NOTE: POV written is from the victim's perspective.
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ 𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟕𝐏𝐌
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
I see Her in my dreams.
The picture of death, the reaper Herself, She stands over his body, my father's bloody remains. She does not move, bare, a bloodstained knife in hand, gazing down into the murky red liquid pooling beneath Her feet. She does not speak — She merely stares into the abyss, round black pupils void of any remorse.
And in my dreams, I do nothing but stand there frozen, terrified, relieved. Could it be? Could it be that I wanted him to die? To be murdered? The question was barren of any retort. Because the truth was ever so evident, I was as much a murderer as She was.
I killed him. I killed my father.
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ 𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟖𝐏𝐌
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
Friday.
We met on a dreary Friday evening. It was cloudy, only drizzling. Father would have scolded me for running away from home again. He would have slammed me against the wall, spit out curses to act 'like a man'. My father would have told me how pathetic and weak I was, how I could not handle his justified beatings. The man would have hauled me home if he found me on the beach, bewitched by the femme fatale Herself. Father would have saved me — he would have saved himself.
Friday.
She told me She died on a Friday. How She was dumped into the Sea, left to die, left only for the Ocean to swallow Her whole. And then She was reborn. Now a mermaid, a veritable deity, a demi-goddess, not just one worshipped out of apprehension. She was thoroughly divine. She told me the purpose of Her reincarnation, Her duties as an immortal upon a befouled mortal world. She would sanctify them all, She said. And sanctify them all, She did.
Friday.
It was only one night away from New Years. It was only one night away from a life of liberation. I was soon to be eighteen, free, no longer collared to a life of shattered beer bottles to my throat — a life of cigarette buds branded to my flesh. The shackles that bound me to my father, soon, would loosen, and I would return the call of the Sea. I would go to Her, live for Her. I would devote all of me to Her.
But January never came.
I was now eternally riddled in December.
Time stilled, for evermore.
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ 𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟗𝐏𝐌
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
She came in the night. Unclothed, wet, ethereal.
My father greeted Her. Would it have been different if I were the one to open the door? My father questions not the woman before him. Not of why she was there, not of why she was naked, not even of who she was. He just stood there, at the front door, gaping at her sheer vanity. It was clear to me — he was ravenous. His eyes eagerly wandered over her plump breasts, the lines of her physique, the pale of her hide. He seemed enchanted, but as was I.
Death was always a temptress.
And she had asked my father for his bathroom and for him to accompany her. He was drunk, lustful — he denied none of her requests.
I followed them. I stood by the door as neither my father nor his enchantress cared for my company. I watched how my father, without hesitance, undressed before the demi-goddess. He did not take his time to close the gap between them — dirty hands now staining her porcelain-white skin. She did not stop him. She only fell into his embrace, like a dainty flower against fierce winds, nails digging into his back as he ran his fingers along her flesh, all before slipping a finger or two into her wet cavern.
She moaned for him. She actually moaned for my disgusting father.
I watched how he forcefully grabbed her thighs, parting them and holding them up to his hips. Again, she did nothing to stop him. He cradled her with such ease — she must have been so light. It was wrong of me to watch. I knew that — I was especially clear of that, but I could not divert my gaze. Just enthralled by the sight of her, pleasured. I watched how she quivered from my father's touch, how his fingers fasten themselves in and out of her soaked cunt. How heavenly must it have been to be the one to please Her.
It felt like forever.
He was far from satisfied, my father.
She led him to the bathtub, where he lay in the water, eyes never leaving the sight of her drenched sex. He was starving for her — he was ready for her.
I watched how she towered my father, full breasts slumping above his visage, long pretty fingers grasping the edges of the tub. She lowered herself down onto him upon his bidding. His rough, large hands manhandled her waist as the tip of his cock teased her slit, all before spreading apart her labia and entering the sacred part of her body.
I watched her throw her head back in euphoria from the vigorous penetration. It was transparent that my father was a master at satisfying his enchantress. He took charge and led her hips up and down his hard rod. There was no denying that she enjoyed it as gentle, lecherous whimpers left her lips with every thrust. The water around them rippled and splashed from the vulgar activity.
They were in a high. And disgracefully, so was I.
But what happened next was something I never foresaw.
The water rose. Higher and higher, along with their lewd movements that gained momentum. At some point, the water got so lofty that it encompassed my father all before it came slamming down on him. He almost choked.
"What the fuck—" he said, gagging.
She gave no reply. Instead, she offered a delicate smile, soft fingers slowly tracing my father's raw skin before lingering around his neck.
I knew what was following. I knew.
And yet, when the mermaid's pupils expanded and darkened with wickedness, I only watched.
I watched how her palms, with insane strength, drove my father down to the bed of the tub. I watched how he struggled against her, floundering beneath her before his strong arms seized her own, trying to resist his own passing. But she did not shift, not even a little. She was drowning him.
She was drowning him, and I only watched.
His death was instant.
I knew he was gone the moment time stilled.
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ 𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟗𝐏𝐌
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ
She left right after.
She left behind only a piece of pearl sealed in between my father's lips.
She left behind only a sinful kiss upon my own.
She left me behind. Alone. Fatherless. An accomplice. I knew I was the actual forger of my father's death, the murderer. She left me a killer. Because it was I who met her on a Friday, I who told her of my father's vices. It was I that cried and wished for his end.
And it was I who stood before my father's rotting corpse, numb and lacking repentance. I only felt one thing as I stared into his dead, soulless eyes; humour. Because it was amusing, it was amusing as the enchantress knew nought of how my father flogged me only when I harassed the girls at school, when I ran a butterfly knife along their pretty little bare thighs, when I forced my tongue down the throats of innocent children. He called me weak because no man was supposed to hurt those beneath him.
My father would threaten me with a broken beer bottle if I left the house to scour new victims. He would burn me with a cigarette bud that I smoked and discarded around the house, with a longing that one day it may burn down the place.
I have always wanted my father dead. And now he was, and not even by my hands.
You see, it was always I that was unscrupulous.
So to the mermaid, I met, to the demi-goddess of Black Pearl, the temptress of death,
to Nabi,
did you purify the right person?
ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