Max Bechtel, McKenzie Borruso

Ms. Gardner
Honors English, Period 2
1 February 2014
The Scottish Haze
Droplets of rain streamed past the barred window that had provided me with my only
rays of light and hope in this cell I have been locked in for the past ten years; but now, this
barred window provides me with a new sense of renewal, as it poured onto my dry, cracked
hands, it washed away the dirt that had found itself a home under my fingernails, it washed away
the pain of abandoning all those I cared, and it washed away the guilt that came from the lives I
took, the lives that got me here in the first place. My attention was caught by a sudden sound
that flowed under the door that trapped me in this room, as well as trapped me in this state of
being. As I turned to see what had made the sound, an astonishingly bright white envelope had
been slipped under the door. As I opened it up and began to read, my hands began to tremble,
and my mind began to wonder.
Dear Mr. MacFarlane,
It has come to my attention that your daughter, Fiona has been domestically abused by her
newlywed husband. I believe this is information that is both important and needed to know
Sincerely,
I recognized the signature as one of my greatest allies during my life of crime. A
capricious feeling boiled up within me. I tossed the letter aside as I began to plot my
escape. As dawn broke out across the morning sky, I imperceptible slipped passed the guards
who were anything but sagacious. With the final shut of the door, I continued my path to seek
out my daughters husband. As my foot touched the ground in my first steps outside of the castle
walls, everything felt surreal: the give of the earth beneath my feet, the Scottish morning haze
misting my face, and the sound of wind rushing past my ears.
Trudging up over the final hill, I saw the house I had lived in ten years ago, but now
living in it were my daughter and her husband. I immediately recognized my old home, distinct
with its brown door and rusty handle. The memories of living here nearly brought tears to my
eyes, but before I got too sentimental, a bulky figure from behind drawn curtains drew my
gaze. I peered through the window to see my daughters abuser downing his feelings with a
brown, glass bottle. As the man threw the empty bottle against the wall, my fists clenched in
incredulous rage. I fought the urge to barge into the house right then and there, and instead
decided to show clemency and continue my surveillance.
Over the course of the next few days, I proceeded to memorize my daughters husbands,
whose name I now know to be Alan Taggart, habits and schedule. Every day, around eight
oclock, he would leave for his work down at the local butchery. Later in the day, he would call
Fiona and tell her that he would be working overtime and wouldnt be home until late. He would
then walk to the bar down the street, where he would meet with his friends, as well as another
woman that he seemed to be with. After his night at the bar, he would impiously return home to
his melancholy wife. Then, every night I would watch him beat my daughter and Id feel
malignity.
After a week of watching Alan perform his cycle of repeated events, I went to the bar ten
minutes before he would arrive and prepared to confront him. Walking through the door, Alan
ordered a drink and sat next to me. Once he got settled and had a few drinks, I put my plan into
action. Loudly, I announced that I drinks were on me, and when the bartender was passing the
drinks around, I slipped a dissolvable sleeping pill into his drink and proffered it to him myself
in order to debilitate him. After an enthusiastic CHEERS!!! We all guzzled down our drinks
and I joined Alan and his friends in conversation. After getting to know him and gaining his
trust, I asked if he wanted to step outside and get some fresh air. Groggily, he replied yes, and
we stumbled to the door.
As we stepped outside, a cold rush of wind sent Alan and me stumbling back. The
nearest street light went out with a flicker, and I heard thunder rumbling in the distance. I knew
that the day I had plotted in my prison cell was finally upon us. Walking towards away from the
bar, I led him to the lake that was overlooked by the old castle that held me prisoner. Alan kept
asking me who I was, and I continued to reply that I was just a friend. I could tell that he was
beginning to lose consciousness. We stood at the foot of the lake, and stared up at the sky.
Seeing that he was entranced by the full moon, I sent a swift punch to his gut that sent
him reeling back. Alan, realizing that this was a trap, tried to stand up to fight back. I would
have easily been defeated, but the sleeping pill was already trenchant. Alans next words were
an inscrutable mumble. I threw him to the ground and put my hand on the back of his head, his
face submerged in the water. Soon, his feeble struggle ceased, and I was left in the cold light of
the moon. I tied a heavy rock to his feet, and swam out to the center of the lake where I sent his
corpse floating down into the depths of the water.
Climbing out of the lake, I did not commiserate Alan, nor did my repugnance of him
disappear, but instead, I was morose. I realized my dear daughter would be home alone, still
shaken from her last beating - a feeling that is indelible. I realized I could never undo what had
already happened, that I could never free her of the pain that had wrapped itself into her life. I
realized that if she knew her father killed her tyrannical husband would not help her cope with
her life. With my epiphany over, I solemnly accepted that I couldnt return to see
Fiona. Turning my back to the castle that marked my sins and to the lake that marked the point
of no return, I walked away from my life, my daughter, and into the Scottish haze.