KILLER

• Mahni Lu, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

I gave my wife’s killer a home.

Some might think it’s some weird sort of secondary Stockholm syndrome, but it’s not. I love him because I have to. Because even if I did hate him it’s in my genes to do the opposite. Most nights he cries for hours until I come in and comfort him. I think he’s still haunted by what he did. Maybe riddled with guilt or loss, maybe pain. Most nights I wonder if he even remembers.

I see my wife’s killer smile.

I wish that if I killed someone my smile would still be perceived as innocent. A lot didn't see my wife that way after she had killed two that were just like the one that ended her life. Once when she was younger when she was stupid and naive and didn't know how to properly protect herself. The next, instead of being caused by an accident, was really just not to be. Every part of the second time was an accident, and that killed herself a little bit on the inside. My wife was expecting a gift from the victim but she died on the way to her.

I take my wife’s killer out to lunch.

I admit it hurts. But 1 know she would be proud. I also know she felt guilty and was glad to even out the score. And that makes me feel alone. I kind of feel forgotten in this whole situation. Because everything was looking up until everything went down and 1 was left behind in the aftermath of a tsunami full of loss and broken promises.

I watch time pass with my wife’s killer.

Soon he will move out, and leave me alone. Maybe not without the pain but that will pass. He reminds me of her in so many ways and I truly am grateful. I love him more than anyone or any beautiful thing in the world. And no this is not some sort of secondary Stockholm syndrome, because you wouldn't expect any less of a father to his son. I think about this,

as 1 bottle feed my wife’s killer.