The last time I visited my parents’ they were murdered right in front of me. They were murdered by a person I didn’t recognize. But I saw him draw a knife, and kill both of them, when they refused to tell him where “the girl” was. “What are you doing?” she shouted at him, and then curled up in a corner and mumbled to herself, “this can’t be happening! Daddy, what did you do to make him tick?” she wondered to herself. I only called him daddy when I was nervous, or scared. He went over to her, he wanted to comfort her but he didn’t know what to say. “Don’t touch me!” she yelled, and he moved his hand away.
“I’m sorry_” he started, finally breaking the silence. “I had to, for my sister’s sake. I did something bad. I made a mistake,” he tried to reason with her.
“Don’t, lie to me! Murderers are never sorry!” Her eyes were furious now.
“Well it’s a hell of a mistake. They are my parent’s, now I have nothing and I will always have nothing and I want nothing from you,” she ran toward the phone, with no time to call the Police. The man wrestled the phone away from me and put it back on the hook.
“Do not call them. It would be a big mistake. You are chosen at least you will be. I’m so sorry I made a mistake and there’s no fixing it, but your Father made a mistake too.”
Then he walked out the door and was gone. I would see him again very soon, though.
His words made me shiver, “Do not call them. It would be a big mistake. You are chosen at least you will be. I’m so sorry I made a mistake and there’s no fixing it, but your Father made a mistake too.”