A Reynolds

Getting Away with Murder

The art of killing is so utterly and completely complex. To rely on another soul so completely takes a patience and trust only a mother is capable of. It is a bit of a funny matter, really. If I told you that I killed my son, you’d think me a downright criminal. But if you knew that he abused me- cut me, beat me, bruised me -I’d be viewed as nothing but a victim in your little mind. If you only knew that I was chopping carrots in the kitchen when he came home with every intention of beating me for his drunken state and that I truly was defending myself, you’d se e me as a poor soul who needs to be cradled and sung to like a baby. But take note; though context clues may be important, they are a fickle thing. Most people want cold, hard evidence of what happened. It’s no matter really, as I do appreciate being thought of as innocent before the law. Sadly, facts do not generally account for what takes place inside ones and heart and mind. You see, I did mean to kill my son, and I had every intention of doing so from the beginning. And yes, when I say the beginning, I truly do mean the very beginning- when he was born.