[Extra Credit: Monologue from the POV of someone who was in the original story]
Word Count: 500 (ish)
Today I went to my son's funeral. I cried as they buried him, prayed for his soul, accepted the pitying looks from neighbours and relatives.
I killed him.
It was my recklessness, my stupidity.
My wife hid my guilt. She used her magic, did something to the police who came asking for me, made them forget what happened. She cleaned my clothes with a swish of her wand but she couldn't save our son's life. She always hated the car, doesn't understand why I use it. So many things she doesn't understand, muggle things.
She's leaving. She says she can't live in this world, this bleak ordinary world. She won't take the children-they don't have magic, they're not good enough for her. He was the only one born with magic. He was like her. She wanted to send him away, send him to some posh school. Now he's gone, she has no reason to stay. That's why I can't confess. If I turned myself in, who would look after the children?
I couldn't stop. I tried to stop. The second I saw him I hit the breaks but everybody knows that alcohol slows your reflexes. I felt the thud, saw him fall. Over the sound of the horn and the breaks I heard his scream.
Today, at the funeral, I thought I saw him. The doctor says it must have been a hallucination, but it was real. I swear it was real. He was just sort of floating. He looked almost peaceful, the sun shining through the great glass windows behind him. He looked, angelic. I'm not a religious man, but I know that wherever I go when I die, it won't be to where he is. My twisted, tortured soul is going straight to hell.
The funeral was awful. His girlfriend was there, crying and blaming herself for what happened. Poor little Nancy, thinking it was her fault because she held him up at the store. Not knowing that the man she confessed to was the true murderer. The football boys, his best friend, all trying to hold back tears. They will get to grow up, graduate, get married, have their own families. I stole all of that from my son.
I am a haunted man. I am guilty of murder, of killing an innocent child, my child. I stole his life from him, his future, his happiness. My house is one of misery, and every time someone looks at me with pity in their eyes I want to scream. Can't they see it? Can't they see that I'm a murderer. My son deserves their pity, I deserve their hatred.
For the rest of my life, only one thing matters. Only one thing is important to me, one secret, buried so deep that no one will ever know, is what my life now revolves around.
I killed my son.