The Monster That Took Away My Little Boy

S K I R T L I M E G E N E R A T E S K I I N G C L O U D Y R E C I P R O C A T E T A N G I B L E S E E D Y C O N D O N E B R I D G E

It has been exactly one year since the tragedy. The tragedy that took place at an elementary school. The tragedy that killed 103 students and 17 teachers. The tragedy that allowed the perpetrator to shoot himself afterwards. The tragedy that my son committed.

I love my son, but I hate who he became. I love the little boy who used to play video games. I love the little boy that would nag me to give money to homeless people on the streets. I love the little boy who would always make me breakfast in bed. I love the little boy who would tutor younger kids for free. I love the little boy that dreamed of equality. I love the little boy that stood up to his bullies. I love that little boy. I hate the monster that transformed my little boy into a ruthless murderer. I hate the monster that made my son a hostage inside of a sick mind. I hate the monster that ripped my son away from me. I hate the monster that destroyed my son and the remains of what he once was. I hate the monster who killed my son. I hate that monster.

The whole world hates me, and I don't blame them. And today is the day that my interview will be broadcasted live on television. They are expecting to generate around 48 million viewers to tune in. 48 million people who already hate me. 48 million people who believe that I condone my son's actions.

I grab a tangible green apple from the kitchen and take a bite out of it. It's too seedy, but I don't throw it out. Staring at the apple's lime green skin reminds me of a little girl who I never got to know, but have heard a lot about. She loved horses. Her favorite movie was Finding Nemo. She liked to go skiing with her family. She would always reciprocate the love that she received. Her favorite color was green. Exactly one year ago, she was wearing her favorite lime-green skirt. She was seven years old. She was killed. By my son.

And just one week later, both of her parents jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge.

I can't do this. Tears stream out of my eyes like a waterfall. I punch the beige wall so hard that I almost create a hole in it.

I want to die. I want to tell all of the children and teachers that I'm sorry. I want to hold them tight. I want to kiss all of their little cheeks. I want to read them happy stories. I want to tell my little boy that I love him. I want my little boy to play video games. I want my little boy to nag me to give money to homeless people on the streets. I want my little boy to make me breakfast in bed. I want my little boy to tutor younger kids for free. I want my little boy who dreamed of equality. I want my little boy to stand up to his bullies. I love that little boy. I want to ask the monster why he transformed my little boy into a ruthless monster. I want to ask the monster why he made my son a hostage inside of a sick mind. I want to ask the monster why he ripped my son away from me. I want to ask the monster why he destroyed my son and the remains of what he once was. I want to ask the monster why he killed my son. I hate that monster.

I run to my car and begin to drive. As soon as I arrive at the Golden Gate Bridge, I jump.

As I am falling, I am forced to face the cloudy sky. The clouds slowly fade and I see the children, the teachers, my little boy and the monster.

I am finally able to do what I have been wanting to do for the past year. I can finally bring joy to the children, teachers and my little boy, and I am finally able to receive answers from the monster.

Reviews

[Wicahpi]

Hi Sam. Thank you for entering 10 Words I Give. Such a tragic story! Though I find there to be a lot of repetition in this piece, I find the subject matter very relative to today's society (unfortunately!) and you've chosen to tell it from a parental point of view. I can't even begin to image that kind of pain. Kudos!