death wish

Here's the story of how I died.

I lived in a run-down cabin in a village at the bottom of a volcano with my two children and sister in-law. We had moved there a couple years back, after my wife died. The cabin was small, only just big enough to house us all, and desperately needed renovating. The roof, in places, was completely wrecked. 

It didn't matter. The children enjoyed the large garden, though the plants were withered and the trees ill. Their aunt complained about the living situation on a daily basis but stayed for the sake of the children, as she considered me entirely inept of raising them. I, on the other hand, found it almost too perfect.

You see, I had a death wish. Not for myself, as you might presume at first. Well, not just for myself. For my family. My children.

The murderers I was forced to live with.

They were born four years ago. I rushed my wife to the hospital when her water broke, and initially sat by her side while she was in labour until a nurse escorted me outside because there were some "complications". I sat outside her door while she screamed bloody murder, then silence. I heard the cry of a newborn. Then another. 

The same nurse who had brought me outside approached me and said "Twins," with a sad smile. Twins! How wonderful, I thought. "But your wife..." I looked up slowly and stared her in the eye blankly as she apologised for my loss, and asked if I would like to see the babies. The murderers. The infants who caused my beloved's death. The children that took from me the most important thing in my life, my soulmate.

I didn't give them up for adoption. I needed to make sure they got the same fate their mother did. I wanted to take from them what they stole from her. So when they turned two years old we moved to where we live now; the base of an active volcano. I knew that eventually it would erupt, killing us all, and until then I could make a living by farming the rich earth around it.

One day, I received a notice in the postbox warning us to evacuate because of a potential eruption. My plan could commence.

I shredded the notice and announced to everyone that we were to go on a camping trip in the forest halfway up the volcano. The twins shouted in glee and their aunt, though at first reluctant, started packing what we would need.

A few hours later, we set off. We arrived at our destination at sunset, and sat atop a rock watching it before we put up the tent and went to sleep.

The next morning, we awoke to the sound of sirens. The children started crying and their aunt was bent over, praying. A smile crept across my face. It was too late for prayers to do anything.

In a matter of minutes, the volcano erupted, ash blocking my vision before a rock landed on me and I was killed. The last thing I saw was my family lying dead on the ground. My plan had worked.