Experiment Number One

That was a new sensation for me, something I had never experienced before. Venturing out and putting myself in harm’s way while my father was on his rampage was something I never thought I could do. To even think about it used to make my body shake, but on that fateful day, it was like walking out of my sibling’s room and into a world of the unknown sent a wave of energy surging through me.

I shuffled throughout the house, the silence making my skin prickle. I went back to the foyer where my parents were fighting. They were no longer there, but I could see my mother’s stains marking the floor. I moved to the living room, where my father spent most of his time. The red recliner in the corner caught my eye, reminding me of the reality I could face. The leather on the chair was peeling due to its excessive use. My father claimed it as his chair after Mariana was born. Beer cans and snack wrappers surrounded it. My parents were nowhere to be seen, so I moved to the kitchen.

I remember wishing at that point that they had just left. I mean, it wasn’t unusual for that to happen. My parents would fight, then my mother would leave to go get high, and my father would leave to go get drunk. But they haven’t had a fight that big in years, so maybe it was a little naive to think that. Well, I can say now that I was stupid to think that. The burning in my bones that caused my blood to boil should’ve been a telltale sign of what laid ahead.

When I entered the kitchen, my father was hunched on the ground with a rag soaked in a red substance, messily wiping it across the floor leaving streaks in its wake. There was no way in my mind that I could actually understand what was happening; everything had turned into a blur. Right in front of me was my mother. Her pale skin was cold; she didn’t move, not a muscle. Her neck was split open, with blood pooling all around her. Then, there was my father attempting to clean it up and not doing a very good job at it. When I began to gag, my father became alert and raised his plump body from the ground. “What have you done?” I said once he was stabilized.

He bared his teeth, “Here.” He tossed his soaked rag at me. I flinched away, letting the towel hit my chest, then fall to the floor. “Pick that up and start cleaning,” my father said as he turned and started rummaging through the cabinets. “Where is the bleach?” He asked as he threw all the doors open.

I stood still as I watched him, my vision stained red from my mother’s blood. I just honestly couldn’t believe it; too many things were running through my mind. My father killed my mother. My father wanted me to help him clean up his mess. It was utterly unbelievable. Since the day Mariana was born, I sacrificed any future I might’ve had to take on my parent’s responsibilities for my siblings. I love Amilio and Mariana like my own children, don’t get it twisted. But I did my parents a service, and the only appreciation I got was from my father asking me to throw my life away because of his stupid mistake? There was no way I was doing that.

He found the bleach and looked at me. “Why are you just standing there? Let’s get going.” He dumped the bleach on the floor, causing it to pool out along the tiles.

“I’m not helping you with this,” I started to back out of the kitchen.

“To hell you aren’t.”

I turned to run, but my feet betrayed me by slipping on the bleach. My head hit the ground with a hard thud, immediately sending ripples of pain throughout my skull. The next thing I knew, my father was on his knees gripping his hands around my throat. His face morphed as he applied pressure. “You’re just like your mother. Ungrateful and disrespectful.” I grabbed his wrist to try and pull him away, but it was no use. I was powerless against him.

“It could have been easy. You could’ve just cleaned up this mess and put this whole situation behind us. But don’t worry, I won’t have to deal with you or those brats much longer.”

Something awakened in me, a power harvested deep inside the crevasses of my soul. The prickly feeling in my forearms and palms turned painful, like blades of a knife slashing at my skin. My bones vibrated, letting off a soft hymn in the back of my brain. I tried to scream as the excruciating feeling took over my body, but the sound was limited by my father’s hands on my throat. Something was coming; I could feel it surge throughout my body. My hands shot out to my sides, splashing in the puddle of bleach beneath me. The pain hit the surface, and suddenly, I was convulsing as a bright light flashed before my eyes, causing a faint vibration to soothe my skin.

Then everything faded out.