In response to:
"Well well well..." The first words out of the mouth of that bitch who killed my mother over 20 years ago. I could not believe this was happening, here, and now, in the house I grew up in. Sometimes things come full circle, and need an end. Full closure to an ugly, lie-filled past that haunts us all.
I raise my gun and bring it down hard on the back her skull, laying her out flat and motionless. All the pent up anger and rage over the last 20 years has built up inside of me silently, stalking my thoughts and dreams, night after night, year after year. I now, will get my revenge.
Saying I had a fucked up childhood is an understatement. I had a drunk for a mother (thanks to me), and a spineless asshole for a father. Neither of which deserved the truly horrific way their son turned out. Their only child, unbeknown to them was a pathological liar, with a schizo-affective disorder to boot. Getting them hurt was never my plan, and it broke my heart to know that I was the cause of their suffering. But that didn't happen until far later.
I had wild nights as a kid where I would run off and get into trouble almost every night. My parents thought I was always with my girlfriend at those times when I was causing chaos, and in the process would come home all beat up. They would ask what happened and I always had a quick story about protecting the honor of my love, or standing for less-fortunate kids. I was such a good liar that they never even came close to not believing me.
I could not lie to HER though. I never even tried. She had weird power over me that would force the truth from me. So instead of telling her the truth, I would just stay silent... never telling her what happened or what I told my parents. One day she came over and walked into an argument my mom and I were having after I had gotten back from burning down farmer Jerry's barn. I was pretty banged up and mom thought that for sure Morgan was at the heart of it. A lot of my lies were centered around her because of the lies I had told my parents about her and her family. They always seemed to be able to provide a rich backstory for whatever coverup I was currently weaving. But I digress...
Morgan walks in and sees us arguing, right as I am storming out... She gives chase and asks me what happened. I played the silent game but was having trouble hiding my emotions. Half anger and half absolute elation at the adrenaline rush I was still feeling from the hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage I had caused an innocent family earlier today.
Morgan saw that mom was drinking wine during our argument (thanks to me) and assumed that she had hit me and did the damage she could visibly see. I could tell that this really tore her up inside. Which excited me even more, but since i could not lie to her, I stayed silent.
A small part of me loved the fact that even me telling my parents that her name was "Morgan" was a lie, and they had no clue. Man I was good!
This went on for two more years, with my mother being my scapegoat to "Morgan" and this girl whose name they didn't even know, being the scapegoat for my wrongdoings.
Then the day of bar beating occurred... I got caught cutting the brake lines of a few vehicles parked out at "The Shed", a local dive bar for most of the towns alcoholics. Maybe my mother would have been driven to visit this place daily if I had kept driving her to drink, but sadly that would never happen.
3 Big country boys proceeded to beat me senseless, and I only escaped with my life thanks to my trusty switchblade, that my love had given me for my birthday just 4 months earlier. Bloody and beaten, I barely made it to her window. I could not go home because i did not have the energy or mental capacity to make up a story for my mom, and I did not feel like going to the hospital. Meanwhile, being with HER, i didn't have to say a thing. I could sit and gather my thoughts and heal a bit.
But something changed in her... after that. Her stare seemed more distant. I would soon find out why... and life would never be the same.
So now here she is, tied to a chair in the living room just 15 feet from where she drowned my mother in the tub. I would now get my sweet revenge.
From a storage box in the closet, I found my old, but still functional, switchblade. Same one since High School. Same one that saved my life outside of that bar that closed long ago. Same one she gave me to protect myself with.
"Such delicious irony..." I thought as I opened the blade with my right hand and proceeded to cut her flesh....