Tainted Love
by Gina Easton
Today we buried Father. The fact that he wasn’t dead
in no way proved a deterrent. The idea was mine, but it
wasn’t difficult to persuade Mamma and Zack to go
along with me. Zack stayed up all night digging the
hole in the backyard. When it was ready we all carried
Father, unconscious but still breathing, out back and
dumped him down the hole. It was all absurdly simple.
The three of us just waited for the alcohol and
sedatives to take effect.
Mamma kept vigil at Father’s side, watching as
he slipped from restful slumber to deeper
unconsciousness. Father slumped in his chair,
oblivious to the peril facing him. The empty alcohol
bottle lay at his feet, traces of the tranquillizer Mamma
had secretly mixed in its contents still lingering.
Father’s face, so vulnerable in repose, held an
expression of peacefulness that was foreign to his
wakeful state. Gazing down at him lying there so
helpless, I marvelled as to why we hadn’t done this
before now. We might have saved ourselves a whole
lot of grief.
Mamma’s worn face was emotionless, the
expression in her eyes unfathomable, but I knew how
keenly she regretted her powerlessness, her failure
through all those years to protect Zack and me from
Father’s savage rages. Lines of sorrow and bitterness
have eroded her gentle features. I know that whatever
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