Guilty as Charged!

The rucksack of guilt is extremely weighty today. Every corner of my body seems to have drained out.  Murder can be a tiresome job; especially if someone else has committed it.
Sitting here in this box like cell, charged of my husband’s murder, I wonder … Was it really worth?
So meticulously I planned everything, to bring the blame on me. With the help of the actual killer, I planted every proof pointing towards me for killing John, my husband of eighteen years.
Insanity was not in plea. Everyone I knew could prove otherwise.

I had to take the fall. Was it really worth?

I was tired.

I was tired of the courtroom drama.

I was tired of being fooled by a sixteen year old.

The dust had settled and I could now see clearly.

Nana always said, “Your younger one, I don’t like the look in her eyes.”  But I believed Nana was always over-imaginative.
“She has a killer instinct.” I said proudly. I never knew she will take it literally.

“Mama, he tried to hurt me,” she cried, “Dada tried to hurt me.”

“You killed him.”

“It was an accident. He tried to rape me. I tried to save myself and …”

“Why will John do so?”

“Mama …,” she sobbed, “Why are you asking me this? He was our step-father … that’s why.”

“But …”

Her dishevelled hair, torn t-shirt, bleeding upper lip told a story so shameful and gruesome. I was a mother. I had to save my little girl. 

Oh John … Why?

We lost Avon last year. My son, was our pride. He was a genius. Avon died in the mishap at the nuclear centre. He was John’s darling. No one believed when I told them John was Avon’s step father. They were like one soul. 
And now this.

“I killed Dada.” 
“Listen to me very carefully. I killed Dada.”
She looked at me with her melting eyes and nodded.
“Oh Mama, What would I have done without you?”

The lights, the heavy police boots trotting all over my home, the questions and the killer turned witness; I watched them in silence. I did not say a single word in case I give away. I could not let my baby go to jail.

Sitting here alone in this box, charged of a murder I didn’t commit, I ponder. I may have been carried away for a moment but all through the courtroom drama I saw.
I saw what Nana meant about her eyes. I saw what John had seen years back, when he said, “We should not tell Amanda that I am her real father. Let us tell her Avon is her real brother.”

I had laughed.

“Avon should not feel left out. He is a brilliant but sensitive boy. And Amanda … her eyes scare me.”

Sitting in the courtroom looking at her eyes while she lied on the witness stand; I realised what they meant. Amanda was devoid of guilt. She was incapable of feeling guilty.
She was capable of murder.

I wondered if the scene was real.

Had I been fair to John? Did I get carried away in believing as a mother that I forgot the man who stood by me for eighteen years?

Did she hate John all these years because he had the tag of being a ‘step-father’?

Was this why John chose to be her step-father … to save Avon?

In a weak moment, did I forget, Amanda was my daughter? Like me she was capable of lies and murder!

After all I did trap and kill Avon’s father.

I am on a death row for a murder I didn’t commit. Trapped by my own daughter in her web of lies, my guilt finally found it’s way to my soul.

May be her guilt will to find its way to.

May be I should tell her that John was her real father!

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