👻 PAPA IS A DEVIL 👻
I stabbed papa with a knife.
Then I watched as Papa's menacing face subdued to nothingness, to a plea, as he groaned in pain, clutching to his chest.
I turned the knife, forcing it deeper into his chest.
Papa winced, his face scrunching in pain.
“Please,” he begged as his hands scrabbled for purchase at the knife.
I twisted the knife, and then I pushed it deeper. And deeper.And deeper!
I watched as life gradually floated out of him.
I didn’t feel pity.If I could kîll his spirit too, I would.
Papa was a very wicked man.He was never really a father to us.The only positive thing he ever did was to sire us, and even that was questionable, for we suffered in his hand.
My mother dièd two years ago, from the hands of papa.She was pregnant then, and just as my father would do after he got drunk, he beat her.
He whipped her crazy and kicked her until she miscarried, and later dièd of complications of miscarriage.
And that was when we saw hell.
We were living in mere stove flames before, but after my mother’s dèath, we transcended into hell.Papa treated us like we were his enemies.
He would pounce on us at every little mistake, beating us until we pass out.
We all lived in the terror of papa; my brother, my little sister and myself.
He withdrew us from school to start hawking.
And he would beat us when we didn’t sell all our wares, or when we lost some money.He would kick and hit us until we bled.
One day, my brother lost a substantial amount of money.That day was hell for him, and for us from where we watched him, wailing along with him.
Papa kicked and blew him.He struck and slapped my brother.And after that, he kicked him out, saying that he should not return if he does not bring back the missing money.
That same day, we received words that our brother was deàd.He was caught while trying to fiddle some cash out of a woman’s bag, to replace the ones that were missing, to avoid Papa’s wrath.
And even before he could beg and explain, they poured fuel on him and lit him up in flames with tyre.
Just like that, my eleven year old brother was deàd.
You would think that papa would change after that, but no, he didn’t.In fact, he grew worse.
He would bring in ladies, and would sleep with them right in front of us.
He would tell us to serve him and those ladies, and when we complained, he would beat us.
Soon, papa began to sell me out to his male friends.Old men whose mouth stank, and whose bodies smelled of stale beer and dry gin.
These men would force themselves on me.
I don’t know which was worse, their big phallus tearing into my small vagina, or the odour from their bodies that clogged my nose?
They would use me as they wanted just for meager amount paid to papa.
One day, while I was in the kitchen cooking, and a hand grabbed my waist.It was papa, and he was tipsy.He pushed me to the kitchen’s floor and had his way with me.
I struggled to get him off, and he gave a slap to my face, splitting my lips.I allowed him then, to do as he pleased.After all, what can a twelve year old do to a beastly man to stop him?
After raping me that day, he raped me the day after.And the day after that day.And the day after.I became his sèx toy, one that he could use as he pleased.
One month, I missed my period and my father suspected that I was pregnant. That evening, when he returned, he had a bottle of black liquid with him.He forced me to down the liquid.
I retched as I drank from the bottle.I almost dîed that week.Blood dripped from my vagina and down to my legs.I had abdominal pains that cramped my stomach.
I was weak; Papa had given me an abortion drink.
And I almost dîed because of the blood flow.
But I survived.I survived to be raped and used again.And when I’d become pregnant again, he would buy the drink.
One afternoon, I returned from the market, to carry more goods into my tray.
I heard muffled screams coming from papa's room.
It piqued my interest so I tiptoed curiously to papa’s room.I opened the door to find my father forcing himself on my little sister.
My sister’s face was clouded with pain and the veins on her forehead were creased with anger, disgust and FEAR.
Papa raping me was one thing, but raping my nine year old sister was another.I do not think I can bear it.I do not want her to suffer as I have done.
“Get out,” my father harshly said to me, and I did.
I got out and went into the kitchen, to the cabinet that held the knives.
I grabbed the biggest and sharpest of them all.
I was determined to end the devil.
“Get out, or do you want to join us too?” papa said when I flung the door open.
I crept to him with the knife held behind.
“Papa,” I cooed in a seductive voice, when I reached the foot of the bed.
“Yes, darlin.’ You want some too?” he slurred as he sat up from my sister.
And just as he turned to face me, just as he turned to grab me, I stabbed him.
I impaled the knife in the middle of his broad chest.
“Uggh,” he cried as I pierced it deeper.
I felt no pity.I had no pity.I was empty, and void of emotions.
I pushed the knife deeper into his chest as my sister watched.And she understood.
Dark red blood dripped from the hole in his chest, cascading down his body and soaking the gray hairs of his chest.I twisted the knife, to kîll.
Standing over papa now, standing over the beast who was lying in a pool of his blood, it felt good.I felt satisfied and whole as I watched his lifeless eyes.
I reached for the knife, I pulled it out of his chest and I stabbed him again. This time, on his pen*s.On his weapon of mass destruction.
The deed is done; the enemy is down.There is nothing left here.There remains one thing left for me to do.To run far away with my sister, and to be a good mother to her.
© Desmond Ben