Born to Die

Chapter Two

The next few days were chaotic. Everyone was scared. It had been a long time since a bomb had gona off anywhere in the world; since world peace had finally been acheived. Why was our city the first to be targetted? And why was the bomb so specific that it caused no destruction besides fron thr misfortunate cat that was in the wrong place at the wrong time and claimed no lives apart from that of the driver. That's when the accusations came in.

I spent the next 32 hours in police custody, reliving thr scene of running back to the debris of the car and turning away at the sight of his body, with the burnt remains of flesh just hanging there on his bones. There was no blood because of the intense heat but god the smells it lingered in my nostrils. The officers would ask questions which I would answer while they took notes. When they were done, they would whisper something to each other, stiffle a nod and leave the room. Then they would come back and repeat the whole process again.

It was starting to feel slightly monotone and pointless, until finally they asked, "How did you know to run away?" I stared at them blankly.

"What?" Bleakly they would repeat the question, without emotion, as if they weren't just accusing me of murder. "I told you this already! I was running away from home, not the explosion!" The officer with the gentler eyes, who had taken on the role of 'good cop' dragged a hand slowly down the side of his face.

"We are just trying to get to the bottom of this, please understand that. We've received numerous reports from several eye witnessses, who came to their windows to see what all the comotion was about when they heard your father's car-"

I cut him off saying, "Do not call him that. He was not my father. He was just an abusive piece of shit. That's all there is to it."

He smiled weakly and replied, "you're not helping your case with comments like that, but okay. So they came to see what the comotion was about when they heard the car deceast'ss screeching down the road, and saw you running, which coincides with your story. But then after the car stops, things get a bit blurry. We would appreciate if you helped us out a bit here. Now according to your statement, you were alone. According to the several eyewitness reports when you ran away from the car after it stopped, a boy was with you. We have a discription but we're inclined to first-"

Cutting him off again, I demanded, "What? There was no body with me! This is bullshit! I've had enough of this, let me go. You can't keep me here any longer, I haven't done anything wrong! I've been cooperative, but this is too much. I want to leave now. Please." I added the last word when it looked like he might say no, and with such sincerity that it deemed it impossible for him to do so. They let me go, saying, "We'll be in touch."

When I got home, he was everywhere. Everything carried memories of him. I needed to relax, so I took a long, hot shower, which did me no good. I watched the steam rise and then disappear, all the while trying to make myself believe that he is finally really gone. But if he's gone, why is so much of him still here? It all needs to go too. I stepped out of the shower, ignoring the pain caused by the cold air against my wounds, and pulled on the tracksuit that he made me wear, which was three sizes too large.

Dashing around the house, I began collecting the memories he left behind, one by one, room by room, until I came to the door that I had never before opened; the room I had never before seen. His room. Not knowing what to expect, I turned the knob and pushed the door open, revealing a quite unextraordinary room. The essence of evil did not linger in the air, nor did darkness lurk in the corners, threatening to engulf the entire room. It just looked like an ordinary room, belonging to an ordinary man. But he was no ordinary man, he was the apitomy of evil and regardless what his room looked like, nothing could change that. I looked over my shoulder before stepping into the room, half expecting him to appear behind me and beat me senseless for yet another transgression, but he never did. He was gone.

I stepped towards the mirror on the wall opposite the door. How long has it been since I last saw my reflection in a real mirror? Six years. Six whole years. He taught me that mirrors only gave way to evil and vanity, and that if one truly wished to reflect, they should first inflect, which gave rise to change.

As I stared intentely at the mirror, I saw nothing evil about it, just change; exactly what he claimed would never be found in a reflection. I had come a long way in six years. I'd grown significantly taller and slimmer, my once ash-blonde hair was now longer, and darker, a medium brown tone. But more than anything, my eyes had changed. They I had lost their youthful innocence, replaced by anguish that cut too deep, ran too far… I once heard that no one's eyes are black, just a very dark brown. In that moment however, the colour of my eyes were indistinguishable from black, all the life in them that may have once lightened them, stolen by the tryancy of man. It suddenly all became unbearable; the mirror, the room, the memories, the pain…

I stormed out, grabbing the can of gasoline I planned on using for a mini bon fire in the backyard to burn him out of my life for good. But the house had to go too. All of it had to go. I raged through the hallways, leaving a trail of gasoline in my wake. Finally, when I reached the front door, I lit a match, dropped it and ran. Ran away from my own sin, ran away from the fading memories, ran away from his burning legacy.