I Killed him for Good
How does it feel to kill someone for good?
I thought about it often. Today was no different. I thought about it while travelling back to my house from school.
How will it feel to kill him? Will I feel regret? Guilt? Nothing? Or maybe happiness? Freedom? I was not sure of the answer.
I would be killing for good, so it should not be bad. Right?
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice when I reached my stop. I got off the bus and continued on my way to the house which hasn't felt like home in a while. I walked along the lone grey road and I realized that life is also well..grey.
Life is not black or white, it is simply Grey. A lot of grey.
The air was chilly, but it was more comfortable than the heaters in the house. I was walking slowly down the road, hoping to spend as much time as possible there. The way my feet were caressing the road with every step I took, was a love affair.
This road was very crucial, it was taking me to my destination. What would I do without it? How come I never appreciated it before? But, well isn't life all about ignoring the big, useful things? The kinds which are always present in the background, facilitating your life without making you feel indebted to them?
Slowly but surely I was reaching my destination. I felt a pang of guilt, an almost melancholy taking over me at the thought of having to separate my feet from the road, but what could I do? This love story is just not meant to be.
I was entering the house now. It was not a home, just a house, a shelter for me; where I could hide. Where I could think freely about anything, not afraid of someone watching me or observing me or perhaps trying to decipher what I was thinking about. It was a relief to know my thoughts were safe from the world. They were mine and mine alone. Nobody can change them. Nobody can interrupt them. Relief floods through me at the conclusion.
I entered the house, with the now familiar smell of alcohol everywhere. At first, I used to feel sick by the obnoxious smell, but with the years I got immune to those unpleasant odors that always surround the whole house.
I saw him, sitting on the sofa watching TV with a bottle near him, slowly sipping the golden liquid. The liquid goes down his throat, which is always waiting to feel the warmth of the touch of that golden poison. I saw his lips slowly and delicately caressing the glass of his precious poison.
The coveted drink was not alone, today it was accompanied by some cheap snack. He looked so peaceful drinking right now, having his eyes fixed on the old movie, which he will always watch.
When I was little, I used to urge him to change the channel, only to be shouted at, screamed at. What was my fault? Only asking him to watch something new. But, some people have their life enclosed in a small box. He was one of them. Living and happily getting suffocated in his own small box of miseries.
I started walking towards my room. Maybe, I unconsciously made a sound, which made him notice me.
"How was your day?" He asked, his voice dancing on the tunes created by the alcohol who I feel was consuming him more than he consumed it.
"It was okay." I like to keep my replies straight and short when I am around him.
"Anything interesting that happened?" I couldn't help but noticed how his face had got disfigured from excessive consumption of alcohol. Red eyes, red nose, uneven skin tone, patches on the forehead, and some on his cheeks. He looked like a flower, a withered, stomped, dried out flower, but a flower nonetheless.
