1978 Thomas Slater
Rough wood under my skin, that little chip in the handle someone should have smoothed out but must not have gotten the chance. My fingers gripped tighter to make up for the dead weight of a metal wedge at the opposite end. Readjusting my hands as left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot... Step one in front of the other. No matter how much I wish I could stop. The look of concern melting into a look of fear, one after another... Little faces hoping I would stop and save them or make a joke rather than painting their hot blood across my skin in the cool night.
I betrayed them. I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to. But I slaughtered them, still.
The sickening feeling of her ribs cracking and giving way, the way her chest opened up to me while I swung relentlessly. The way her eyes revealed her heart breaking at it being my doing that she... That I was killing her. I murdered my girlfriend. The love of my life. The woman I would have gladly got down on one knee for. Her flesh splitting open to each swing of the axe and the gurgle of oxygen bubbling blood out of broken lungs.
I’m sorry, Cindy. If I could have stopped, I would have. I would never have hurt you if I could have done something about it. If only you knew. But it’s too late now.
Now there are families torn asunder where laughter no longer rings through their halls. Weary hands and weeping hearts that will never get to witness their bloodlines grow. There will never be graduations, marriages, or parties. No children of children. No holding loved ones while they cry from a bad breakup. No staying up until the sun rises or watching stars shoot across the night sky. There will be no holding hands or hugging tight or whispers of ‘until next time’. Only a final goodbye unuttered. No chances to give a final ‘I love you’ or to remind them to look both ways when crossing the street because you only want them safe.
No. I took that from them.
I took the ones who needed me most. Who trusted me. I watched them shed tears of fear and pain as I split their bodies and let them lie upon the ground in pieces.
Their parents will suffer at the loss of not only their children but the loss of a chance to find out why. Why did I do it? Why did I steal the greatest gift they never got to bid farewell to? Why did I take their treasures and dash their lives like broken pottery? Why, why, why?
How could I do that? How could I steal what was most precious and throw it away without another thought or care in the world? Why did I wrench crying children from the bosom of safety and leave them breathless and bleeding out on the cold dirt, awaiting confirmation that, yes... that is your babe. That is the child you held crying and comforted. That is the son you taught to ride his bike, the daughter who needed a little extra story time at night, the child who was just trying to find themself in the world.
That young child... So small and helpless... So trusting... There’s a mother who spent hard labor, blood, sweat, and tears birthing that treasured creature. There’s a father who would hide his exhaustion just to smile at the little human who brought him gifts of stories and toys and things they’d found fascinating. The nights spent cradling a crying baby, the hours spent watching smiles, hands held, the tinkling of children’s laughter, the questions left unanswered... What else had I stolen from you? The curiosity. The pure goodness. The kindness. The future years of living the human experience. The good and the bad. I took it all.
You remember the babe you held close. I remembered the sound of blood dripping on wood and axe through their young bodies.
What did they do to deserve this? Why did I do it? Even I don’t know. And now I’m lost to the darkness. I hear only tortured screams and endless agony. I remember the wood in my hands. I remember watching their faces and being unable to stop. If only I could have stopped.
I remember the love of my life crumbling beneath my hand. I remember the tears in her eyes as she reached for her sister while I just kept swinging. I just kept swinging. I couldn’t stop.
I stole them all. And just like those before me... no one was safe. Not children, not the love of my life, not even myself.
So, while you sit and cry and wonder why. While you look for answers and think of me as a monster. While you go about your life with no other options left... While the town continues to crumble... Know this...
I hate me too.