stigma ; kth

오명 stigma

Darkness, enveloping the streets. The only source of light was coming from the streetlights. Silence, ringing in my ears...

I stood in front of a closed store, a screwdriver in hand. I started scraping the graffiti off of the metal door, concentrating on it.

After a few minutes, I sensed that a police car halted behind me. The sound of a car door opening can be heard. The light of a flashlight was spotted on me.

Ha, he found me. I thought.

"Put your hands up in the air and don't move."

I did what I was told, and slowly faced him. I smirked at him and he pinned me on the metal door, handcuffing both of my wrists. I'm still smirking at him.

He brought me to the police station in the middle of the night. Why? Because I did something disgraceful to myself, to my family, to God.

Dragging me inside the police station, we went inside a dim-lighted room. He opened the door and pushed me inside. He went in too and locked the door. "Sit down, kid." He pointed at a chair in the middle of the room. There was a table and on each side has one chair. Above it, a light was hanging from the ceiling. I sat down on one chair and he sat on the other chair. He opened a laptop, which I didn't noticed that was placed there, and started typing. Silence filled the room. Until, the police officer talked.

"Name?" He asked. I stared at the floor and after a few moments, I answered him. "Brett Greyson." He typed it down and continued on typing for a few seconds. "Age?" I was still staring down at the floor but I answered him anyway. "Twenty-one." He typed it down and continued on typing for a few seconds once again. "Parents?" I looked at him seriously for a moment and looked away. "I don't have any." I replied. In that question, everything that happened came back...

An abusive father and a sister was all I had. Father kept on hitting my sister, kept on making her suffer, and kept on making her miserable. She's the one who gets punished when it was supposed to be me. I would see her lying down on her bed, crying silently. When that happens, I hug her. I wanted to tell her that I'm sorry because I couldn't protect her.

Until one time, I was walking back to our apartment when I heard shouting. Father was hurting her again. Then it was followed by a glass breaking into pieces. I saw an empty glass bottle and broke it in half. I stood by the door, the bottle in my hand. I was right, father was hurting her again. Anger was swelling inside me. Without thinking, I walked quickly inside the house, them not noticing me. I passed by my sister and I grabbed him by his shoulder. Upon seeing me, he started shouting at me. It made me angrier than before. I was so angry I stabbed the shattered bottle on his stomach, filled with rage.

Blood was spreading through my father's shirt, and soon, blood stained my hands too. Adrenaline was rushing through me. A look of fear was plastered on my face. I ran both of my hands through my face and let them fall on my sides weakly. Tears were now flowing through my cheeks. "Br-Brett...what have you done?" my sister asked, her voice trembling in fear. She started sobbing. "Brett...why?" She cried even more.

Are you calling me a sinner? I am a sinner. I felt helpless. I felt like the whole world was on my shoulders. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my sister. Even if I try to hide it or conceal it, it cannot be erased. I cannot undo it anymore.

I left home that time and made sure my sister won't find me but in the end, I was still found. Hiding didn't made any difference. I still killed my father.

The light that I will see when my time has come, please forgive my sins. Please let me receive my punishment. Please.