The night was dark and eerily silent. I walked in and glanced at the wall, my eyes gaping at the shape cast by the lamplight.

The visage was scary: a man clutching a dripping knife.

My heart ceased beating.

I realised then, that my father had just murdered his wife.



He glanced my way and took a step forward. I took two steps backward.

“Please, I can explain.”

“Save it. I called the police.”

Sirens blared. Father collapsed at my feet.

“Don’t make me go to jail”

I looked away determined not to fall for the tears. Never again.


Father appeared remorseful. But my heart held no sympathy. Only hate.

The horror that occurred all those years ago flashed before my eyes;

Father sprawled over a mangled body on the floor.

My world changed forever that day.

When father murdered my mother,

and the act was concealed by me.


Mother died in her prime, murdered by the monster who sired her child.

She showed him nothing but love.

She received from him, everything but love.

His fists inflicted serious injuries on her, while his tongue dispensed hurtful words.

Despite everything he did, she refused to dump him.




Guilt claws at my innards. Always. That is why I want my dad to pay for what his hands brought forth.

Now I will launch a campaign to put a stop to brutality. Particularly against girls.

I will do it for my mum… and for my soul to find tranquillity.

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