I was standing right at the front of his hideout. Regularly looking family house covers the bloody secret of its owner, and my loss. My eyes were staring on the front door, mentally preparing my mind on what needs to be done. For the most horrible and soulless crime of my family, the villain will receive the ultimate punishment.
I gently opened fence and soundlessly, like a ghost, closed it right behind myself. As soon as I stepped on the pathway, I noticed slightly opened window at the front of the building. This was an excellent opportunity to sneak into, without grabbing unnecessary attention. It was very old and rusty window, which was making characteristic and annoying shrieking noise, every time when someone tried to move it. I needed to act deadly carefully, to don't wake up the beats. I jumped on the balcony, and squeezing myself to preventing the window from scream, I managed to get inside; into the kitchen.
It was quite rude, that I came on the private party completely naked. I didn't bring any present with myself, but I didn't need to. I knew that the organiser already has what I wanted to give him. That was my main focus. Immediately I started scouting the house. I searched every shelf, every corner in his kitchen; nothing was worth of my interest. Therefore, I left the kitchen and went into another room, the hallway. As soon as I entered, I was standing on the crossroad. Whether to go upstairs, and finish it with my own hands, or to his living room, hoping for finding the best gift. The first option was very promising, but I couldn't punish him in that way. I had to be sure that he will drown in pain, and suffer in the same way as my daughter had to.
After short thinking, I decided to choose the second option, and head into his living room. On the first look, there was nothing worth of my time. Regular looking living room with big sofa, four chairs and coffee table wasn't anything what I could use in my revenge. However, I realised few painting on the wall, and fact that one of them wasn't put straight, comparing to the rest of them. It was obvious the obvious sign for me, that something needs to be behind it. I took the painting off the wall, uncovering hand sized hole in the wall. This hole needed to be made by using own hands, since not only there were many blood splits in and outside of it, but also the hole was small to this level, that my hand barely could go through.
Lucky enough, I managed to reach my hand into the very end of the hole. In that moment, I've instantly felt something very hard, cold, and sharp, with very unregularly shape. I picked it up and tried to take it off the hole, didn't expecting what I was about to see. It was quite difficult, but I managed to tear the thing out from the hole. In that moment I realised what kind of corrupted true I was holding in my left hand. I knew exactly what it was. The Image of it has been scratched in my memory long time ago. It was left handed knife, with very big and sharp blade from steel, which could cut literally everything like butter, and small handle, decorated with iron and golden ornaments. On its blade, there was still large amount of blood – her blood.
Starring on the blade, I remembered everything what happened twenty-six years ago. Just like it was supposed to be yesterday. Like always in spring, my daughter was helping me on shopping from the local market. She always knew what is needed on our farm, like she gridded a whole list of necessaries in her mind. I could always rely on her. Although she rarely wanted to hold anything from shopping, so I had to move mountains of good by myself. This was also reason why I was far behind her, on the way to home. I never was the strongest person on the planet, but even Hercules would reach his limits in that kind of endurance test.
When I was backing to home, with hands full of good and care, in the middle of road, I seen him. The man, with very expensive looking knife, scratching skin from body of my beautiful daughter, opening her insides, and taking off some of her parts as souvenir of some sort. I dropped everything what I was carrying, full of aggression and hate, I started running towards him. He did realise that someone noticed him, and he begun to running away from the stage. I was trying to reach him, running like ostrich, but mouse will always escape from hungry cat. Eventually, I've lost entire energy from my body, and felt flat on my face. When I felt a bit better and stood up, I turned over to the scene of crime, forced to face the reality. My beautiful daughter, inhumanly kind and clever person, loved by hundreds of people was laying on her back, flooding in her own blood, and with opened chest, like slaughtered animal. I was broken in that time. I knew that's all. I knew that she will never come back; but I didn't want to believe in it. She was my whole life. My energy and motivation to get up, and with opened arms welcome the new day; and now she's gone.
I was still starring on the blade, with eyes of hurt dog and shacking cheek. I closed my eyes, trying to control my sounds, and clenching knife in my hand. "He will receive, what she didn't deserved for" I whispered to myself, opening my eyes. With an evilness of the Grim Lord, and empty eyes of psychopath, I head back into the hallway, going upstairs on the higher floor. On the first floor, there was only one room there; his own room. I've gently pulled handle and with knife on my chest, slowly but stead, opening the door, putting small amount of light into the room.
As soon as I opened the door, I noticed small bed at the left wall. The old man in middle age, with fancy and sorted hair and beard, and lovely face was sleeping in it. That was him. I could recognise this face everywhere: at every time. Even though his face was slaughtered by the claw of the time, this is still the very same person; the same character, the same personality, the same memories. It's hard to believe how friendly and innocently looking person like him, would ever commit something horrible like that. If others would see such sorted person like him doing such horrible things, they might considered it as bad dream, hallucination, or even heresy; but I didn't. I knew the truth about this person, and he was aware of himself too. He was resting in his bed, after busy day of work and suffers of his past. I believe that all what I could do in that case, was to extend his dream.
I was starring on his face, clenching the knife in my hand with my full strength, like I was supposed to break it. At some point, when I was observing of his chest going up and down, I lost my cool. In the matter of seconds, I've covered his mouth and nose with my left hand, making sure that he will be quiet, and made the first swing of his double ended sword. He has awakened as soon as I stabbed him first time in his throat. He has instantly attempted to scream, fruitlessly. I had to hurry. I've pulled of his knife from his throat, uncovering gigantic wound, crying with fresh and liquidised blood. I've stabbed him in his throat again; and again, and again. His blood was soaking into his bed blanked. It was splitting around a whole room. It was swelling from my right hand of justice. The butcher was constantly aware, when he was receiving punishment. He was trying to move and push me back off; but he couldn't. His pain overwhelmed his desire and basic survival instincts. He was forceless, and he knew that all what he could do was to accept his fate.
After nineteenth stab, his chest stopped move, although he was still alive. With the very rest of his life energy, he tried to whisper his last words to me, he couldn't. He was looking on me with his dying eyes, looking like poor dog beaten by its owner. His own bed became his grave: messy, disrespected, but fully deserved grave. I was looking for my art-work of uncontrollability, wondering whether I feel free from the need of revenge, or guilty from consequences of my actions. I knew that the thing I made was bad, but there was nothing else what I could do. He received what he deserved for, and that's all what matters.
With the rest of hatred, I've stabbed him last time, exhibiting the tool of murder and his fault on his chest. I left his room, went downstairs and left through the main door outside. When I passed through the fence, I've looked on this building once more. Still thinking about consequences of my actions, I was afraid of my future. I was afraid, that I will be captured by the law and punished for what I did. But even if this will happen, I will never regret what I did. He deserved on this fate, and no matter for what I will be arrested, I know that I did the right thing. I've pulled my eyes down, and with casual walk, I walked away in my direction. I was thinking about other scenarios. Thinking that someday he could be arrested by law, and I wouldn't ever need to do such thing; but it wouldn't be enough. He deserved for the worst, and that's what I gave to him. If he would be captured by law, he wouldn't receive what he deserved. He wouldn't receive the ultimate punishment.
