Sunday, February 26, 2006

You were always the dictator in my life. You controlled my freedom, and the people I love. I was to do whatever you say. I detested you. You were a thorn in my side, a dictator waiting to be overthrown. I was waiting for the right moment - the moment when you would fall from glory. After all, look at the dictators in history. They all fell from their unjust power, and if history has taught us one thing, it's that history repeats itself.

You were sitting in front of the television, your eyes glued to the box. You were eating breakfast, the cereal soggy in the bowl of milk. I waited for the opportune moment. It never came. You were always alert to what I was doing. You yelled at me to clean your mess as you went to the bathroom. My fists were clenched, my teeth gritted with silent fury.

I always searched for the perfect opportunity to attack. It was a time to rebel, a time to attack. You have victimized my family for far too long. Your dictatorship would end. And so, I waited. I waited for the perfect opportunity.

Once, I crushed some sleeping pills and mixed it in your cup of cocoa. I thought my plan would work, and we would be able to escape your clutches. I watched with glee as you brought the cup to your lips... and stopped. You stared at me, the suspicion glinting in your dark eyes. Then, you summoned my little sister, and told her to drink the cocoa. She was only too happy to. I gave out a cry, and pushed the cup away from my sister. You sneered at me, triumphant. I could only choke back my tears.

You were drunk that night, shouting abuse as you swaggered in through the door. You demanded for more alcohol, and I complied. As I handed you glasses after glasses of liquor, I saw an opportunity to attack. You were cautious still, making sure I took a sip from each glass I gave you. You never saw it coming, for you were far too drunk to see, let alone react.

I felt the pressure as the knife plunged into your soft stomach. You groaned, your eyes widening with surprise. I pulled the knife out, the blade stained with blood. It was so dark, almost black. You made a move, trying to grab the weapon from my hands, but you were too slow. Fuelled by anger, hatred and perhaps from the alcohol you made me consume, I plunged the knife into you once again. It was fairly easy the second time, and the third time, and the fourth.

By the time the neighbors arrived with the police, their hands over their mouths in horror, you were drowned in a puddle of blood. I laughed as the policemen dragged me away. I felt liberated as they put me away behind bars. I was finally free. You would no longer hurt me or my loved ones.

Didn't I tell you that history would repeat itself? All dictators fall from glory, including you. The oppressed would fight back, and win back the freedom that was rightfully theirs. It has always been that way in history, and it will always be that way.