You can call me Jordan. This is my story. Well, not entirely mine, but yeah. I lost my mom when I was 9. And since then my life hasn’t been the same again. But my dad tried his best to keep me comfortable. He was a nice man, you know. He owned a farm and with the meager income, he did whatever he could to make my life happy.
Except for one thing. He drank heavily. Every night he would come home drunk, take his old harmonica and sing melancholies about his lost love – my mom. He’s told me multiple times that he could not resist the alcohol because it helped numb the pain that lingered within him.
No one would expect my dad to be a nice guy at first sight. He had a bit of that scary vibe. He was black, built, yet lanky, and had a long, scraggly beard. He wasn’t the kind of person who
socialized with everyone and yet he wasn’t disliked by anyone too.
Now, about me. I am a high school student. I slowly transformed into a reclusive introvert after the death of my mother. I no longer talk to anyone. It was that weight that always hung inside me. She was more than a parent-she was my best friend. I learned a lot from her during the very short span of time I got to spend with her. Well, life goes on but somehow I could not adapt to myself anymore. I knew something had changed within me, something I couldn’t control or fathom-but I kept on avoiding it.
It was then that those unexpected things began occurring.
My dad had a fight with another man in the bar one night. It started with a simple argument. The man then apparently spoke ill of my mom and my dad reacted violently. When my dad returned, he had bruises all over his hands and face. He was sobbing when he narrated the incident to me. I noticed he was unusually sober that night.
The day after this incident happened, the man with whom my dad had fought at the bar, was found dead in his car; his head smashed open with a large weapon.
I heard the news from school and when I reached home, I told my dad about the man’s death. The look on his face was purely governed by shock but I could sense a bit of guilt too. That night, he was out most of the time and when he came back, surprisingly, he wasn’t drunk. It was evident that something was bothering him. Doubts started growing inside me but I kept quiet. “No, my dad would never kill”, I said to myself.
Last week, a senior from my school, Tyler, started bullying me, calling my dad a drunkard and making annoying remarks about me being black. I could tolerate the name-calling, but I couldn’t stand him calling my dad a drunkard. I proceeded to hit him, but instead ended up getting beaten up myself. Eventually they stopped, seeing that I was an easy victim. I told Dad what happened. As soon as he heard the story he went out with his car and returned only after midnight.
I woke up next day to the news that Tyler had bled to death in his bedroom the previous day after his throat was slit open with a sharp object. He was found tied to his bed.
Yesterday, my dad was arrested by the police. Some villagers saw blood near my house and the garage and grew suspicious. Considering the fight he had with the murdered man and the fact that he was seen at Tyler’s house telling him to stop bothering me, my dad couldn’t have been a more convenient suspect.
My dad denied the crime, but all the evidence stood against him. He was eventually sent to prison, even though the murder weapons were never found.
And now, I am alone in this house – no mom, no dad – all alone with nothing to keep me company. Well, except the reflection of me that I am watching in the mirror.
Me, standing there with tears trickling down my cheeks. Tears, after laughing…….laughing so hard.
I am standing in front of the mirror, with the sledgehammer in one
hand and the dagger in the other.
I told you, my dad would never kill. He knew I wasn’t normal. And his suspicions grew stronger after the man died. Well, he couldn’t save Tyler too. Now that my poor Daddy is in jail, who is going to stop me?
I love you, Dad.