The Cost of Spite

Have you ever felt the burden of a decision? A decision so terrible and regret provoking that you would go to extreme lengths to reverse it? I have and things are about to get much much worse.

It all started with a simple argument. That's all I could have with him. Nothing could be complex or he would run. I have never had a good relationship with my father. From a young age, he wasn't always there, and when he was there physically he wasn't there emotionally. He was detached, almost phantom-like: present in some ways and absent in others.

As I grew older I became more and more aware of subtle rejections and judgements which led to internal bitterness and hatred towards my dad. Yet when I was around him I couldn't help but put on this sickening sweet-as-honey act, which in turn made his pathetic attempts of being a parent seem valid and acceptable to him.

"Thanks for nothing." 

That was to be the last text I ever sent to my 'dad'. I was done. I would have nothing to do with the man after this. My heart craved something more, actions speak louder than words.

Drugs, sex and women. These were the building blocks of his life. Not me, or his other daughters. Was I not good enough? Were his selfish indulgences more important than me? Seemingly so.

I won't fall for his bullshit again.

Filled with rage I did something that to this day still makes me feel immense guilt and disgust that I even saw this as a viable option.

I scrolled to the bottom of my contacts. Isaiah. He had quite the reputation where we lived. While other kids our age were studying he was out selling drugs and committing other unsavoury crimes he wouldn't admit to me. Don't get me wrong he wasn't a sinister character, just your stereotypical bad boy. Hung out with the wrong crowd and came from a bad home. Quite a cliche in my opinion.  

'Hey,' I texted.

'What's up' he replied faster than I expected.

'This may sound odd, but do you know how I could get someone killed'

'Are you joking?'

'No'

'I don't believe you.'

After a tedious half-hour of explaining and convincing I had managed to sway him.

'Sure I'll get put you through to someone but you'll need to pay three thousand upfront and get rid of these messages as soon as possible, I don't want any involvement I'll just give you his number'

I texted the number sent to me by Isaiah. He had instructed me to simply send the name, address and photo of the person. After that, if I received confirmation that the act was possible I would set a time for this mystery man to follow through with the deed.

As childish and naive it sounds, I felt powerful and big. I was the one calling the shots, quite literally. The euphoria almost made me feel high. For once in my life, I was the one making choices. Making changes.

Over the next few days, I went to college. I had found a new confidence. It's like my dirty little secret had awakened a kind of narcissistic side to me. I felt like I was above everyone. I was making moves. Ending lives.

It was a Wednesday when I received a text from the person I presumed to be a man. 

'Time and date' 

I felt a little sick at this point, but I swallowed the feeling and followed through. 

That was it. I had set someone's death date. My own father's death date. 

It has been a couple of days and no word from, the hitman or Isaiah I had almost forgotten about the hit. But I wouldn't have the pleasure of ignorance as my phone rang in the early hours of the morning. My sister. I answered. It was my dads birthday in a few days and she wanted me there apparently. As not to upset, my sister I decided I would go and show some face, although deep down I felt the spite building. Piling up in my blood and killing me slowly, why should we praise him when all he has done is drag us down?

'He'll be gone soon.' I told myself.

Oh god. He'll be gone soon. I was getting cold feet. I can't let this continue. I'm not a murderer I'm just a little pissed. I've blown things way out of proportion. I decided I would call the hit off. It was stupid and immature. 

Much to my dismay when I went to text the hitman I had been in contact with I was met with a message that made my stomach turn.

'You can no longer send messages to this person'

What had I done? My heart started racing. I couldn't breathe. I ran to the small bathroom next to the front room of my flat where I threw up into my bath. My vision was blurred and my hands were cold and tingly. 

'I've killed my dad' I said aloud. Tears uncontrollably ran down my face as I yelled out in what, looking back, was an almost animalistic manner. For the next hour, I sat in my bathroom sobbing uncontrollably. I thought this was the worst part of this whole ordeal but this was just the start of my hellish journey. Once again I picked up that cursed phone of mine and read the messages from when I first reached out to Isaiah and I realised something, he had warned me firmly and told me I would regret it. It was all coming together, this was all me. It was time to be proactive. 

I had to get to where this hitman would be before my dad got to him. This supposed hitman was a self-proclaimed sniper so I knew to look up high. The rooftops maybe? 

I had to gulp down my fear and pride. I am going to save him. 

I didn't even bother calling Isaiah, I was too ashamed of what I'd done to even face him. Either way, there was no point implicating him in my crime. Because that's what it was, a crime. Even if he enabled it, I am ultimately the main perpetrator.

