Bloodshed In The Kitchen

Tidy up this mess up was all that came out of her mouth. Nothing to be surprised, She

looked at the pile of dirty dishes and then at my hands which were red from scrubbing

the floor all day long. All I could do was to keep my eyes down and murmur a quiet, yes I

was tired. The slavery and the constant pressure were taking a toll on me. It seemed

like I was some filthy trash, not her niece!

Once I came back to reality when Mrs. Lock's hand grabbed my arm tightly, which

definitely would've left marks, "come out of your dreamland. Get to work. Now she

hissed while walking off. My hands were bleeding. With every drop of blood rose my

anger yet I kept scrubbing the dishes imagining that witch's face while washing oft the dishes, it caught my eyes. So shiny! Was the first thought that came to my mind, yet all I wanted

was to make it red. Red with her blood, I knew it would make everyone happy; her son would be the happiest. The slamming of the door brought me back to the harsh reality. James

my cousin could never take his eyes off his phone. He was some weirdo. Always so quiet

or lost in his thoughts, never knew anything about him besides his cold hatred towards

his mother.

At night, I was unable to sleep. Huffing, I went to the kitchen for some water. Nervously

I switched on the lights to see something which shook me to death. I screamed, screamed so loud that it made my ears bleed. The next hours went away with the cops

interrogating and all the stuff they do. My eyes were set on the door from where they took

her. Her lifeless eyes and that butcher knife drugged deep in her were all I could think of.

She was dead, but the cause was not me. Turning left, I could see James smiling softly.

Maybe he felt my burning gaze; he turned and stared at me. Those empty eyes made me

break our gaze. Was he the one?

Later at night while passing the washroom I could hear the water rushing and someone

cursing. The door was slightly opened. He was there washing the blood off of his hands.

Her blood was on him. My eyes got wide; before he could catch me I shut the door and

made my way to the room. He came behind me and knocked and I remained stubborn for my good. He told me to take responsibility for everything and said he will release me even if the cops will take me away.

He was the one to make the knife red with her blood. Mr. Lock's hand was the one that killed

his wife. He was the man to cause the bloodshed in the kitchen.

But unfortunately, I have no voice and cannot prove my innocence was again interrogated the next day as I hated her for making me a slave in their family just that I am an orphan.

The traumatized part of it was that I was beaten by the cops to say everything while I was struggling to speak due to fear, and the shocking moments I saw. To no avail whatever I said it was like pouring water on a Duck's back.

I was in custody for half a year experiencing the most traumatic life on earth with lots of torture and abuse even from the cops and staff there. I asked myself Why do I have to suffer so much?

Mom, Dad where are you? Why do you leave me to suffer?

God, are you a true God?

I don't want to live anymore here on earth, I can't bear it anymore.

While I was going through a lot of depression, a gentle Lady dressed in a traditional Sari came to my room and showed me a beautiful smile.

I asked her who are you and why do you insult me with her smile, don't you know my situation, she replied nothing but just looked at me, full of love coming from a mother who understands her daughter. She allowed me to get angry to pour out everything and while I was sharing lots of anger and tears, she came close to me and hugged me and I cried more, she just whisper, it's ok to cry and after some time, I felt the loved of a mother for the first time after 10 years since my Mom expired from this world.

When she saw I was cooling and sobbing, she asked me with a smile, how are you feeling now? I cannot but smile back and replied I felt like a heavy burden has gone out of me. She smiled again and hugged me and whispered in my ear, my daughter comes with me, I have a home for you to stay in and you could run and play with other children of mine and also would be able to go to school.

I don't know what to do, should I believe her or not, but my instinct told me to go with her. I went and to my amusement, I found there were so many children there who were around my age and they were all happy and cheerful though they all have similar problems as me. I met a lot of friends and we grew up together as I grew up I learned that Lady and others like her worked for the voiceless, the downtrodden ones, the orphans, and so on and they are called Missionary Sisters of Mother Theresa of Kolkata.