1 ...

I was raised in slums. I was a daughter of a drunkard father together with a mute, pathetic and sickly mother. Cruel as they say but, it's just how my life went by. Everyday, my father would came home drunk and beat my mother whenever she would refuse to have sex with him.

One day, he came home he came home drunk again and he was furious. He saw my mother mending our tattered clothes and she's patching them nonstop. He snatched the clothes that my mother was holding and tossed it aside.

I was in the kitchen cooking for our dinner when I heard my father shouting angrily at my mother. As I what my mother taught me, I would hid inside the cabinet with the knife in my hands.

"You whore! You have another man, have you?" my father angrily asked as he slapped my mother with his right hand.

My mother didn't say anything. She just cried lying down the floor with a swollen cheek and blood trickling down her mouth.

"What? Huh? You won't admit it?" he asked her again as he kicked her stomach. She rolled a few inches from my father's feet.

She could only shook her head because the pain was enveloping her whole being. She vomited saliva and a little of blood. She's holding her stomach as she's crouching down the floor with pain.

"Who's that f*cking b*stard that screwed you?! I'll cut his d*ck off and feed to you! You ingrate! How dare you!" he grabbed my mother with her neck and slammed her into the wall.

She fell lifeless on the floor. She gasped for air as she tried to crawl to where I hid. She positioned herself back at the cabinet's door.

"Where's Amanda? Where is your daughter? I am not her father, no?" he asked her again. He grabbed my mother's hair and dragged her towards the bed.

He forced himself unto her. He pounced her and ripped her clothes off. My mother was struggling as he was doing this. She protested but her never intended to stop. He choked my mother so hard that she was wriggling and at the same time crying under his grasp. She wriggled until the end and then she stopped.

I can see the lifeless body of my mother from where I was. I did not cry nor felt anything. I just stared at the man who was enjoying himself with my mother's dead body. I, then felt anger. I grabbed the knife my mother gave me in case my father would beat me too. I rushed towards him and stabbed him from the back. I pulled the knife and stabbed him again. He cried out for pain. He was so angry that his eyes turned to red. I, did not feared him. I just stared blankly at him. I stabbed him once more for the last time aiming his chest. He was shocked as he stared at my emotionless face. I pushed the knife so hard that he wriggled until his end. He fell in to the floor as he was staring at me with his mouth open.

I pulled out the knife back and stabbed his stomach once more. I stabbed and stabbed him countlessly. I was like butchering a pig. Yes! He was a pig! He was a scum! A worthless b*stard. That's why I killed him. Yes, I killed my own father.

After that, I walked out from where we lived. I was still carrying the blooded knife. My clothes were drenched with his blood. I didn't care. I walked aimlessly. My eyes were empty if anyone would stare at them. I walked and walked until I didn't know where I was. I slumped down the floor and my tears started to stream down in my face. I cried so hard that day, even then heavens favored me and it rained. It was as if they were feeling what pain I had inside my chest. But, from then on, my whole hellish life would only begin.

It was twenty years ago.