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Main » Articles » Literary Works

"Whatever Happens on Saturday the 14th": Prologue


   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.

Category: Literary Works | Added by: SciHi (2010-02-20) | Author: Charlemagne R. Dumaya E
Views: 438 | Comments: 1 | Rating: 5.0/1
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