By Melissa L. Webb
I don’t know why I am even writing this. A man shouldn’t have to admit their failings, but I have a problem. One giant problem clings to me like a sack of bricks on my soul. I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t even know who to turn to. I just know I can’t bear it any longer.
Things didn’t used to be so bad. There for a while I even thought this was the good life. However, ideals are like sandcastles. They crumble and fall under the waves of reality.
My wife was the first one to point out the problem. I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t But, under scrutiny, I realized I could not turn a blind eye to this awful truth. Our offspring was different.
He didn’t act like us. He didn’t think like us. He did things that shocked my very soul. I knew I had to find a way to get through to him, my demented son, Jeff.
His mother and I tried to raise him right. We tried to teach him the difference between right and wrong, good and evil, but he rejected everything we stood for because of his own sick and twisted desires.
He lives in our basement, even though he is now an adult. A man should be out on his own, making a name for himself and starting a family of his own. But, no. He doesn’t want to live that life. The right life. The life I and my ancestors have so painstakingly worked to provide him.
I am beginning to fear the dark things that lurk inside his mind. I dread going down to the basement now. The look he gives me chill me to the core, as does the way he snarls like a feral animal. It’s enough to make my soul weep. He hates me and it tears me apart inside.
How could I have raised such a deviant child? How can he bear witness to all our morals and traditions and throw them back in our faces?
He needs help, but I’m afraid it is more than what we can give. My wife thinks we need to send him away. Sadly, I am beginning to agree. The hope in my heart has died. He will never be like us and I fear that if he were to go out into society, he’d do something to harm the whole family.
And I can’t allow that.
Our life here is sacred and has been handed down through generations before us. Just because he wants to be “normal” shouldn’t be a reason to destroy everything we’ve worked for.
The others agree with my wife as well. Measures must be taken. The outside world must not know about us, for if they did, we’d have to stop our traditions. And hunting long pig is what we live for.
My wife is sharpening the ax as I write this. My deviant son has refused to make his first kill and now he must be sent away. Unfortunately, his death is the only way to keep the family safe.
I must go down to the basement, and face the look of hate in my son’s eyes as I pull him from the trunk I have kept him in. His torture was not enough to make him see the way. It is too late for him. I must hurry. My wife gets cranky when she’s waiting for the kill.
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