Bekah Schofield

Guilty

He killed my daughter. He killed her in cold blood and yet there he stood, free as the day it had happened. He was always in the same spot, never moving, or so it seemed to me, always there, as if taunting me. In the beginning, I tried to avoid him, I really did. I went out of my way, destroyed any connections to him, bloodied my own hands just to get away from him, but he always found me again, or maybe I found him. Sometimes I wasn’t really sure. I then realized that I needed to see him for when I didn’t see him, I would forget about her. When I saw him, he would be standing over her cold corpse. When I saw him, I felt the rage I had felt when I first saw what he had done. I wanted that rage, I needed that rage. How was I a father if I did not feel rage over her death, rage towards the one who killed her? When I did not see him, I forgot about this. I forgot about the rage, and about her. I guess that was my curse, to have those two horrible things connected. To want to forget his face, forget that he existed, but being unable to without forgetting her.