Cycle of Hate

I put a little soft country on the radio, trying to get my mindset closer affiliated with the weather. The thunder boomed from a distance, and streaks of rain began to race down the windshield.

I was a lawyer, returning home from work. Today was a good day- I guess my morning coffee paid off. I really hate coffee, but everyone else drinks it. Does it really enhance my mood? Do the effects actually pay off? No one will ever know. There are too many variables no one will ever be able to control.

I sped smoothly down the country road, needing only to nudge the steering wheel every so often to keep the car going straight. I had the car on autopilot for a good ten minutes. I presume I will have to turn it off soon- I'm almost home to where I will be greeted by my precious children and the babysitter I hired to watch them while my husband was off in Afghanistan.

A brown spot started to grow as it protruded from the top of the hill. I immediately turned off autopilot and waited for the turn at the bottom of the hill. As I turned, my eyes were focused on my house. There were shadows moving in the windows. I reckon it's my children running around like they always do.

I pulled in with caution, wheeling around a trash bag placed peculiarly in the middle of the driveway. I heard cries of pain, and so I halted to a stop, causing me to jolt a bit. I opened the garage door fast, thinking that if I opened it too slowly, people would have time to get away with anything bad they were doing.

I stepped in and through the hallway, blood pulsing through my tense veins. I was expecting the voice to come from my 8-year-old.

I was right, but not quite correct. I was greeted by the scene of the babysitter hugging my 8-year-old. He was crying, and trying to get away from her. He had red streaks all over him, like a spider web. It even appeared like he was crying tears of blood. My three-year-old was sitting down on the ground. Her eyebrows were raised, but her mouth was frowning. Her face was red like she had been crying as well. A bloody knife sat beside her.

I screamed in agony, my eyes instantly filling up with tears. I rushed over to my 8-year-old, and pulled him from the sitter's arms. I held him tight, and wiped away all of his tears with my sleeve.

I sat him in the sink and washed his cuts, applying soap to purge the wounds.

"My God, Deb, I'm so sorry! Heather got a hold of your knife, I didn't know what to do! She started quarreling with Alex, and began to throw a tantrum, and it got too far! I'm really sorry!" The babysitter stepped closer to me and rested her arm on my shoulder.

I looked at her dead in the eye. "You're gonna be okay."

"What?" The sitter was perplexed. "You mean she's gonna be okay..."

"You heard me. You won't have anything to worry about when you get back."

The sitter relaxed her body completely, and sighed. She began to walk back to the front door at a faster-than-normal pace.

I stopped her. "You forgot your money."

"Oh." She retreated back to the kitchen but fell to the ground, clutching her throat when my fist impacted against her neck.

"YOU BITCH!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I stomped on her face; immediately, blood began to flow from her nose, mouth, and eyes. "GET LOST IN HELL! WHAT THE FUCK MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT ON MY SON?!"

"It was Heather, God! I'm sorry, I know it's hard to believe! Please, get the hell off of me!" The sitter lay sprawled on the floor, jolting upward every time I jammed my shoe into various places on her body.

I picked up the knife next to Heather, and injected it as hard as I could into the 19-year-old's drenched body. Her throat gargled with blood as she tried to form her last words.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop her..."

"I'M A GODDAMN LAWYER! I WILL SUE YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY FOR EVERY DAMN PENNY THEY'VE GOT, YOU LYING PIECE OF SHIT!"

The sitter winced and shut her eyes, surrendering.

I dropped the knife and looked around the room, but halted when I saw Heather's expression. She was crying, and held her hands over her face. I un-tensed my body, but my hatred only lowered slightly.

I leaned downward so our faces were level to eachother. "What did she do to Alex, sweetie?"

"Nothing, Mommy."

I stared at her for a while, trying to process what she had just said.

"What, sweetie? She didn't do anything to Alex?" I was silent for a moment. "You didn't do that, sweetie, did you?" My voice broke at the end.

"But, Mommy, he took my red car!" Heather was reduced to tears again.

I ran with celerity back to the kitchen to resume mending Alex's wounds.

As soon as he saw I was coming, he scrambled out of the sink. He fell to the ground, scraping his knee. He scrunched his face, and whimpered as he crawled away.

I moved my hand outward, but was rejected. "Get your damn hand off of me, you bitch!" he screamed. He swayed back, dodging my hand, but collapsed to the ground. He lie still as a rock, and wailed.

"Alex..." my voice trailed off. I was shocked. My own son had never before said a cuss word, never before in his life.

"Get lost in hell, you murderer!"

I dropped to my knees, sobbing. "Alex, you can't say things like that," I choked.

Alex smacked me right in the face. I clutched it, as if it would relieve any of the sting. I hid my face in my arms.

All of the consequences of what I had done in the past couple minutes came crashing down on me. I looked back at those minutes and concluded a demon had somehow grabbed ahold of me and used me like a puppet.

What a pathetic excuse for my mistake.

I had killed a woman. I hurled, and coughed up an ounce of blood. I had also wretched apart my promises that I kept to myself. Ten years ago, I'd promised myself that I would raise my kids better than how my parents raised me- looks like that promise is lost, already deep down the drain.

I had permanently scarred my children. They will live their entire lives remembering this moment when their mother had acted like a sociopath and murdered a woman who had a whole life ahead of her.

A heard a soft voice, one that I recognized. I drew my arm away from my face. The mascara had smeared onto my shirt. I looked in front of me to see my own son, on the phone. I could only understand a few of the words, but It sounded like he was ratting me out.

At least I taught him something.