"Hey! Pass the booze." yelled the intoxicated girl who had half a white face and the other half, red. I knew Rock Point was a hangout place for teenagers but I had never given much thought into what goes on down here. Probably because it was surrounded by a forest on three sides and a river on the fourth, I didn't think any child would be brave enough to go there, clearly I was wrong. There were guys chugging on beers, girls half-naked and loosely holding their red plastic cups, nearly passed out. Incredibly piercing music was blasted which literally shook the forest trees due to high frequency. Adolescents had filled the arena, dancing, flirting, kissing and even bullying one another; it was a painful sight I never thought I would witness. A drunk shirtless boy yelled out the words skinny dipping and all the kids ran towards the river. What were they doing? It was 1 am and they all decided to bathe... naked? I will never be able to understand what goes on in their teeny little music-lyrics filled brains. As all the kids proceeded to the river, two stayed behind, one whispering into the other's ear while walking towards a car.
"You glow brighter than the moon." said the boy as he curled the girl's hair off her face to behind her ear. He parted his lips and moved forward to plant a gentle yet passionate kiss on her lips. I knew this was my moment, to get fair with life, to get revenge, if I can't have children then neither can anyone else. As he leaned back, he slowly opened his eyes to find a black shadow standing in front of his car, me. He looked me in the eyes with anger as he honked the horn repeatedly. As I stepped closer to his car he noticed the razor-sharp piece of glass in my hand which made him rush to switch on the ignition of the car. I slammed my elbow in the side window and unlocked the door to the side where the girl had sat, dragging her out of the car by pulling her beautifully curled locks. I held the piece of glass in the air and with immense pressure thrusted it into the girl's spine. "FOR ALL PARENTS!" I yelled as I repeated the routine on the boy next to her. I walked back, still grasping the blood covered jagged piece of glass. It's less painful for their parents this way. They did not have to see their kids die. Now they can live their life in peace, free from the fear of losing their kids. It's better for everyone. One quick hurtful motion is better than having to go through the torture of a weak body because eventually, everyone will die. I would know, particularly because I lost two kids that painful way, they had to fight for their lives.
I still remember the day my life fell apart; it was a warm Sunday afternoon. I was driving my kids from their grandma's place when suddenly a drunk truck driver who was speeding, banged into the back of my car. The glass from the back-window shattered into tiny pieces, some of which entered the spines of my two children, Andy and Sally. Andy was my sixteen year old football playing son. He was not an academically strong student but had a big name in sports, probably because of his athletic body and his status as the captain of the football team. Brown hair, fair complexion, hazel eyes, he looked like a younger more good-looking version of me. Sally was my 'fifteen year old sweetheart. She was the daughter every father dreamt of, excellent in studies, did not like to party or mix with boys, but she did have a habit that I found really annoying, reading books. She would read constantly and spare no time for her family, especially when we would go on picnics where we would prank other families by throwing pebbles into their food baskets. She found that "immature" but Andy and I had a lot of fun doing it. I enjoyed bonding with them, it gave me peace. Unfortunately, my last few days with them were worse than what Christians refer to as "hell". For a week, I watched my children lie on the cold hard beds of the hospital, breathing uncontrollably as their spinal cord had been damaged beyond repair due to the damage caused by the glass. The pain in their eyes was unbearable for me; their tears brought me down to my knees. My children were dying and there was absolutely nothing I could do to help them. I felt useless, weak and irrelevant. What kind of a father was I? I couldn't even take care of my children, keep them safe and just like that, one day, they both were no more.
I quickly adapted to my new routine. Every night at 1 am, I would go to Rock Point and wait for a couple of teenagers to move away from the rest of the crowd so I could strike. Killing them all with the same piece of glass, the only part of the glass that was left of the back-window, the same back-window which took the lives of my children. The only difference between the murders of my children and these kids is that these kids won't bear as much pain as my children did. I had saved several parents' lives by killing their children and relieving them from the pain I felt as I watched my kids' lives bleed away. It didn't take me any time or any thinking to shove the piece of glass into the children's spines. Once when a girl was leaving a party early, I swooped in to do my job. She caught my eye and noticed the prickly piece of glass in my hand. Instead of retaliating or running or screaming, she held the cross that was tied around her delicate long neck. I followed my routine and killed her in the blink of an eye. I went forwards, turned her body upside down as I could only face her back. I yanked the chain off her neck and threw it into the river. If God existed, he wouldn't have taken away my child, that's not fair.
People had gradually begun to learn about me, about my job as a savior. Fascinatingly, instead of appreciating my work, parents started to criticize my misbehavior and conduct. They began to complain about my "extreme behavior" and said that I should be sent to a mental hospital as soon as possible. I did not understand any of this until I saw one of the parents going through the same amount of pain as me. The teary eyes reminded me of myself, how I felt when I saw my children dying. I learnt that it does not matter how your children die, the fact that they're gone is painful enough. It hit me, I was guilty. No matter what my excuse may be for killing all those children, they were innocent; they did not deserve to die, not like that. "Mr. Andrew Gaurmin, You are under arrest for mass murder."
