5.31.1
You're beautiful; do you know that, son? I stand over you as you sleep, watching the bundle of
blankets rise and fall rhythmatically as you breathe.
You resemble your mother…and she was a beautiful woman. Too beautiful, perhaps…maybe that is
why I killed her. Yes, I loved her with all my heart; I still love her to this day, even as she has been
dead for over 16 years.
I miss her sometimes, late at night, and I think about her. I remember the way she used to be, back
before I killed her. I would watch her as she slept, watch silently as she dreamed about the son she
wished to bear, the son that would carry on my name, the son that was you.
She was so beautiful, and you take after her. But I will not kill you in the way that I killed her. No,
you will die in a different way than hers. I will kill you slower than I normally would in any other
situation. I will kill you so skillfully that you will not even know that it is I who is killing you. I
cannot explain why. I only hope that someday, when you have a son of your own, you will understand
my intentions and forgive me of them. I only want what is best for you, and you will understand my
words when you are in my position, when you stand over your child one day as I am doing now.
I never meant to kill her. I loved her; how could I do such a horrid, revolting thing as to kill the
woman to whom I had sworn eternal commitment?
I realize now that I should have stopped my actions no matter what she protested, insisted. She would
still be alive if I had not been so willing. But I claim humanity; she was beautiful, everyone agreed.
Beauty only stands in the way of resistance…and to shame myself, I let her beauty and want overtake
me. I knew even as they were happening that my actions would someday prove fatal to her…I knew,
as well as she did.
Perhaps for some masochistic reason deep inside ourselves, we continued though we knew the
consequences.
But I never meant to kill her.
I remember her sweet, angelic voice arguing against my own rough one, yes, I remember quite clearly.
Her point was self-sacrificing, but full of love and hope. Now, as I look back, I wish that I had never
agreed to her choice; my name was never more important than she was, but I do not even know if she
realized that.
I wish she were still alive today…I wish that she could see her son in all his glory, that she could be as
proud of him as I am. But she cannot because I killed her. I know she would argue that she killed
herself just as much as I killed her….Quaterine was beautiful like that. She was very beautiful.
You're beautiful; do you know that, son? I stand over you as you sleep, watching the bundle of
blankets rise and fall rhythmatically as you breathe.
You resemble your mother…and she was a beautiful woman. Too beautiful, perhaps…maybe that is
why I killed her. Yes, I loved her with all my heart; I still love her to this day, even as she has been
dead for over 16 years.
I miss her sometimes, late at night, and I think about her. I remember the way she used to be, back
before I killed her. I would watch her as she slept, watch silently as she dreamed about the son she
wished to bear, the son that would carry on my name, the son that was you.
She was so beautiful, and you take after her. But I will not kill you in the way that I killed her. No,
you will die in a different way than hers. I will kill you slower than I normally would in any other
situation. I will kill you so skillfully that you will not even know that it is I who is killing you. I
cannot explain why. I only hope that someday, when you have a son of your own, you will understand
my intentions and forgive me of them. I only want what is best for you, and you will understand my
words when you are in my position, when you stand over your child one day as I am doing now.
I never meant to kill her. I loved her; how could I do such a horrid, revolting thing as to kill the
woman to whom I had sworn eternal commitment?
I realize now that I should have stopped my actions no matter what she protested, insisted. She would
still be alive if I had not been so willing. But I claim humanity; she was beautiful, everyone agreed.
Beauty only stands in the way of resistance…and to shame myself, I let her beauty and want overtake
me. I knew even as they were happening that my actions would someday prove fatal to her…I knew,
as well as she did.
Perhaps for some masochistic reason deep inside ourselves, we continued though we knew the
consequences.
But I never meant to kill her.
I remember her sweet, angelic voice arguing against my own rough one, yes, I remember quite clearly.
Her point was self-sacrificing, but full of love and hope. Now, as I look back, I wish that I had never
agreed to her choice; my name was never more important than she was, but I do not even know if she
realized that.
I wish she were still alive today…I wish that she could see her son in all his glory, that she could be as
proud of him as I am. But she cannot because I killed her. I know she would argue that she killed
herself just as much as I killed her….Quaterine was beautiful like that. She was very beautiful.