I held the glinting blade in one hand, the white rosary in the
other. I felt the chilly November breeze on my face, a sure mark of the
approaching Yuletide Season. Silently I entered my father's bedchamber,
pitch-black except for some stray rays of moonlight passing through the
frosted window panes. There he is, my Guardian Angel, my dad, the only
family I have left. Tip-toeing to his bedside, I watched his calm
slumber. Thoughts of our past swept over me, a haunting chain of
memories left behind by his cruel kindness. I watched his peaceful,
snoring sleep like a mother brooding over her dying baby.
My dad shifted his position baring his bony face and chest. It is
hardly the image of the pillar of the family; rather it was the image
of a servant. Veins stood out within his golden brown skin. On his face
are etched narrow rivulets, an open record of the hardships he endured
for the past fourteen years.
Fourteen years--that's about all of of my life already. I'm not
sure how many fathers would fight in court for the legal custody of
their children, but he did. Against my worthless mother. I was only 10
months old then, and God knows how he fed me and took care of me--he
literally took the food from his mouth to give it to me. When asked
what offense my father had commited, I can only answer with regretful
indifference: "Nothing, except that he had been too kind."
I silently prayed that I would change my mind. The night is so
peaceful, so unaware of my actions that I gave killing a second
thought.But suddenly, all was too late and nothing of what has been
done can be taken back.
I raised the blade, waiting for the perfect time to strike. I
couldn't think- don't want to think about anything else anymore. I had
seen this coming, but not so soon and drastic. It was my final bid for
my freedom, and I don't care if it takes the life of my life. Freedom
is worth much more than that...
I was trying very hard to control my emotions, but a sudden wave of
tears persistently came over me. If someone had told me two weeks ago
that I would be doing this, I would have said he had lost his mind. But
now, all I feel is a daunting sanity, a reality that has to be
fulfilled. "Dad," I whispered, " I wish you wouldn't blame me for this."
I watched the bars of moonlight illuminate my raised arm. For one
moment, I thought the shimmer of the metal blade would be enough to
wake my dad. But he slept on, dreaming, perhaps, of times to come,
times that will never be. As tears began to fall from my eyes in hot
little streams, I held the rosary tighter in my hand and said a prayer
for my father's soul. I could not wait any longer. "I love you, Dad," I
whispered at the downswing.
What will be, will be.