Where It All Begins - Sixteenth Birthdays

Not everyday is your daughter's sixteenth birthday. I still remember that day distinctly. I'd rub a reminiscent finger on my nose but these cuffs around my hand prevent me from doing so.

It was on the 16th , in the melancholy month of November. The sky was a cloudless grey , the trees were dead, no birds were chirruping in the early morning and the sour cream walls of our house had no balloons or adornements of such. They would have looked weird, combined with leaking ceiling and the putrified smell. I wanted to do something for my daughter , something that would lift her from this constant condition of uncertainity and unhappiness we lived in, otherwise called poverty.And I had thought of the perfect gift to do that. I made her a special breakfast of bacon and eggs . I made sure that I had my gift with me, and sure enough, it was safely and inconceivably tucked in my belt. While she was eating, I decided to give her my gift. So I pulled it out , and with it, shot her in the head. I believed it was her liberation, her freedom , and the upliftment she had always wanted. Two days later I changed my mind.

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