FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #2

All the trouble began when my grandfather died and my grandmother - my father's mother - came to live with us. I never really understood the women. Very few did, and those I think were pretending to understand her. I can't blame them though. Everyone was pretending during that time. I would call it lying, but I don't think most were. To lie one must know the truth, and no one did-- there was no way to.

No one is my family is a phyciatrist. There wasn't even one in our town, and only one counselor. And it isn't like we all make monthly or yearly check-ups with the counselor. So who were to know my grandmother broke inside with my grandfather's death? How were we to know that pretending and going along with whatever she said was worse for her in the long run? How would we know that the pretending would cause her to snap and become a homicidal manic? There was no way.

When she first came to live with us I must admit she did seem a little mess up, but she was a grieving old women, so no one thought twice when she began talking like Grandpa was still here. No one thought twice when she placed a seat for him at the table. Everyone grieves differently, and it was just best to let her think he was still here. No one wanted to be blunt and just say he was dead. No one wanted to remind her of the recent funeral. No one thought it was necessary to send her to the counselor, everyone knows it looks bad on the family name. No one wants to talk to the family with the 'crazy' running in them.

We let her be. We let her pretend her husband was still alive. We let her place an extra plate at the table. We thought it was only grieving. We didn't know it was the beginning of insanity.

I have to admit I did get a little worried when she began to talk to him as if he was there, but father said not to worry, so I put it behind me. Sometimes she would get made at me for not answering grandpa's question's, and when I complained to mother I was told to stop overreacting and let the woman grieve.

My parents kept that attitude up for a long time, always ignoring the things that she did, letting her continue her grieving process, she'd be done in a couple of weeks. Three years later, Grandmother was worse. She began to get angry when we "ignored" Grandfather, and become furious when we hinted at his death. So, we learned to pretend. Pretend Grandfather was there, and address him in our conversations. It couldn't be that wrong to let an old lady believe her beloved was alive. It only made her worse though.

She became violent. We should have took it as a signal to get her help, but we remained in our fantasy land. One day I stepped on his foot, and I got slapped silly. One day mother served corn, which he was allergic to, and she got a metal spoon whipped at her head. Father forgot his manners in his presence and got a glass plate to his head.

We kept our facade up though, and became more careful around Grandfather. I really don't know why, in hindsight getting her help would have been easier, but at the time continuing our game of make believe seemed simpler. We pretty much handed fourteen innocents their death slips.

She snapped three months after throwing a plate at fathers head. She herded us into a room for Grandfather's birthday party. We all knew it wasn't even close to his birthday, but we went along with it. No one wanted something whipped at their heads, plus it was called a party. Parties are supposed to be fun.

It was never really a party though. She locked us in the room, telling us we would be safe from the bad people. Father simply smiled and shook his head, taking it as a joke, Mother instantly went for the door before it was shut and locked. Grandmother was too quick and we were locked in.

She thought the innocents were after us and Grandfather. She thought 10 children and four adults were planning to kill us all, and HAD to destroy them before us. When were locked in she took a set of knifes, gags, and a pistol. She marched to town, gagged the 9 'threatening children' and stabbed them to death. The other child and adults were actually at a part and she shot them, right after the police went by, trying to figure out why they found 9 little kids stabbed to death.

She lost it and it was all our fault. Several families were ruined, life was taken before it was lived, because we were too stupid and prideful to get her help. The weight of her death weighs strong on my arms, and I can barely live with myself. I try not to blame myself, but there isn't a way. I pretended, just like my late mother and father, and wonder if I should do the same as them...

back to Contest #2