I Live For The Chase

Chapter 2

The sun awakes me disruptively the morning after. My head is pounding with the lingering threat of my dissipating humanity and the memories of the events from last night sit suspended in the air like particles of fallout from bombs.

There is a small moment of peace where my mind is distant from those evil memories. For a small moment I am able to just exist.

But the memories are there and they are real so as my mind awakens into the new day and my consciousness is established again, the memories return with it.

I killed my Dad.

I tried to frame it on The Grey Devil.

The Grey Devil caught me.

I was caught by a murderer.

There is some irony in that I am going to choose to ignore.

He caught me and I thought he was going to kill me...

But he didn't.

And then I made a promise.

You just made a deal with the Devil.

A cool shiver consumes me.

My head feels groggy as I pull myself out of bed.

The guilt seeps into my blood stream.

It is slow, but once it has made its way into my veins and ran its course through the entirety of my body, it sits heavy.

I go to the bathroom and look at the reflection of my face in the mirror. I bring my hand and touch the illusory image of myself.

I can't believe what I've done. The guilt is eating me away from the inside, like a voracious beast that won't let go. It's a weight that's suffocating me, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I took a life, a precious, irreplaceable life, and now I'm left with the unbearable weight of my actions.

Last night, I crossed a line that I never thought I would. I killed my dad, and the enormity of that decision is crashing down on me with overwhelming force. The image of his face, frozen in that moment, haunts me. His drunken eyes, consumed with fear and disbelief, are etched into my memory like a nightmare I can't escape from.

The guilt is consuming me, unraveling my sanity with each passing moment. I can't escape the feeling of regret, the knowing that I've caused irreversible pain to someone and their loved ones. I am plagued by the "what ifs," the constant questioning of my actions. What if I had chosen differently? What if I had found another way? The questions taunt me, but there are no answers that can justify what I've done.

I feel like a monster, a shadow of the person I used to be. I can't recognise myself in the mirror anymore. How could I have let myself become this? How could I have taken a life? The guilt is an insurmountable barrier that separates me from the rest of the world, a barrier that I've constructed with my own actions.

I can't find solace in anything anymore. The guilt is a companion, a heavy burden that I won't shake off.

And yet, despite that guilt, I can't seem to shake of the horrid feeling that I don't regret it and for that I feel even more guilt.

I don't regret killing my Dad.

He was a horrible person.

He would have killed me sooner or later, that I am certain of.

I descend the stairs to the living room and my gaze turns straight to the couch. His couch and then I see it.

The small puddle of dark blood soaked on the floorboards. Next to it is a smashed bottle of beer that was his.