Page 82 of My Girl
Picking her up by the back of her dress, I lay her on the stone, her chest down, her head turned to the side. It’s like she’s on an executioner’s block from the medieval period.
There’s no judge or crowd to cheer me on, to say that I’m doing the right thing by getting rid of a scumbag like her. It’s never been about justice though.
This is about my childhood dream coming true.
This is purely for me.
The hunting knife slides along her neck, the tendrils of muscle and esophagus popping into view. The nerves and vessels slop out like wet dog food. The knife slides back and forth, like a see-saw, and my mind wanders to her words:You were born this way.
Can a child be born with anger in their heart? Or is this the result of being removed from my biological mother? Am I the consequence of being adopted by a woman who never wanted me?
These questions are pointless though. The answers won’t stop me from killing this cunt.
The knife stops, stunted by the spine. The bones are painted pink with blood.
The ax will be more practical now.
A car rumbles across the dirt. The engine cuts off. A door slams. I take the gun out of the holster, ready for them.
“Honey?” Mr. Galloway shouts. “Are you still out back? This kid has your genes. He’s a weed.”
“We had to go three sizes up,” Gage adds.
The back door opens. The two of them freeze.
Blood covers me.
Gage runs, disappearing into the house.
“Roderick?” Mr. Galloway shouts. “The hell are you?—”
I shoot Mr. Galloway in the thigh. He falls, his knees hitting the dirt like a wooden plank snapping in half.
“Argh!” he wails, then he crawls toward us. Is he trying to save his bitch wife?
“Sweetheart,” he says to the mostly decapitated corpse. “Don’t go. I’ll get him, okay?”
I shoot him again, this time in the right shoulder. He falls back. My dick pulses, and I grab the ax off of the back of the house.
“Please, Roderick,” Mr. Galloway wheezes. “You don’t have to do this. We won’t go to the cops. We?—”
It takes one firm swing at her spine, and the rest of her head comes completely off. The mass drops to the ground like a bowling ball.
Mr. Galloway whimpers like a pathetic dog. My heart beats even faster. He knows it’s over now.
I look down my nose at him like he’s a piece of roadkill.
“Roddy,” he whispers. “How could you?”
I put the gun in his hand. He’s so weak, he can barely grip it. A sense of invincibility surges through me, like I’m growing in size. Mr. Galloway has always been taller, bigger,strongerthan me, but never enough to stand up to protect me from his wife. And now, it’s like I’m a giant compared to him. I never dreamed of killing him, but now that it’s inevitable, I want to give him the chance to get rid of me. I’m not scared of death.
I hold up my empty hands.
“Do it,” I say. “Kill me.”
“She was your mother,” he gasps.
I let my hands fall to my sides. I guess that righteous death isn’t in the cards for me.
