chest; I remember all of it. Or rather, I can’t forget. God knows I’ve tried more times than I can count. I thought killing him would end the nightmares, bring some sort of peace to the elements of chaos that had been wreaking havoc in my mind. I was wrong, more than wrong actually. The pain is still there, now compounded with the memories of the blood with which I sullied my hands. Honestly, I don’t know how I ever thought that pouring blood upon blood could cleanse my mind.
The idea came into being during dinner one chilly December evening.
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