Her Dark Desire (In the Process of Being Edited)

30

I pace around my room, thinking about what to do. My father had came home five hours ago. He staggered through the front door, smelling of alcohol. I sat on the steps watching his every move. He looked at the mess on the floor. Never once glancing at the blood staining the hardwood floor. He ignored me. It just fueled my hatred towards him.

I watched him get the brandy from the liquor cabinet, pushing pass me to hurry to his room with the bottle in his hand. He walked to his room and slammed the door. I wondered if he knew about what happened at the hospital tonight. I wanted to knock on his door, to scream, to make him pay but I couldn't yet. Instead I smiled to myself and closed myself in my room. His time would come sooner than he thought.

I laugh as I finally think of what I would do. My father's crimes are many and so his punishment should fit accordingly. Where do those who commit heinous crimes deserve to go? To hell! I've never felt this way before. Not too long ago, the idea of killing my father would never had entered my mind. It would forever remained a fleeting thought but no more. I can feel the tension leave my body as I think of all that I would need to send my father to his final resting place.

I can't believe what I'm about to do. I pry open the lock on the liquor cabinet. The very alcohol he loves to consume would be the accelerant I will use. He'll be able to get one more drink before the end. Funny.

I remove several bottles from the cabinet and place them in a plastic bag. As I exit the living room I feel for the matches in my pocket. I smile, walking up the steps. I stand in front of my father's door. The moment of truth awaits me. I feel the sweat beading on my brow. I can always turn back, I think. Think of your mother, the voice whispers in my head. My mother. It's because of him she ended up that way. He did this. The rage is back. My hand doesn't hesitate on the doorknob.

His door is unlocked. I laugh. In his drunken stupor he forgot to lock the door. He just made things easier for me. I can hear his snores when I enter the room. I walk around his bed. He doesn't wake from his slumber as I twist the cap off one of the bottles. I start at the window and begin to shake the amber liquid on the floor. I'm careful not to make noise as I toss the empty bottle back in the bag.

I remove another one and start the process again. I go through three bottles, emptying their contents about the room. I'm surprisingly calm as I open the last bottle. I take a drink from it before pouring it over the bed. I make sure to splash it on my father's face. He coughs, sneezing as he inhales the liquor.

He sits up, wiping the liquid from his eyes. "What the," he starts as he sniffs his sheets. My father looks around wildly until his eyes settle on me. "Zeke, what the hell are you doing in here? What's going on?"

I want to laugh. Did he really not know? Could he not guess what's about to happen? I can feel the grin spreading. "Mom died tonight," I tell him. Even in the dark I can see him studying my face. "Choose your next words wisely," I tell him.

"How dare you talk to me like this. Your mother's death hurts me too. She only had herself to blame.

"Her fault," I yell. "You Son of B**ch, you did this. You need to pay."

"Pay. Do you know who you're talking to, I'm your father."

"Was my father," I correct.

"What did you..."

"You know," I interrupt. "In some cultures they believe fire is cleansing. It has the power to absolve a person from their sins. I bet you didn't know that," I laugh. "After the past few weeks I've had, I've decided to help at least one person repent."

"What are you talking about," he asks. I take out the match and light it. I can see the panic filling his eyes as he watch the dancing flame. " Zeke, you wouldn't." His voice is low as he says this. He jumps from the bed and stumbles face first to the floor below him. He still hasn't sober up yet. I back up towards the door as he crawls towards me. "I'm sorry. Please, don't do this" I hear his last words. It's too late. The match is leaving my hand. My body is in the door frame as it lands on my father's body.

He screams as his body bursts into flames. My father rolls around the floor in an attempt to put himself out. It doesn't work. He only succeeds in spreading the flames around. I want to stand there and watch him burn. To listen to his screams as the fire consumes his flesh. I laugh as I back out of the room.

I run down the hall to my room. The sun is rising when I look out the window. I stand there looking out. I can smell the smoke already. I need to hurry. My fingers search through my drawers for the stash of money I keep there. I won't be returning here. I grab a few pieces of clothing, shoving them in a bag. I'm ready. I slip out of my window, careful not to be seen. If only things didn't have to end this way. I glance up at my house for the last time. This is it. There's no going back, not that I want to.