When my brain crashes I often take up flash fiction challenges or have a look around for an image that inspires me to write to it.
A LETTER TO MY CHILDREN
By now my darlings you must believe what the Police and newspapers are telling you. What the neighbours whispered about behind their pristine curtains is true.
I did kill your Father.
You will of course never forgive me for this and I am not writing this to you to tell you I am sorry. Because I am not.
In the end it came down to him or me and on that last day I could not find the courage to take my own life, although now, on reflection, it would probably have been preferable compared to this wait.
But on the bright side I will at least find redemption as an executed killer whereas I would not as someone who had taken their own life. But this you know.
I have no wish to blight your memories of the man you called Daddy. You loved him and in his way he loved you but as for me, well, you know the ways of our culture, you have learned from day one the superior standing of a man in his family. We were never to be equals.
My own Father sold me to yours when I was little more than a child. He was a middle-aged man with one marriage already behind him. I know not how that ended, but if her life was anything at all like mine, then I am sure I shall be meeting her very soon.
You were the reason that I endured so much for so long but I am not the strong woman you may have wished for as your Mother.
Not one of you was produced through love, shocking isn’t it? But I never loved you any the less because of it.
I am so thankful that I only produced you girls because this would have been an unbearable burden for a son. It would have been his duty to avenge his Father and it would have broken my heart to have my own boy kill me. Much better this way.
Do you want to hear the details from my own mouth? I am not sure but I will write them anyway in the knowledge that your dear Aunt will obliterate them if she decides it is too much for you to take in.
He came home from playing cards and drinking his *lion milk in a terrifying rage because his friend had recently fathered a son.
Why did I never give him a son? He wanted a son. He was not a man until he had a son. What use were girls?
And I knew that yet again I was to be raped as I had been throughout the sixteen years I was married to your Father.
When he was done he demanded I prepare food and bring him more drink, as I have done so many times, but you know as I stood in the kitchen something came over me. I know not what but I knew that I could take no more. I would rather be dead.
And so I took the large hatchet, the one we use for dismembering our sacrificial lambs and had thought to stand before him and plunge it in to my heart.
He was sleeping, but as I raised my weapon to swing towards my chest he awoke. His eyes were black, the hatred and disgust so clear to see.
Before he could rise I had taken a step forward and smashed the hatchet down on his head. And I did so again and again and again until I was exhausted.
I was of course covered in blood but I slipped my top coat on and went directly to the police. I had no wish to encounter any male family members. You know what would have happened if I had.
So the rest you know. There was a trial, I confessed from the very beginning knowing I would never escape with my life but I have escaped with my sanity and I am not afraid to die.
Be strong my beautiful girls and I pray that you will find love when you marry. I would not wish my life on anyone.
The time is here and they come for me.
I love you.
*Lion milk = Raki (A Turkish drink)