I yearned to have his dirty blood smeared on my hands – his cowardly blood, to lick it and know how bitter it would taste. This man that knew only how to show his strength by pouncing on his wife and making his children pay for his misfortune. I had planned it out carefully – to mercilessly slice his throat at the time I knew he would be snoring like a pig. Everything about him made me want to puke. I had taken the knife to the market to be sharpened. It needed to be sharp as possible. I couldn’t take any chances.
After the knife was ready, I monitored him for seven days to know if he would repent, but he didn’t. On the eight night, I sneaked into his room to give him a taste of pain. He had had his usual smoke. His room reeked of snuff and tobacco. I had his head. The knife was already up in the air. I had aimed for his forehead, then she caught me and rushed to stop me. She gripped my fist that had the knife in it, with the knife, stopping it from descending on him. At first, I refused putting it down, but began to yield when I saw blood. Its sharp edges were slicing her inner palm.
She had slipped and in an attempt to stop herself from falling, she knocked down the mirror on the wooden table, waking him up. On seeing the knife, he pushed me down and landed two slaps on her face. He began to pummel her, again, using the metal on his belt. He threw everything at her. The blood which dripped from her palm didn’t make him stop. I watched from the floor as my heart churned. His fierce push pinned me to the floor. I couldn’t stand.
“So, this is your plan. You and your bastard daughter want to kill me, in my house?”
“No, no, it’s not what you think,” she yelled as he landed punches on her stomach. The long whip went round, twice on her slender figure.
“Ahhhhhh! Chi m ooo! Stop, please! Please, I beg you. Have mercy on me.” Her shout echoed in the night. Mucus ran down her nose to her mouth.
“Shut your dirty mouth up! You two will be the dead ones, here and now! I will end you and your daughter’s miserable lives.” He began strangling her, growling. Mother kicked her fists and legs into the air like a chicken dancing its last dance on earth before it enters the pot of soup. Watching her body stiffen scared me. She struggled aimlessly to be freed from his grip. She was already giving up.
“What are you doing? You will kill her!” I had said, dragging his wrapper. I sprained an ankle forcing myself to stand. When he wouldn’t stop, I jumped onto his back and bit, into every flesh, muscle and bone on his head. He released mother and struggled to save himself. Finally, he was feeling what I wanted to – to beg for one’s life, to save oneself. I felt this satiation. Mother fell to the floor in between coughs and gasps for air. The yellow wrapper she tied around her waist turned red – the fifth baby was gone. She fainted.
Staring at the blood, I dug his skull using my teeth; blood flowed down his face. He stabbed the knife continuously into my laps but I didn’t care. There was no other pain to feel in this world. I didn’t know whether my mother was dead or alive. I didn’t stop until I saw his brain drip, with the blood. Then, his corpse fell.
He visited us with so much pain. He was the worst father one could think of. He turned me into this. She was his punching bag. He never cared for us. He came back late every night, reeking of women, palm wine and tobacco. He beat sleep out of my poor mother’s eyes. He sole handed murdered every sibling I would have had. He was a venom. Mother had died and here in prison, I couldn’t have lived more peaceful.
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