She handed the can to me and said, "Anna, throw this in the trash can. It shouldn't be placed here, let alone use it."
But I was curious, so I asked her, "What's inside? "
What are you worried about?" she replied.
"Is it poison?" I asked.
The mother smiled and said: "Yes! Very terrible poison, a spoonful of this powder can kill an elephant."
Then she said: "Hurry up and throw it out."
I was shocked, not knowing why, I didn't listen to my mother, and I hid the jar privately.
My aunt is the third person I want to kill, and I killed my father before that.
That was what happened a few months ago in the days after my mother died. That day, the housekeeper was not at home, and a very beautiful woman came to see his father. I made a glass of milk for his father and added a spoonful of powder. Then they entered the room.
I often couldn't sleep in the middle of the night. She couldn't sleep when my mother was alive. She was waiting for her father. My father is an officer and always likes to look for women outside. When his mother asked him how he was outside, he always said that he can play. Although I meet my mother at night almost every day, my mother's words are always the same: "You know what time it is." Many times I go to the kitchen to get vegetables for my hamster, and my mother usually composes her own music, and occasionally plays the piano. My mother played the piano very well. I heard from those who knew her that she could have become an outstanding pianist. When she was a child, she showed superhuman musical talent. Everyone said she would have A splendid future. Over the years, she devoted herself to the piano career wholeheartedly and even held several concerts. At one of the concerts she was with my dad on the road. They fell in love and got married soon. Mother gave up the piano completely and dedicated her whole body and mind to her three daughters. I think she has always missed the time before, and she must regret that she gave up a career, a career that can bring freedom. Many years later, when I recalled my mother’s decision, I deeply felt that she was also afraid that she would not become the kind of genius her friends had predicted. She would rather choose a plain and well-regulated life than face responsibility alone. , An adventurous life alone.
That night, I went to the living room and stood outside my father's door. I heard the woman hurt my father. My father was breathing, and finally there was no sound. I heard the woman mutter a few words, as if frightened. I was curious that I was about to push the door in. The woman came out with a disheveled hair and disheveled clothes. She hurriedly packed her handbag without even looking at me. I stood aside and watched her clean up, a little curious, she seemed to feel something, she might think it was necessary to tell me, but in the end she still didn't say anything, before she packed her clothes, she left in a hurry.
I think she might want to tell my father is dead.
My father's room is representative. I am used to the darkness of this room, full of depression, like me, lacking maternal love. When I walked into the room, my father was lying on the bed, naked, I called to my father, but he didn't answer or turn around. I'm not sure, but called again. Still no answer. The father is really dead.
The cup of milk has been drunk, and the cup is standing on the table. I think I'd better wash it clean.
The funeral was held a few days later, and the aunt came at this time. According to my father's will, my aunt moved in and took care of us. As she said, it might be a little difficult at first, but I want to believe that as long as we work hard, it will get better.
After the death of our father, the three of our sisters did not fall into grief because of this. Compared with the mother, the death of our father is not worth our sorrow at all. I don’t know why I wanted to kill my father. At that time, I believed that my father was guilty. The sorrow and pain in the last few years of my mother’s life belonged to him in the morning. I believe it was his fault, his fault alone. He brought her sickness and death. One night, my father came home very late, and my mother waited for a long time. She said he wanted to talk to him. The father was a little disgusted, saying that he could not accept his mother's complaint. The mother may be aware of the father's psychology, she tried to be more polite, and then asked her father how to play at night. Later, she felt it was necessary to make it clear, and told her father of her worries. She felt that she was sick, and it was very serious, but what she received was abuse from her father.
My life is full of fear. It is the fear of the unknown. There are some things I can't forget. It's hard to imagine that the power of memory will be so powerful that it can't be erased. On the dying days, my mother curled up on the bed, her face twitching. I didn't know that she was dying. The reason why everyone took her back from the hospital was to allow her to die at home. My father is often away from home, and I don't know where he has gone. The housekeeper acts as a nurse. The housekeeper is a very fat woman. She told me bluntly that she had a leg with her father. Later, she told me about her and father's affairs, and praised his father's skill in chasing women. I think the story between her and her father is definitely not what she said.
After the death of my father, the housekeeper still stayed at home to take care of us. At first, my aunt complained that our house was not cleaned up neatly. Later, for some reason, her attitude towards the housekeeper improved a bit, but only limited to improvement.
On the day of the funeral, the aunt curled up her hair and dressed beautifully, but it did not conflict with the funeral style. The housekeeper also dressed us up very carefully. When she was combing my hair, I had another illusion, as if my mother was beside me again, and I seemed to feel the breath of her kissing me in my ear. The butler interrupted my thinking, and the funeral was about to begin. My aunt gave me a cross, which is said to ward off evil spirits. Because I killed my father, I think it’s better for me to wear it. During the funeral, both my sister and younger sister kissed the dead father, and when it was my turn, I hid behind my grandmother. At that time, the grandmother's face was very good, and she was not sad because of the death of her son. She was in a wheelchair and said nothing. I know she must be free and she must want to die.
In the next few months, my grandmother stayed in a wheelchair and occasionally went to the park, but many times she always sat alone, facing the garden. I think she would be bored. Later, I pushed her to see some photos from her early years, and she was happy to recall the past. No matter what time, grandmother kept a smiling posture, courteously, I think it may be the root cause of the disease when she was young, although this is not the root of the disease at all. However, when I was holding an old photo of him when he was in love with his grandfather, her face changed, and I asked her if she wanted to die. Her silence as always made me think she was tacitly acquiescing that I took the poison that poisoned my father, enough to poison an elephant. But grandmother refused. The second person I want to kill refuses to die.
Now, my aunt is the third person I want to kill.
After my father died, I missed my mother more and more. But even for sisters, there is a gap between aunt and mother. At first I didn't think it was, but later I noticed that my aunt's dress on the day of the funeral might be for a comrade of my father. After the funeral, the man kept coming to see his aunt, but the man and the woman before his father died were husband and wife, and they showed up at the funeral together. My aunt took the three of us to the man's house. There is almost no memory comparable to that weekend. I can’t think of why that trip would stay in my mind so vividly. I remember I was wearing a pair of jeans with flowers in my pants pockets and a piece of print. The shirt button is red, and there is a navy blue cardigan. My aunt is driving and my sister is in the front seat because she is the eldest daughter. My sister and I are sitting in the back seat. I don't know, I just feel free, completely new and completely different. I have been looking for this feeling. After my father died, I pushed my grandmother to the park. I closed my eyes and imagined myself flying down from a tall building. I think I am free.
The day my hamster died, the man came to his aunt again, and they sat in the living room talking. The man is persuading his aunt to find freedom. Find your own life. The housekeeper sorted the clutter upstairs, and I found my pistol, which was left to me by my father before his death. No matter what I do, it is my thing. My aunt stopped me and tried to use violence, but I was deceived by the man and handed over the pistol. My aunt started to cry, as if very hurt, yelling that I had driven her crazy. I don't know, I just want to hold what belongs to me, nothing more.
While listening to music, I suddenly wished she was dead.
I implemented the plan and followed exactly the steps to kill my father without any mistakes. I even repeated the details of washing the cup again. But my aunt hadn't died yet, she came in in the morning dressed up to wake us up, and I had forgotten about the murder last night.
At the dinner table that day, my sister told a story about murder. The climax of the story is that a man pointed a gun at her temple.
At the end, she was awakened at this time.
Twenty years have passed, and I remembered that the bottle of poison might be an expired bottle of "baking soda".
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