• Death seems to be a mystery to the living. But to the beholder of his own death, it is clear. I am not here to entertain you audience, but to reveal my truth.

    I was a lady of misery my mother used to say. I suppose she never really cared if I was. I despised her greatly anyway

    One thing I loved, though, was my father. He treated me equal, like a man he worked with. I was very respectful to him, even though he appeared drunk every night when he arrived home.

    March 15, year 1877, England. As mother and I prepared dinner, father walks in the door. A sudden stench of beer and wine filled the room. "Great," I said sarcastically in my thoughts. I leave mother and father to the kitchen and waited patiently at the dinning table. They are screaming at each other, as usual, still I've never smelt so much alcohol on him before.

    Suddenly, mother is heard by the sound of a shrieking pain. Father is heard laughing. I run to the kitchen to find mother as she lay, dead on the cold tile floor, with blood surrounding her lifeless body. I saw blood ... so much blood.

    I look at father. A sly grin lies upon his face, and down at his right hand, seems to be the cause of mother's death. He turns and looks at me. His expression is terror, and is that guilt on his face?

    I run to the door, father following. I leap outside still frantically running for my life. Noticing, it's a raining night and town is a mile away. I feel the bloody pain at the heels and palms of my feet. Beer glass, piercing into my flesh. Left by my loving father perhaps. I try to ignore the pain and keep running. The rain is clenching my clothes to my skin, I thought to myself. Quickly, I tear off my petticoats, exposing my dress undergarments, to create less drag. I didn't care, rather alive than embarrassed. I am thirty meters from the main street.

    Almost there.....

    I stop. Stabbed by the very person I trusted and loved unconditionally. The man I respected and called father. I fall to my knees. My sins, my pride, my rights came to me.

    Even though the rain hit my back like lightning with each individual drop, and even though it was around 78 degrees out, it was the last and coldest night I have ever felt. And the last thing I remember alive was my father, snickering, "Good-bye now, my daughter."

    I do not know of what became of me or of my father. But I do know this, never think you know someone because they can always turn around and stab you in the back.