The Unluckiest Living Thing Alive

Hi, I am Elaine and I just witnessed a murderer. My dad did it, but I could not accuse him. Since mom won’t take it seriously. None of those adult beings believed in me that it’s a crime. I wonder if it’s all related to my age? I’m nine and big, a very big-big girl. Big girl with a big brain and big courage and a big bed of my own and a big bag for school and big baby sister. Even though big didn’t make you an adult. But I was always serious, my dad is a criminal and no one accused him of his sin. WHY???

I don’t understand this situation. When I told my mom and others about what my father had done, they laugh! THEY MOTHERFUCKING LAUGH!

Oh, forgive my language. I was once locked in the bathroom by my uncle for cursing my cousin that threw a rock to a catfish. It was dark, wet, and creepy back then. I still afraid of darkness but no worries, I remember how to turn on the light. I learned my lesson and tried to not curse again. Although, I’d out of control whenever saw my friend, ah no, the kids in the neighborhood toying with the stray cats.

I can’t think of a reason, why did they laugh over a crime? I healed a heavy breath as they laughing and mourning myself in my room with a laugh of conversation that I didn’t understand as the back sound. I kept thinking and thinking and thinking, but even till my big brain shrinked and sheered away like the man in Herman Melville’s book of Moby-Dick, I still found no answer. The crime is not to be a laugh! My dad just took a life and it’s awful, I was devastated. So, I come back to the crime scene like the brave girl from the neighborhood, that’s me! The only one brave enough to questioning my elders’ opinion and get hit of it, a literal hit. I couldn’t understand why and how did the other kids could stand over that nonsense of being a good girl means ‘don’t think and just do the command!’ I mean, we are human. If not for thinking then why would we be given a brain? The hit indeed hurt, even more, when they start to call me a witch kid, and if I told them a fact like, ‘if I was a witch kid then you are a grand witch’ they would be more furious and it’s fun! hahaha

I opened my room door and walked straight to the main door, ignored my mother’s question of ‘where am I going to?’ walked ahead passing the second fish pool and the house of the victim. I have no brave to face the victim’s family. So, I take a sprint avoiding the last barrier the pawon, and here I was, at the crime scene. However, it’s weird, none bloodstain left. The crime scene was cleaned like it never been there. Who’s clean it? My big brain thinks hard, almost exploded by overworking. I should eat more Risolles that my mom made this morning. I was foolish enough to say later and end up in this mess. The picture of Risolles rolled with a big slice of sausage, egg, and a bunch of mayo hot and fresh from the fryer dancing like a ghost. I was surprised by the fact that I was starving in between this crisis. How could I? How could I imagine a very delicious meal when life had just gone?

I look to every corner wished to find a trace or even evidence, but nothing to be found. The breeze of wind blew hard out of sudden. The wind swirling like the storm will soon come. The smell of the ocean behind my home was getting stronger. People were rushed outside their houses and save what belongs to them. Some saved their Karak some others saved the precious shark’s fin. The dried fishes are often forgotten. My mom said that the rainwater would preserve it anyway, and I didn’t get her logic. I heard my mother screamed at me, a command to come inside. The relatives had back to their houses. It just my mom, my sister, and me.

The windows screak like crazy pushed and pulled by the wind of the sea. I peeking outside through a window in the kitchen, where it faced the ocean and I could see that the water had arisen. The waves break the fetch as if it was nothing. The rocks that break the water was disappeared, swallowed by the water body. The mangroves forest adjust itself with the estuaries where the water had turned into the color of chocolate milk. The rain hasn’t come yet but the stream was greater than my hunger. I know that the rain must be heavy up there. A drop of water turned to a drizzle and only within a second the drizzle changed into heavy rain, more like a storm.

I wonder if Zeus was partying up there or Hades had made a foolish mistake once again. I guess he makes a super silly mistake till Poseidon had to put his hand down. The thunder struck mercilessly. We couldn’t even watch the television. So, I drowned myself in a thick book my mom called encyclopedia. It’s an interesting book. I hope I can find something to help me solve the clues which almost no clues are found. Page after page, too many animals here. It’s interesting but I have no time for this. I need to finish it before dawn and dad will come back home. I need solid evidence to accuse him of his crime. The scream of the victim keeps ringing in my ears. I feel like crying, so I run to my room and locked the door. Few tears drop on my cheek. I wiped it, feel sorry for the victim.

Mom knocked on the door, asked me to get out and have my lunch. My stomach rumbled hardly protested over the inequality it got. I think I will feel sorry again later. Now, I need to feel sorry for my stomach. It’s dying down there.

I opened my door and walked to the kitchen. I could smell the soup from the corridor. In this cold weather, some soup is the best. When I arrived in the kitchen, I sat next to my sister and mom in front of me. I saw a bowl of white meat with oily soup in it. The steam brought with it a humble smell that makes my stomach rumbling uncontrollably.

“Eat it! It’s your favorite, a chicken soup.” My mom said to me with a bright smile on her face, scooping me a big scoop of meat.

“What is chicken mom?” I asked my mom. I know that I always love it, but it’s the first time mom mentions its name. I take a bit of the meat and it tastes delicious.

“the one that you said your Papa killed, a hen, a rooster, remember? The Cock-a-doodle-doo in old McDonald song.” My mom said, calmly, once again with a smile on her face.

But dear Zeus, please struck me with your mighty light, my smile has gone, stolen by a gulp of fear in my throat. I am speechless. I could feel the meat my mom called chicken escapes from my fingers. I grasp my breath and stared blankly at my mom or eternity in front of me. Shook my head, refuse to accept the truth.

“Why dad killed that chicken?” I found my voice in between piles of this rubbish.

“What do you mean with Why? Those chickens outside were raised to be our food, the one you always love to eat.” Her smile started to look like a creepy clown for me.

I burst into tears upon hearing mom explanation. I was guilty of those pity friends of mine. No! I have no right to claimed myself as a friend. I am a sinner. Oh, for goodness sake, what unluckiest living thing alive. Raised only for being food.