As I’m sitting here outside of my old family home I think about what led up to this moment. What led me up to this point? What brought me to the point where I killed my best friend, my only friend.
Nate my best and only friend who has ever cared for me and the only person I have ever cared for. I think back to the moment I first met Nate. At the time we were 7 years old. We had quickly become best of friends over only a few months and even our parents thought we would marry within coming years. The year was 1844, we had been best friends for 2 years now. That was the year that everything changed for us. We were now nine years old and this was the same time Nate had found out that my father had started abusing me.
He was confused as to why my father would suddenly change and start beating me out of nowhere. I had learned not to question it, it’s just who my dad had become. My father would whip me daily for many hours at a time and the reasoning was not known. Nate only found out when he came by one day after being sick and busy for a week helping out at his family’s farm. He came by wanting me to go play with him by the pond. The pond was or usual spot for adventure. I had told him I couldn’t come out today but he insisted to the point I finally gave him a reason as to why I wouldn’t come out to play with him. I told him that I was to be assisting mother with dinner and other household chores. He then stopped persisting and asked that I come out to play with him on the condition that I would walk him to the gate down the road. I relented and got up to walk with him even against my better judgement. I must have noticeably winced since he gave me a funny look. When we got a little ways down the dirt road, he asked me, “Are you unwell?” I could only stare at him in response, for I could not tell him of what father had been doing to me. He asked me once again if I was unwell. This time I just said I had fallen down the day before. He asked me worriedly what caused my fall. I replied with “mopping the kitchen for mother.” He paused and stared at me. I knew then that he knew I wasn’t being truthful. My eyes began to water with tears as I shook my head at him. He then grabbed my wrist and slightly dragged me to the field where we usually played. When we got there he plopped down and patiently stared up at me. I broke down into tears and carefully sat down. I told him everything and felt slightly better. After telling him I rushed home in hopes that I wouldn’t anger father. One week later Father had come back from a “business” meeting late one night and had started whipping me immediately. When he began to slow his abuse, then finally decided to let me go to bed. It was a long, slow, and pain filled walk to my bed. My father had spent the last two hours whooping me and the last 10 minutes kicking me in my stomach. As I’m reaching my room I heard my father yell, “I’m not done with you!” and to “come …show more content…
I glance up when I hear heavy breathing, I see Nate… covered in blood spatters.
“What happened?”
“The-the-they are all dead. My wife and my kids...dead. Just gone… their skin boiled from underneath like the blood vessels popped and formed bruises everywhere and then Isa-Isabella...she stabbed herself in the lung… I freaked out.. I pulled the knife out and threw it on the ground...Isabella-she was choking on her blood...she was suffering...so..I-I- I sn-snap-snapped her neck...I just broke her neck...Only then did I remember...that she was pregnant...5 months pregnant...I ran… I just ran like a coward... I ran. I just ran... I ran…”
“Nate...I think you should go lay down.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, they’re gone; dead…”
Two hours