Forever Changed - By Jamie Gibson Page 0,4

the film.

With each step I made, I took pictures. I took pictures of me placing his body in his grave, covering it with the mud, and then kneeling by the side crying. I sat there in the rain next to my father’s grave, talking to him, and crying hard. I already felt miserably alone.

What was I going to do? I knew there was something my father needed to tell me. He was smiling at me while my mother yelled at him and he was still smiling when she pulled the trigger! I needed to find out, but first I had to finish with the mess and then get some sleep.

I headed back in the house and took pictures of the blood trail that was left behind, from dragging his body to the back door. I took pictures of the murder scene without his body. I grabbed a bucket of hot water and bleach. I started cleaning up the bloody mess.

I gagged when wiping the brains off the wall and the floor. I found part of his ear and chunks of his hair everywhere. I took pictures of myself cleaning the mess and also when I vomited. Every detail I captured on my film roll. I have no idea why I did this, but something told me I needed to, and I always go with my gut feeling.

When I was finished, after six hours of disposing of my father’s body and cleaning, I headed up the stairs to my own room. I stopped by my parent’s room on the first floor and heard my mother snoring. I continued up to my room and shut the door softly behind me. I emptied my pockets out into my dresser drawer. I didn’t want my mother to find all that money. I then proceeded to my bathroom. I turned on the hot water, undressed, and got into the shower. The water was scorching hot, but I was so numb from the cold storm and so exhausted that I didn’t care. I stood there after washing all the blood off of me, until the water turned cold.

I was exhausted and sore. I got out of the shower, dressed, and laid down in my bed. I wrapped myself up in my big thick black comforter and cried. Darkness engulfed me. I fell asleep.

Chapter 5

I was jarred out of a dreamless sleep, to my mother banging on my bedroom door. I am guessing I had locked it because she kept rattling the door knob. I was thankful for this, considering that I did not trust her at all now.

“What?” I yelled out throwing the comforter back, sitting up, and wincing from the pain in my head.

“I am running to town to take care of some business. I have to make sure that no one becomes suspicious about your father. I am going to tell them that he has gone out of the country for business.” My mother said this as if it were true. I knew that the people she informed about my father would know it to be true as well.

The truth was my mother murdered my father in cold blood and I buried him in the garden. That was the truth. I was hoping it was just a nightmare, but my mother’s words confirmed that it was not.

“Why are you telling me? I don’t care what you do! You’re a horrible mother and a truth be told, a horrible wife." I slammed myself back into my bed, pulling the comforter back over my head, begging the tears not to flow.

“It is what it is, Elizabeth. Feel whatever you want, but you don’t know the truth. You will though, soon. I am sure your father has left a trail, but if I have anything to do with it, you will never find out!” She screamed. I heard her stomp down the spiral staircase.

What does she mean by that? I wondered this as I crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. My room was huge; you could build a small house in as much room as I had.

Our house was like a mansion, every generation of Marcus’s had built onto the house what they wanted. I do not even know how many generations back, but I know it was started in the 1800’s.

The only pictures in our house are of family members from each generation, from the time pictures were possible, until now. I was the last of the family line. We all looked alike,