Psychopathic

Prologue

The moment he let go of my hand, I stepped forward instinctively with my hand outstretched, thinking it was just a mistake. Why would dad let go of my hand so quickly without squeezing it first? He always, always squeeze my hand before letting it go, a signal that is important for both of us. It had always been.

But he opened his closed fist without warning and off he went, running so fast it didn't register my mind that he was gone until I saw him lay his hands on the little girl on the middle of the road. Why is the little girl in the middle of the road? Dad always tell me that I shouldn't go near the road without an adult, and I dutifully avoided the road as much as possible except when Dad was beside me, holding my hand. Where is the little girl's dad or mom?

A split second after I saw dad touch the girl, the familiar sound of a car engine filled my ears, a dissonant, jarring sound in the background that amplified once the car neared. The scary thing about this is that the car was so near I could almost hear the song blaring inside, and I could catch some of the lyrics:

"Excitable boy, they all said."

Then there is a sickening thud, as if a body hit solid concrete. When I turned to look at dad, he was lying on his back, arms splayed on a pool of blood. The image was so potent and dangerous in my four year old mind that I replayed it again and again, unable to stop. My feet carried me to his side and I kneeled, my knees getting damp from the sickly wet blood of my father. His face was battered and bloody, beyond recognizable, and I noticed white bone sticking out from his neck.

I didn't cry. It was too surreal for me. Grief didn't get hold of me yet, since my mind still can't comprehend the reality of death. Instead, I looked over to the crying little girl with wavy blonde hair and vowed revenge, knowing she's the reason of my father's demise. If only she had stayed away from the road.

"I will kill you." I whispered incoherently under my breath, and at that time, the words meant nothing to me, just a phrase to emulate my feelings of anger and revenge.

Now, it's a different story.