I got away with it.

Death , a five letter word most people fear from time to time. This word can bring many thoughts to mind, new beginning, the end of a legacy, the beginning of a new reign in time. Every person has their own views on death and what it brings to the world. Death to me was death. Nothing less, nothing more, but I had always feared death. I feared the thought of dying, it taunted me. This burning sense of fear is what I’d use later in my life time.

 

I was a troubled child, disliking many things like the company of my family. My family was impossible to get along with, always asking me questions about my actions and if I was alright in the end. My father didn’t care much for me and my siblings just thought I was an irritating little boy. I was fine with all of this, it didn’t trouble be the slightest bit. Life was easy for me, never having to worry about being yelled at or threatened by anything but I was still scared.

 

My mother would take me to guidance consultants and Therapist to try and get me to talk to them. She’d leave me alone with whoever was at the session and he’d ask me normal questions like ‘How are you feeling? And Do you like your family.’ Silly things like that. Of course, being smarter than I projected, I answered each question like a normal child. Bubbly giggles and soft smiles with a hint of trouble in my eyes. Each therapist would just smile and explain to my mother nothing was wrong.

 

My mother couldn’t stand to look or be near me after a while. She’d talk about school and small things and then leave me alone for a while. She knew something was terribly wrong with her child but had no Idea what to do. I’d walk up to her while she was washing the dishes and she’d flash a fearful, troubled smile and then continue scrubbing. I’d wait and wait; staring hard at her with mismatched expressions and sometimes leave her with a devious cackle. I’d turned around the corner, headed into another room and listen to her start to weep. The sounds she made where terribly pleasant with each breathe she took.

 

I was eighteen years young and I thrived at arts, fighting, math, science and history. I was almost happy with my life. I had a well paying job for someone my age; I was doing well in school and had a good group of friends. My father and I bonded in a strange way but I didn’t mind it most of the time. The one problem was my Mother. I hated knowing she was alive and well, always scared of me in every sense possible. She wouldn’t speak to me anymore, nor would she look directly at my face. It sickened me knowing she couldn’t understand me and deal with it like the others. I wanted her gone.

 

Having the perfect plan I figured I’d put it to work. Each day my father would be gone around seven to ten each night; the perfect amount of time for my work. My siblings would be out and about until midnight so it’d usually be my mother and I. she’d be in the foyer reading or upstairs taking a nap. I thought about how ‘messy’ my job would be and figured it didn’t matter anymore. Today was the day, she would be removed from my life forever.

 

I sighed and chuckled to myself, humming soft tunes and short melodies as I grabbed a large box of matches, a few cigarettes and some lighter fluid. I waited; standing in the kitchen to make sure my mother was asleep, hearing no signs of movement. After it was all clear I decided to take the large butcher knife from the drawer, loving the shiny complexion and the sharp edges. Looking at the time it was ten minutes past nine so I had enough time to start my crime. I skipped through the rooms, grabbing pictures of myself before hopping up the stairs.

 

Slowly I moved throughout the halls, going still as a statue when I heard a noise. I’d wait a few moments before I moved again. Eventually making it into my mother’s room I watched her slowly inhale and exhale, imagining the rhythm of her heart. It disgusted me to the fullest. I flinched and cringed, throwing the thoughts away. I mumbled and started to work. I had to make it seem like a suicide, knowing my mother was troubled. I took the pictures and placed the around the floor of her bed, then setting one on her dresser. I placed a few matches on the floor and next to the picture on the dresser before laying the cigarettes under her blanket. The next step was the hardest.

 

I flinched quickly growing petrified, watching my mother shaking slightly in her sleep. I waited and waited, unsure if she was fully asleep or not. After a while I figured it was safe and continued. I poured a few drops along her blanket and her pillow as slow as possible, making a trail around the pictures on the floor, letting it seep into the carpet. I grabbed the box of matches and threw more of them onto the bed and floor, slowly lighting one. I pressed it onto my hand quickly as blood soon trailed down my palm. I was highly aware of the pain but didn’t care too much. I did the same thing to my cheek, forehead and upper arm before It was ready. I kicked the door and my mother slowly awoke, suddenly throwing herself upwards.

 

We stared at each other before she noticed what I had done. I had half an hour left, just enough time. She looked at me and tried throwing herself to get the matches but I had already it one, placing it onto the lighter fluid before she could take another step I thrusted the knife into her stomach, slowly twisting it before pulling away. I was fearful of myself at that point but could do nothing about it. The room quickly progressed into large colored flames, engulfing my mother within them as I thrusted the door closed, locking it quickly. I heard the loud, ear splitting screams coming from the room. The thrashing around and the banging upon the heated door, it was pleasurable.  I gripped the blood covered knife I had placed in my back pocket, slowly carving into the heated door. I wined as the heat slowly started to burn deeper into my hands but continued on. This was the perfect crime…

 

I had explained to the cops, neighbors and my family what had happened. I was washing the dishes because out mother was asleep and I wanted to do something nice. I suddenly heard a loud series of crashed and bangs, the followed by screaming. I dropped the dishes and ran up the stairs, finding my mother holding the matches in her hand. I started to sob, trying to stop her but I was too late. I tried pulling her away but I only got burned. She then shoved me away and locked the door, using the flames to cover her troubled mind. I had explained what I saw, pictures of me arraigned on the floor with cuts and broken glass. My father soon told the cops about her obsessions with ‘fixing’ me and the ‘fear’ she had of me. The story was complete; my life was heaven as of that night. My life was complete and once again, I got away with it.

Author's Note

I'd have to say this is a fairly violent piece of writing in a way....

Reviews

[TheSweet]

This is pretty dark and sinister. I liked it. It held my attention the whole way - though I wouldn't say it was 'the perfect murder' :P

This could do with a proof read. A few I noted was second paragraph should be 'Didn't trouble me' and last paragraph: 'our/my mother'. I think there is one or two more. Also, at the end when he locks her in the room, don't repeat 'heated door', think of something different for one of them.

I think you've given he character a strong voice and this is clearly written, but I think some of the sentences could be shaken up a little to make it more impacting or sound more professional. In other words, another edit trying to make it as clear as possible - perhaps reading it out loud to make sure it sounds as intended.

I liked your opening paragraph, and this story needs no more elaboration - It is what it is, so there's nothing more I can suggest about the content. Keep it up :) Thanks for sharing.