On Killing

Killing someone was never what I'd ever do. Or what I had never thought I'd do. But when he came in my way, I knew it had to be done. To save my reputation.

Let me begin at the beginning.

I am always a silent girl. Shy, introvert. I jump when a spider comes my way. I jump when someone suddenly barges. I jump when someone speaks in deep silence, I jump when this happens .....I jump when that happens....

You get an idea. Girls call me 'Scaredy-Kat.'

"Um...Becca, I...can I please have my way...?" I nervously stutter, as I try to make my way to my bench, (right at the corner) which is currently blocked by 'THE' girls of the class, Becca and her group.

"Oh sure, K...K...Kat," she replies, mocking me.

I block the tears in my eyes, and plop myself on my bench.

I think of things to say, but hate myself for not doing it.

Ms. Class walks in, and the class falls silent. With her spectacles placed tightly against her nose, and eyes that notice everything, Ms. Class indeed looks very stern. No one in the class dares to utter a word when it's Ms. Class' class.

"Good morning. Today we will continue with the rapid reading as per the roll numbers, assigned to you. We stopped at 14 yesterday, didn't we?"

The class nods, and my throat is parched. I wish I was one of those introvert girls who have reading as a hobby. Then I could have at least been able to stand up and read. But it's not. I mean, reading is not my hobby. Funnily, I love football, but have not the courage to go and play it out.

Anyways, Ms. Class runs her finger down the register containing the names of the girl along their roll numbers. My heart throbs madly.

The next girl is me. 15 is my roll number, and it's my turn to read first.

'Just read, right? No big deal,' I try to calm myself.

Glancing around the class, Becca gives a smirk.

'She knows it's my turn,' I whisper faintly.

Reading in front of the class. The thought makes me want to run.

"Kate Shirley!" Ms. Class bursts, and heads turn towards me.

I stand and gulp. I try to breathe, but fail miserably. Somehow, I lift my book, and begin.

“It was the merry weather of J...June... The sun seeeeeeemed to shine like a diaaaamo..ond in the sssssky."

Terry, sitting next to me, covers her mouth and begins imitating me.

"I....a......m Kkkkkkate...."she says.

I stop and Ms. Class frowns. "Continue Kate, and no stuttering."

I can't. My head begins spinning.

"Are you okay?" Someone asks.

Everything stops and I fall.

I am in my bedroom. My mother's face peers over me, and I try to get up.

She pushes me back and kisses my forehead.

I feel safe. Comforted.

I relax, and let down my feelings. Tears spring easily, and my mom listens as I rant on.

“Why me, mom? Why? Why can’t I be like Becca, who doesn’t care if someone is there or not, like Terry who fits in easily, like Jenny whom everyone befriends, or like Nikki, who had loads of confidence? I faint nearly every time I start speaking! Why me? Tell me mom, Why?”

My mother lies on the bed besides me and I go in her warm embrace. I lie there for a long time, never knowing when I sleep.

As I get up, my mom kisses me again.

“You are a strong girl, Kate. All you need to do is try. Challenge yourself. When you want to run, force yourself to stop and face. When you want to say something, say it. Don’t be shy. You’ll never get your way if you are. Be the way you are inside. Show that awesome personality!”

Perhaps I wouldn’t have been marked as a murderer if I hadn’t promised myself to ‘try’ that day.

The next day, being my younger brother’s birthday, I decide to bake a cake for him.

After scouring through the YouTube videos for nearly two hours, I decide upon a Choco-lava cake. The recipe seems delicious, and I am excited to bake it.

So, I begin. First the batter, then add other ingredients, etc…etc…

After three long hours, my three-layered cake is ready.

“Priceless!” I say, with a proud grin.

I click photos with all the possible angles, and sigh dreamily.

My mom walks in and stops still.

“Lovely, dear!” she whispers, placing a hand on my back.

Suddenly, a cockroach approaches the kitchen counter and I stare dead-eyed.

My heart throbs and I cry out loud, making my mother jump back a foot.

He makes he’s way nearly towards the base of the cake and suddenly, he’s not there anymore.

He’s under my foot.

As a bolt, I had snatched the roach by his body and stamped on him till he was dead.

I stand horrified. I just killed someone!

“I…I…,” I whisper to my mom, wide-eyed.

My mom looks at me, confused.

I walk up to her, not wishing to confess.

“Mom, please don’t be mad. I…I…killed the cockroach!” I whisper fearfully. “But you have to understand. He was about to spoil my lovely cake! And then Jake wouldn’t even have been able to eat it! Sorry, mom.”

I cry and rush up to my bedroom.

Killing someone was never what I had thought I'd do. But when the cockroach came up to the cake, I couldn’t stop. To save my cake, my reputation.

That day, I still wonder why, my family was over over-joyous. They were congratulating me, I think probably to ease my feelings, why else? It wasn’t that I finally showed up some courage, did I?

Murder was a horrible deed, but my family’s support gave me strength to face the situation. The cockroach still reminds me of the crime I have done, and now, I make sure no cockroaches ever confront me.