Autocannibilism
Perhaps this might sound strange or disgusting, but I've decided to tell the truth to anyone listening. When I was young, my age countable on a single hand, I saw something that I'll never be able to forget... This memory plagued me through childhood and even pieces of adulthood. And so, I've decided to tell my horrifying tale.
I was about 4 years old, the only child in my family. My mother and father were the typical normal people. But I was different, my imagination running wild, keeping me occupied with the simplest things. Nonetheless, we were happy in our family home. The small white cottage in the corner of Mapleroad ON. The forest protecting us from civilization but also leaving us alone with our own in the wild. Until later in life did I realize the first mistake my family made, if we lived somewhere more urban, my father wouldn't be dead or my Mother wouldn't now resides in a asylum in the outskirts of New York... Anyways, on the faithful day, a rainy Sunday morning, I wake up to find my mother holding my father at the feet of our old sofa. Father's eyes we open but nothing human were seen in the dark pupils, just emptiness. When I crouch near my fallen father, starting to cry with fear did his eyes finally clicked with recognition and looked at us with love. He gets up, smiles at my mother and walks out of the door. I wait until the door creaks shut and run to the small window by the door... Back then my mind didn't comprehend the view I was seeing but now, just remembering fifty years later did I realized that I was looking at a broken man...
From the window, on my tiptoes , I see my father looking at the Sun, his tall frame seemingly shrunk by the fact of his massive hunch. My father raises his hands to his face, and with unfathomable ferocity,he digs his short but strong nails into his cheeks. At first, I couldn't see the blood,but as he takes his hands out of his face and turns towards the home... Well, let's just say he didn't make small little scratches... At the time, I didn't notice that my mom was watching the theatrical actions my father was doing. With a gasp, my mother runs to the front door and locks it and places a wooden chair beneath the knob. She also closed the only window and places a wood block to hinder its opening.Luckily our small cottage only had a front door and a window near by, so we were safe from the monster my father became...
Many years later I really hope that my dad didn't feel this change or was actually trying to hurt us but the voice inside my mind seems to disagree...
As my mom and I look out of the window, waiting to see what my father will do, I see a small recognition in his eyes. He staggers off into the forest... I wish this was the end of the story, but even as a child, I was curious enough to run after my father. While my mother was looking away, perhaps trying to find a weapon or out of fear, I ram the chair out of the way and run into the forest. While I run, I can hear my mother's screaming my name.
"FRANCINE!!"
I ignore her plea and Sprint towards the general direction of the footsteps I can hear. It didn't take long to find myself in a small clearing, a round circle filled with lush and long grass. In the center of the field, I see my father, seemingly crouching and has something in his hands. I crawl a little closer, hidden at the end of tree growth. My eyes widen with surprise and disgust ;
My father, digging his nails into his left calf, rips the thin skin covering the intricate workings of a human leg. Even while tearing his flesh to sizeable pieces, my father has a grotesque smile distorting his young face. After working his way through skin and cartilage, he digs the tendons and muscles away from their rightful place. He slowly brings the profusely bleeding mess towards his face. I want to turn away, but the curiosity of the human mind locks my feet in place. He raises his own torn muscle towards his mouth and CHOMP! Blood instantly leaks through his loosely holding fingers, looking like small rivers of red. His mouth covered in blood and small filaments. Just as I turn around to flee the scene, I hear rustling sound towards the direction of my home. Before me, my mother holds a large hunting gun, capable of killing event the largest of mammals. My mother crouches beside me, not saying a word just looking at my father, or at least the remains of him... Feeling the presence of danger, my father looks in our direction. His head is cocked to the side, blood dripping from his maw. Without hesitation, my father tries to stand and face his possible attackers but failing miserably. The fact that his left leg is completely barren of fat of tissue beneath his knee couldn't possible help his situation. Either way, my mom holds the hunting rifle with a strong stance and lays a finger on the trigger...
By my view, I can definitely see her small frame shaking with fear, adrenaline and grief...
My father grunts and charges but falls about 2 feet away from us. He snarls and was supposed to get up but Mother decided to pull the trigger. One second my father was crouched near me, the next a man with half his face is torn off by a bullet... For a few seconds, the forest lays in silence. No bird chirping, no leaves rustling, just pure silence. Small drops of blood lay on the grass in front of me, separated by the large puddle where the body of my beloved father now resides. Before I can walk towards the puddle, my mother picks me up and slowly walks towards home. That short walk was most likely the longest time spent trying to find our way back home. When we finally get there, my mother puts me on the old sofa and locks herself in the master bedroom.
The next thing I know, I've fallen asleep on the tattered couch. I wake up and find my home swarming with police officers. Back then, I was terrified, so many people I didn't know suddenly appear in my home. Anyways mother must've called the police while I was resting. The only problem in this whole scene was the way my mother was treated. Than again, finding a deranged woman locked in a bedroom while her child is left alone isn't really the best thing to do in this kind of situation... For the rest of my mother's life, she will most likely be in two states. One is completely drugged, limiting her ability to remember anything and second, strapped to her hospital bed. In this state, she's more likely to act like the animal that became my father. She died when I was only 23, supposedly dying after only being coherent for 10 minutes and then dying from a heart attack.
Today, after telling such a frightful story, I've finally decided to rest. Luckily for me, I've kept the hunting rifle my mother used to kill her husband. Maybe their might be an extra bullet in it...
The End
