The Boy with the Knife

Chapter 2

When I was a young child I looked up to my father more than anyone in the world.

My mother was the one I had to watch out for. She was cruel, and abused me verbally and physically.

When my father found out they started fighting constantly, he finally drew the line when my mother tried to hurt him too.

My father came to my room that night and told me what he was going to do. He said that he believed people should be punished for their wrong doings.

He kissed my forehead, and told me not to dwell on what my mother had done. Then he left for his room, where my mother had been sleeping.

He grabbed a small silver dagger from his bedside drawer. She was sleeping so soundly that she hadn't heard him enter the room. Yet when he pressed the side of the blade to her throat she awoke.

She tried to plead with him, but his mind was set. She let out a loud lingering scream as he slit her throat.

I awoke from the haunting dream of my past when my history teacher, Mr. Bowman whacked me in the head with a textbook.

I had only known Mr. Bowman for a week, but I already knew that he was cruel, and treated us teenagers like we were wild animals.

I sat still while he yelled at me, and told me to get my ass out of his class. When I didn't move he leaned over and smacked me in the face.

I got up, grabbed my things, and walked towards the door. As I took one last look at the classroom before going into the hall, I noticed a pair of pale blue eyes looking straight into mine.

•••

It had been about a month since my father had been given a life sentence in jail. Though the murder happened years before, the trial had been a long tiring process.

The words my father said about punishment that night still lingered in my mind. And I decided, the day he received the verdict, that I would carry on using his idea.

Based on today when Mr. Bowman abused me in class, I decided that he deserved to be punished.