The Path of Hatred

Contains slight language use.

"I like hats." That's what Donald said the day before he killed Sally. Was he trying to tell me something?

Was he the one in danger? I don't even get why Donald did it, none of us do. What the hell did he have against Sally? Was it because everyone adored her sweet, innocent little face? Was it because he knew that he'd never get the chance to be the town's prized possession? Did he know that no one would ever love him as much as everyone did towards Sally? Was he jealous that she had a perfect family? Was he jealous that she had a perfect life?

Stable mental conditions?

All the possible questions and outcomes flew into my little detective brain as I tried to sleep the night after everything happened. Of course, I was only a kid, so I wasn't an actual detective, but I did hope to become one, but most people thought it was stupid. Not even my own parents believed me. 

Suddenly, it got harder to breathe. It felt like my lungs were filling up with ants and they were crawling all over me. I realized that I was experiencing a panic attack. I was overwhelmed with a sense of dread and fear, and it felt like I was suffocating. I tried to focus on taking slow, deep breaths, but it was difficult to do so.

  I felt like that for hours until my dad got home. He thought I was crazy because of the way that I was acting, the way that I crumpled to the floor like paper and sat there for hours. He looked like a deflating airbag and sounded like how people do on radios. How the hell could someone do something like that?

Father said that trying to be a detective was a time-waster (much like his unneeded attitude), step-mother called my dreams the reason why her first husband left her, and my grandparents don't think that it's possible for a woman to do such a thing. My grandfather always said things like "women belong in the kitchen" or that "they're too stupid to do anything" when in reality we're the only reason he's here.

Idiot. Pure idiocy.

I never thought someone would actually believe in me, but then a man came up to me one day and said the best thing ever. "If you don't take the chances, you might as well not be alive."

That was Pablo. Everyone in town knew him because he gave the best advice. He had a good point though, what was the point of living if you don't live it to the fullest?

Was that why Donald threw his life away? Did he not think he would be good enough? Now that I think about it, I do always see them together. She would always stand behind the counter, watching him give people root-beer floats all day every day on the dot. I think that was her last day watching him on the job. Did she give up on watching him?

"There you go, making up lies again." That's what they told me.

That's what they all told me. My family could never understand me, not in a million years, probably because I have more intelligence than them, but whatever.

It's their loss. What was I even supposed to do about the whole Sally thing?

"Leave it to the authorities child." Step-mother told me the following morning. "They'll figure out what really happened."

They're all stupid for not seeing it.

Winter hit hard weeks later. The cold jabbed me so much to the point when I didn’t even go to school, I just hid in the backyard until my step-mom and dad went to work. I would spend my time playing in the snow and making snowmen. I never felt so alive. Even though I was freezing, I was happy. 

I tried to remember the summer, but it was just dull, except for that one day I went to the beach with Sally and all of our friends. It was the last time we all hung out together in July. The sunset filled the sky like red flames of fire while the color of the ocean got darker. The presence was joyful, it was the best thing ever, but then everything happened.

"You could make a living doing that kind of thing." I suppose I could, but I never thought about it until now. Maya always encouraged me to follow my dreams, and she always respected me and my wishes. She always wanted what was best for me.

She was the best step-sister anyone could ever ask for, but she too was overlooked for being bigger than all the other ten year olds on the playground. She wanted to be a dancer when she got older, but her classmates didn't think she'd make it. After that day, she started taking up a lot of bad habits. She wouldn't eat, nonetheless drink water. The only time I did see her eat was when her mother forced her to do so. 

It was as if she had lost her will to live. She seemed to be in a state of depression, and I believe she was using these bad habits as a means to cope with her emotions. It seemed that she was using unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with her emotions. She was trying to escape the pain of her situation by withdrawing from the world and avoiding activities that would bring her joy, and then it happened.

Boom.

“Stupid bitch, what the hell is wrong with you?” My step-mom yelled at Maya. “Just eat already, child!”

“No!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Maya yelled back. “How do you not see how your own child is struggling right now?”

“You are no daughter of mine! You will never become one of my daughters if you don’t eat that damn chicken on the stove right now!”

“No!”

Glass broke, then it was silent.

Then more silence. Her face darkened, then she exploded. I think she kept trying to hit her.

She kept scolding her, and Maya kept on ignoring her and she watched the television instead. That was the day that her mother slapped her face.