The Child's Reminiscience, a Father's Death -Journal Entry #5

Dear Father,
I saw you once and then I never saw you again. You vanished behind that podium like a light hushed out of existence, and the shattering wood was like a thousand splinters of your speech. The others dashed up too, and they did one of the most terrible things I've ever seen. They shot you while you were down. I saw them dash away with those terrible sneers that you see on a rats face that has stolen some cheese, but they did more than that...

I wanted to kill them. I wanted to hunt them down as they ran away, jump on their back and tear their faces, but Mama was holding me back, closing my eyes. I still saw your death, so what was the difference? Mama let go of me, ran up to the stage, and embraced your body. I've never seen her as despondent as she was...It tore my heart apart. I just couldn't stand to see Mama cry, so I turned my face away and hid behind my hands. I couldn't help it, the tears poured down my face in an uncontrollable stream of morbidity. I could smell this terrible and disgusting odor in the air, one that I smelt before. At that moment, Malcolm, I vowed to avenge you, to get back at those bastards who so ruthlessly shot you, even when you were dead already. Fifteen times...fifteen times...fifteen times...I'll deliver those bullets back to them.

I heard someone shout into the room. He was saying that one of the assassins was caught and was beaten up pretty badly. I wished I was there to beat him. Maybe it was for the better, I would have beat him till there was nothing left but his black, leaden heart. Why'd they do this to you, father? How can they?

Mama told us that you were a great and powerful man, and to this day, I have learned and remembered all your great deeds. It's a powerful shame, father, to live on the same planet with people who carry out acts without second thought to consequence or the people that are affected. Personally, if I were one of the assassins, I would've killed myself thereafter, for I wouldn't be able to bear the shame of killing such a distinguished and important man as you.

Every night I think about that day, and nightmares of those loud shots and that terrible smell haunt my dreams. Hearing Mama cry isn't a dream at all...I could hear her sobs in the middle of the night. So quiet, yet so laden with moroseness and dismembered dreams that they carry over to my room. I found it very hard to sleep after that.