I prayed that night before I went to bed. I didn't sleep though. I was too busy devising and planning, at the time I thought I was being clever but in reality, I was haphazardly throwing ideas around and blindly trying to choose the most logical one, which was a confrontation. I would intercept the attack personally and explain, maybe he was a nice hitman? I wouldn't know I never thought I'd ever come into contact with one.

I watched the sky as it turned from a dark grey to a glowy amber. That was my cue. I would set out as early as possible and wait. This was my plan to get to my dad's house before the hitman arrived. I walked to my bathroom and washed up, brushed my hair and changed. Today was not a day to get ready, today wasn't about me. 

In my bag, I packed two items. My phone and a utility knife. The type you use for crafts or the odd DIY job it's blade flimsy yet lethally sharp. 

As I walked out the door I took one final look in the mirror, it was as though I knew I was in danger before the danger had even started. I looked terrible. I walked and walked, the cold ground numbing my feet through my shoes, looking around anxiously in a way that may have looked suspicious to anyone passing by. As I approached the drive near my dads I spotted something. I wasn't expecting it to be so early. A figure dressed in black on top of the roof of the house which faces my dads front door. He was crouched down holding something long. A gun.

My heart sank; a part of me had hoped that this hitman was, in fact, a fraud, a scam, a con man. But alas he was as real as can be. I decided to test things out by walking past my dad's house, he hadn't yet noticed me. As I came closer to the door and acted as though I was about to knock, I heard a clear click. He was preparing for my dad to appear. 

I then reached into my bag and picked up my phone. "Hello?" I paused. There was no one on the other end I just needed a diversion, and excuse to not actually enter my father's house. "Sure I'll bring it now".

I had my confirmation now and I knew what to do. I had to find a way up the building. It was a block of flats so surely I could get up from the inside. I walked all the way back around making sure the man had his back time the whole time. I had about 15 minutes before my dad would leave for work. That's 10 minutes to get to the roof in the hope I'll be able to miraculously solve this whole thing in the remaining five.

It was cold out but my palms were growing sweaty. I tried to slow and quiet my breathing down but in turn, I ended up hyperventilating. 9 minutes. The stairway before me twisted and turned before my eyes. I was a nervous wreck, my heart was beating out of my chest. I walked up 4 flights of stairs, I had opted not to run and to choose to be discreet over being fast. 2 minutes. I had managed to get to the door before the roof in 8 minutes. Perfect. I inhaled deeply and slowly as I slowly turned the handle and pulled back the door as quietly as possible as not to startle the man in fear of being gunned down. I wriggled my body through the gap I had created between the door and its frame but in a flustered panic I got stuck and as I freed myself the door slammed shut with a loud thump. I was directly behind the man, he didn't turn around though. Without turning to face me he pointed what looked like a pistol at me his back still turned. 

"I came up here to-" my shaky words were cut short.

"I know what you're here for" 

The voice was familiar. 

"You don't understand this was all a mistake," I tried to sound composed "I can pay in full just, please don't hurt anybody" 

I became tearful. Was I about to die? Was my dad about to die. There would be no good outcome. I stood frozen in fear. I felt the sheer terror would suffocate me to death before this man could to anyone any harm. The man, with his gun still pointed at me, slowly got up and turned around. Through my fear, I found the courage to reach for my knife. In what seemed like minutes I had my knife in my hand. Held out in front of the man. 

But this man wasn't a man, it was a boy, my friend Isaiah.

My head hurt, I was so confused. I couldn't speak. 

"Don't move," he ordered.

He was cold.

This wasn't him it couldn't be.

out of nowhere, I heard a clicking sound. My dad's door.

It was now or never. Do or die. I charged towards Isiah with my knife and stuck it deep in his stomach. Time slowed. The look of terror in his eyes as the blade pierced him is one that haunts my psyche. The feeling was the worst part. It takes a lot more pressure than you'd expect to cut through human skin. He was my friend but now he was well and truly fucked.

The pistol which was being pointed at me fell. I felt a moment of relief but then realisation hit mem I wasnt safe. The angle at which I fell caused it to shoot when it hit the ledge of the roof. Time slowed even further as I watched the bullet travel towards me. Was this is?

Was I about to die?

It hurts me to say this but yes. I was about to die and I did. A bullet to the head. I didnt even experience dying it was an instant death. I still wander the Earth and I am still to figure out how and why Isaiah and I ended up killing each other. And how he ended up being the hitman. But until then I am damned to walk the earth alone and unnoticed. This truly is the cost of spitefulness.