Gasoline.

That’s what was surrounding me along with Elias’ body laying face down in his blood spilt from his throat. I wanna say he had it coming because he did; but something is stopping me from doing so. Maybe it’s because he’s my husband. Husband.

It’s funny that I say use that word because that’s not what he was. He was a disgusting human being. He was a vile, cruel man who had no drinking problem nor drug problems. I don't know why he was like how he was.

Maybe I should’ve asked him that question before I slit his throat. Maybe I should’ve demanded him to answer why he committed such an unforgivable act. I should’ve asked how he could do that to our baby. Our beautiful child, Jakob.

Jakob. He was born on August 13 in Lynn Haven Hospital. He was two months early. I can remember the blinding lights above me while I laid on the table. The doctor insisted that I kept pushing. I felt weak. “I can’t do it anymore,” is what I thought. I did one last push and out he came. He was so small and pink. I didn’t even get to hold him right after. They had to take him to another room because they said there was blockage in his lungs.

I had never been so scared than in that moment. Not even now. Not even after I had killed my “husband” with a boxcutter. They took my baby away from me and I didn’t even get to touch his skin. After that, everything is a blur of machines sounding off and yelling. I had woken up and was told that the placenta had ruptured directly after I gave birth to my child. Even then, I ignored what they said and asked where my son was. “Where is my baby?! Where is Jakob?! I want my son!” They tried to calm me down, but I was hysterical. Jakob was the only thing I had. I’m adopted. My foster parents only took me in for the check that they received. They didn’t care for me especially when I was dating Elias. They really didn’t care for me when I married him.

I married Elias because he said he could take care of us. Yet, there I was in an unknown hospital, yelling to find the whereabouts of my baby boy while my husband was out doing and selling drugs and finding prostitutes to use and abuse. I was panicking. Elias couldn’t know where I was. I wouldn’t let him touch my angel. I wouldn’t let him near my baby. I couldn’t let him do what he done to me to Jakob.

I failed. I promised my son every night for three years to protect him and I couldn’t do it. I don’t know how Elias found us or why he filed for partial custody. He said he had changed and an expensive lawyer. I had a public attorney who had s*** for brains. He was awarded partial custody from the judge. I had Jakob on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesday, and Thursday while Elias had him on the rest of the days.



I failed my son when I lost that case. I failed him when he overdosed on the experimental drugs Elias gave. I failed him when I didn’t realize that my baby boy was being used as an experimental monkey. I failed him when he was laying in that hospital bed motionless. I was filled with rage and hatred. For me or Elias? Both. I hated myself for not working three jobs instead of two; so I could’ve hired a decent lawyer. I hate Elias for all the times he had beaten and raped me. I hated him for using his own flesh and blood to experiment his new cocktail of drugs.

That’s why I’m here in this old abandoned barn with gasoline everywhere and Elias’ dead body. That’s why I’m here with a lighter in my pocket. Waiting. Waiting for this barn to go up in flames. I look at Elias’ body one more time as I wait outside the barn. I extend my arm as far as I can and throw Elias’ lighter next to his body and watch him burn along with the wooden floors.

I turn and walk away towards my blue Ford pickup truck. I get in, fasten my seatbelt, and reverse of the gravel onto the road. I ride away and I look back at the smoke coming out of the barn. It is done.