Anna Cox, Grade 6
‘’There is someone I would like you to meet.’’
Mother pulls me into a soothing hug. The door stumbles open. An imposing figure walks in; his strut, cruel; uncaring.
‘’This is your father.’’ And with that her hand disappears from my shoulder and she leaves the room.
‘’Boy!’’ I stare down shyly. His hand takes flight and whirls into my face knocking me down; sending me flying into the ground. My head gives a sharp crunch and as the darkness devours me, I scream for my mother. She is gone.
My father is not a man to be questioned, nor doubted. My best is not good enough. I am not to be seen, nor heard. I must always look my father in the eyes, but most of all, I MUST NOT FEEL. I do feel. I must be broken. I feel for the children, for the mothers, sisters, brothers, of which their loved ones my blade has tugged, screaming into the spiralling pit of end. Father says I must do this, for it will make me strong. It does not; it just breaks. This is what I am, this is who I am. My father has turned me into his whirling blade of cut; of kill. My mind clears. The brokenness washes away; I know what I must do.
My father sleeps peacefully. He does not wake as the acetone drips over his body covering him from head to toe, though as his mind flickers delicately into consciousness, it is already too late. The match has taken its flight full path painting a smoky trail in the air. The sight of it is so great, so bright so......
The blaze is brilliant. The expression on his face is priceless. The smell of searing flesh fills the air. Delicious. It is the smell of glory. A smile creeps on my face as my father writhes screaming.
So this is happiness.