Jack

Family Quest by @GabyCabezut

The first time I killed someone was by accident. Sort of. To be honest, at the exact moment I was staring at the cat, wondering if I had it in me to go through this, she jumped at me and I ended up stabbing her. I like to think that it was in self-defense because that cat was as evil as her owner.

Which brings me to the present situation. If the first time I killed could be considered an act of self-defense, I can't say the same about the second time.

I stare into Mrs. Anderson's empty eyes, and I know very well that I killed her deliberately. I don't feel bad. If anything, I feel like I'm like a modern-vigilante, cleaning the streets from bad, rotten people like the woman in front of me.

I grab the knife I stole from my grandmother's kitchen and place it on her stomach. I'm not too excited about my subject, but I do intent to go to med school in a couple of years, and here's my chance to see the inside of a human body for the first time. Swallowing hard, I push down the knife. There's a trail of blood coming out, but all I can think about is how it all began.

Mrs. Anderson was a nasty person. Anyone could see that from first sight. She was a scary looking woman, walking around in her cluttered patio with the sole companion of her foul white cat. Her unkempt house reflected her. It was a sore sight. The grass was tall, creeper plants covered the front porch, and it honestly looked like a dump.

I do remember seeing a young girl around my age for a few days. Right until Mrs. Anderson flipped and beat the crap out of her. We'd heard the screams and my grandmother had called the police, but before they arrived, the girl had managed to run away. We hadn't seen her ever since.

It was such a contrast from my own situation at my grandmother's house. My grandmother was the epitome of her neighbor. She was always smiling, spreading words of wisdom at any chance she could, and she was definitely too kind for her own good.

She even tried to befriend Mrs. Andrews. Several times, but she hadn't been lucky. Hell. I don't think anyone could be friends with that woman.

I smile. It doesn't matter now.

My grandmother was so different from Mrs. Andrews. She was positive and kind all the time; it was something I admired her for. I waited all year long to come back here for the summer. She was amazing, and after Grandpa passed away two years ago, I felt like I needed to at least keep her company for the summer.

She was doing fine on her own, though. She'd always been a wonderful cook, but now, she was somewhat famous among her friends for her special beef stew. It was so popular that she even cooked it exclusively for one of the town's restaurant.

Mrs. Anderson's cat had been too fond of the stew as well. Two weeks after I arrived, the cat had managed to ruin my grandmother's stew three times. The food had to cook overnight, and in those three times, we'd found the cat had sneaked in to eat half of the saucepan. The first time it happened, I assumed that Mrs. Anderson didn't feed her, and we'd tried to give her canned tuna, but the cat had ignored the fish and eaten the stew instead.