One. Two. Twenty-Six.

It's been one year, two months & twenty-six days since i killed my father. Motivation- revenge, for all the years of neglect. For turning up one morning (it was hot & dusty, i remember that much) expecting me to be his buddy.
I stabbed him. 13 times. Not that day, no, the anger didnt come until much later. Months later. It may have even been a year later. But it did come. Suddenly like an ejaculation youre not yet ready for- without any warning.
When he invited me over dinner, i had already decided that i was going to do it. I didnt know how but i remember that even then a knife had seemed particularly inviting. I had always thought that if i ever had to kill someone, that would be the way to do it. It made things personal. & as sure as blood runs red, this was definitely personal.
I waited until he was in the shower. He told me to keep an eye on the rice for him. I was thirsty for blood & jumped at the oppotunity to be in the kitchen amongst all those knives.
I found the perfect blade. The perfect length. The perfect shape. I remember thinking to myself that, "if there really is a god, he must be the devil."
I didnt have to wait long. He was a man. & a practical one at that. He got in, did his business & got out.
He passed me on his way to the bedroom. My eyes following him every step of the way. I'm sure that if he had taken the time to look in my direction, he would have known instantly that i had murder on the brain.
The door closed softly behind him. I waited a moment & then removing my hand from where it rested beneath the cushion in my lap, the handle of the knife already plastered to my fingers, i got up..