No Other Choice - страница 11

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It was the night of September 1st. I stole my mom’s phone. So she started looking for it.


01:13. I’m in the kitchen. Hear her steps reaching the kitchen. She enters.


“Do you know where my phone is?”


I had to make her furious. I couldn’t lose this opportunity.


“I don’t know where your phone is. You always leave it in visible places, try to use your brain.”

“What did you say?”

“TRY-TO-USE-YOUR-BRAIN”


She hit me two times in the head. Great! She went to the exit. It’s the moment, do it, Florence.


“Look what I got!”, I shouted, showing her phone.


She turned out, saw the phone, and furiously ran to me. At that moment, I threw the phone out of the window. She leaned over the windowsill exactly as I wanted her to do. And I did my job. It was super easy to take her legs when 45% of her body was outside.


No one woke up. I wrote a farewell note. Explained all the suffering in her life and that she couldn’t live like that anymore. I also wrote that a dad could take care of us and we didn’t need her in order to survive. I made her look better. I didn’t want to do it, though.


I only want to say that it could have been performed way better but I’m not an assassin. I did my best, truly. And it worked. I killed her eventually, and everyone thought that it was suicide. No job, no food, her husband beat her. Everything was perfect. I’ve never been so happy. The only thing that upsets me was that Steve, Elon, and Agnes were frustrated because of her death. Like, guys, she was an awful mom. Everyone noticed that.


We didn’t have a funeral. It was too expensive, so we just buried her in a 20$ coffin. Sorry, but she didn’t deserve any better. Eventually, everyone forgot about her and we moved on.

CHAPTER THREE: FATHER

Meet Him

This guy is insane. He is the first reason why I hate men so much. Especially white males who think they are the kings of the world. All the children actually are accidents. Moreover, he said it to each one a lot of times. I have no idea why. Just wear a freaking condom. Or if you do not have money, just avoid sex.


Abel is 63. He’s got gray hair from his 40s, a crazy wrinkled face, and a stupid-looking countenance. Typical short man (something around 5’5), curses every five minutes, bad-spoken. He literally can’t put five words together. He is a rapist, junkie, and abuser. He got a degree in college and even had a great job as an engineer but it didn’t last long. He became an alcoholic and several months later a junkie. He awfully hates women, blames each thing on them, and just feels like men are better than women. He says that we are extremely emotional, not hard-working, too soft, and are created to give birth to children and be a good wife.