WHAT'S RIGHT, AND WHAT'S EASY
She found herself listening to that damn track again. She couldn't say why, of all of her father's songs, she liked to hear this one so much, specially since she knew that she would end curled up, knees to her chest, sobbing and crying the life out of her. She had had a happy childhood, until it was just brutally cut off; when her father died, she was just twelve. And she loved the song, no matter how painful it was to listen.
Her eyes were red and swollen. Why did life have to be so unfair, so painful? Why everything on her had to be wrong? Nothing had gone right since 2005. First, seeing him go through all that pain again, then hiding, and when everything seemed to go alright, they caught them. Then, the skin cancer, the lungs going worse each day, and she standing here, watching how he suffered. And, suddenly, all hope in her life flown away when he died. Now, she only had her brothers. Ten years had passed, and she was a beautiful and very rich 22-year-old woman. Her seventeen year old brother had just killed himself. She found him; he had stabbed himself on the chest because his grandfather told him Michael would have rejected him as a son if he noticed he was gay. He had been torturing himself for so long and that was all he needed to hear to end up with his life.
She walked up the streets, holding the knife that had been stuck in her brother's chest, until she reached her grandfather's house. She had a key, so entering was no problem. Her grandfather was sitting in the living room, watching TV; probably he still didn't know. She held the knife to her chest, hidden in her expensive jacket.
- Joseph? –she addressed the old man carefully.
- Ahh! My dear granddaughter who comes to visit me in the twilight of my life… have a sit, my darling; don't stand there like a maid…
- Joseph, I'm afraid I have some really bad news… -she said after forcing herself to sit calmly. She took a deep breath and continued, her face pale and her voice shaking unsure. - Michael died.
- Darling, that happened ten years ago. I grew used to the fact that my son is dead and I honestly think that you'd better do the same
For if you don't remember, my brother asked to be called Michael when he grew too much to be called Blanket. Plus, I never called my father Michael. Maybe you forced your sons to call you Joseph but our father was warm and caring and we used to call him Daddy –her tone was sharp though the shaking in her voice. The cold words were spit out more than spoken and Joseph had to understand that she still blamed him for her father's death and probably was just about to blame him for something else.- He died because of what you told him. I came here to say, once and for all, what I think about you. I think you're cold and dehumanized, that you're a demon in human shape and that it's because people like you is still alive the world is going the way it does and not the way my father wanted it to be. So…
She opened her jacket. Her shirt had a bloodstain on it because the knife still dropped her brother's hot, thick blood.
- What are you doing? –Joseph's voice was shaking in terror and his very self was shuddering whole.
What I should have done ten years ago, and I'd still have the brother that looked like my father. It was like seeing him dead again! What someone should have done in the 80's and I would be Jackie's daughter, and she and my father would be still alive. This is for my brother! –she stabbed him, blood splashing everywhere. She raised the knife and yelled again- This is for my father! This is for all the girls you raped! –with each sentence, she stabbed him another time- This –she whispered, exhausted, raising the knife a last time- is for me.