Killing him was nothing I had ever intended on doing. I joked about it when I was younger; I never really meant anything by it, at least that's what I tell myself to this day.
I didn't grow up planning on murdering him, though I grew up hating him enough to. He was only kind when he wanted to be, mostly when he thought others were watching him. Looking at him to be the adult that he was supposed to be.
In a world where there are absent fathers, I sure as shit wish mine would have been one of them. Just gone. Not there, seemingly against his will. Some folks would say that it's better to have known him and hated him than to never have known him at all but, obviously, I disagree. I mean, I did just take his life. If I wanted to keep on hating him, I would've kept the mean old mope around.
But I was tired of his abuse. Tired of all the unsolicited remarks about my life and his belief in my lack of one. Tired of caring for this burdening bastard when all he'd ever done is drowned me with his own inadequacies and fears of failures. He never had enough strength to own his own losses or.... areas of lacking we will politely call them.
But he is, was, anything but polite. He was ruthless. Cruel. Straight from the gates of Hell.
Why my mother let this demon impregnate her, and three times at that, left me feeling confused about the ways of humanity in my youth. Now I am older and understand that she was vapid and incapable of supporting herself - he was her lifeline. A piss-poor one, but a lifeline at that.
Get back to the story of me killing him, you say? What could he have done to make me choose such an awful fate for the pair of us, you wonder?
He did the unforgiveable. The ultimate sin that he knew would push me over the edge.
He told. Everyone.
It wasn't his secret to keep; it was mine. I knew my friends and family would judge me; I knew even strangers would see me in a different light when they didn't even know the one I started out with at the beginning.
I am a strong man but there are things I can't and won't admit to still to this day. And what he told everyone I know so willy-nilly was one of those things.
The fool never lifted a finger to point back at himself for it- any of it. Instead, he thought I was a queer, sick young man for doing what I did. What I did was miles above what he used to do to me and my brothers.
Was it desperate and stupid? Yes. Was I just trying to fulfill a curiosity? Absolutely. Do I regret it? Sure. I most definitely regret getting caught in the act.. especially by him. He was the pervert that was blinded by his own denial to admit any wrongs he was committing. He was the one blinding my mother from knowing the truth, even though her gut was telling her differently. And now I am the one that blindly buries him.
If I see too much of the man I once knew, my eyes will flood with those horrid concoctions of guilt, shame, and salt water. So instead, I close my mind's eyes to the deed that I have done and promise to wipe my hands clean after it all. I vow to never think of this day or this man ever again. I know I can hold to it since I have saved myself from so many visuals...
My secret? Through the abuse and my return of the favor, I always kept my eyes squeezed shut.
What the mind doesn't see, the mind doesn't know.
Ignorance is always bliss. And sometimes assholes get buried by their kin.