PEOPLE WHO DO BAD THINGS..
By Kit

 

He called me his princess, my father. Special princess. Which in my eyes made him the king. And in a way I assumed that I was sort of special. God must have chosen me to live for a reason, because I was born with the cord around my neck, turning a purplish-blue colour. But the cord was cut away and the colour flushed my cheeks as I took my first breath in this world I was born into.

I had older brothers, and so I thought that was also why I might be seen as special. As it would turn out, my being the only girl would be the reason my life took the road it did. I would try to be the best I could, be a good girl. But something about me always displeased my father, because he would punish me and always say 'people who do bad things must be punished', and 'keep these games a secret, my little princess' and I went along with it, because he was the king, after all, and princesses never talk about such vulgar things.

As I grew older, I started to feel less special and less princess-like, as my mother would leave the house more and more often, leaving me and my father alone in the house, which led to more punishments for me. Boys started showing interest in me, but as I had always been told I was a bad person, I spurned their advances and concentrated on trying to be good. Then I met this man. There was something about him that I liked and he seemed to like me too, so-against my better judgement maybe-I invited him to my house to meet my father. They seemed to get along fine and talked into the evening until the man decided it was time for him to leave. He thanked my father for his hospitality, gave me a kiss on the cheek and asked if we could meet the following day. I looked to my father for his approval and saw a look in his eyes I have seen for far too long. I made an excuse for not being able to see the man the next day because of too many things to do, ushered him quickly out of the house and when he was gone, I received my punishment.

The following day, all I could think about was the man. I tried my hardest to stay out of my father's way but he found me, as he always does, and punishments began again. As I walked back to my room, tired and sore, I sat on the end of my bed and looked out of the window. I could see a figure at the end of the garden, standing by the back gate. It was the man. I quietly ran downstairs, put my shoes on quickly and ran to the end of the garden to see him. By now it was almost dark, but I could still see the smile on his face as I approached him. His smile turned to what I thought was a look of concern (I have so seldom seen that emotion portrayed) and I reassured him that I was fine. He said he would like to take me somewhere that evening. I thought what day it was, and realised it was the day when my father would go out. I never found out where he went, maybe on a royal visit to punish others, for on these nights I wouldn't be disturbed by him. So I agreed, and he took my hand and we ran down the back streets, laughing as we went until we reached a field and sat watching the twinkling lights of the town below.

He put one arm around me, then the other, and I felt a shiver go through me, very different from the shudder I tried to hide when my father did the same to me. He took my face in his hands and kissed me gently. We kissed some more and his hands gently stroked my body while he kissed my neck. Soon after this I began to cry, not knowing what I had done to him that meant I needed to be punished. His face turned from a hurt expression to one of disbelief and pure anger when I explained to him why I was crying. Years of hurt poured forth in those tears because I'd never allowed myself to cry before. He stood up, gently took my hands and pulled me to my feet, then kissed me lightly on the cheek once more, before running off in the direction of my father's house. I tried to follow as fast as I could, but the crying had worn me out so much I found it hard to keep up.

By the time I got to the back gate, the man was already there, exchanging angry words with my drunken father. I decided to keep out of sight, but carried on watching through the crack in the fence. I watched as he leapt at my father and they disappeared through the open door and into the house, throwing punches and kicks as they went. I ran towards the door, suddenly realising as I approached the door that the noise of fighting had stopped. I stepped through the door and saw the man battered and bloodied on the floor. My father had bludgeoned him to death. I tore my eyes away from the hideous sight and saw my father, leaning winded against the doorframe. 'People who do bad things must be punished.' he said as he staggered towards me. I knew I had to move, and finally I could. I ran down the garden, out of the open back gate and down the street, the twilight silence broken only by his enraged cries. I went back to the field and hid in the shadows of a tree until I was sure he wasn't nearby. Only then would I let myself think why the man was so angry.

Did he think I was bad for saying things like that?

[princessesnevertalkaboutsuchvulgarthings]

Or was he angry at my father for punishing me?

[keepthesegamesasecretmylittleprincess]

I sat bolt upright in the darkness. I finally realised what my father did was wrong. I had spent my whole life trying to be good and just kept being punished. No wonder my mother would leave for so long. Finally I knew what to do.

I walked back to the house, all the time knowing my father would be getting drunker and drunker until he fell into an inebriated sleep in front of the fire. I made my way through the back gate, towards the door and steeled myself for what would be on the other side. I knelt down next to the man-my man-kissed his cold cheek and whispered that I loved him. Then I turned on my heel and looked for a knife. i found the carving knife in the top drawer and walked slowly into the living room. There was my father, bottle in hand, snoring repulsively. Little flecks of spittle flying out of his mouth as he rumbled and snorted his way through sleep. I stood in front of him, brought the knife up above my head and said 'People who do bad things must be punished,' brought the knife down and buried it deep in his chest. He awoke with a gasp, clutching at the knife, then looking at me, and finally pawing at his throat as he took his last rasping breath and died.

I watched him for a while, then I began to cry. He was my father after all...

Then everything became clear to me. I was paying for my father's sins. Was he even a king? I can't ask him the truth now. He punished me for apparently doing bad things, and so I punished him. I did a bad thing, and now I must be punished again. And so it is with this letter that I explain everything. I would rather end my own life than be branded a monster and be accused of killing my one love, when I was simply punishing my father for doing that. So I have chosen to end my existence in a way I am very familiar to, with this cord around my neck. Please don't cut it again, it should have been left on the first time.

Goodnight.

 

 

[fairytales]