SCARLET FEVER

Jose Maria Dominique G. Coronel

“Ame, are you finished with the backyard?” grandma yelled.

I used to believe that the world revolves around a certain man’s hands, whether it be the god my
grandmother believes, or the man, Atlas.

“Not yet. Give me a little more time!” I yelled back.

The emptiness inside of me keeps me bothered everyday. Gradually, it devours my soul to a creepy void I’ve
never encountered. It sets loose that belief of a Supreme Being, and continually, the inner rebellion I wage
was over, and I stand in the mountain of skulls victorious.

“Give it more speed, Ame! You still have to go and buy groceries! I will go to my friend’s house and have tea.
After that, do the laundry, then...”
“Why do I have to do this again, granny?”
“I don’t want any freeloaders in this house, got it! Pay for what you eat, you scumbug!”

Since I was born in heavy rains, I was fondly called Ame by my family members. Living in the Kyoto suburbs,
our family had a decent income coming every payday. But our family itself isn’t that decent. I’m born out of
wedlock, and my parents are forced to take responsibility of me. They obviously put up a show every time I
ask them why they fight every night. In one of those fights I heard them tell that harsh truth. Could they have
been a bit calmer, I wouldn’t have gone too far as to this. I used to be a normal boy and acts as one. But
when the truth unfolds, the inner monster set foot on my ashen heart.

The first time I saw blood was when I was still a kid. I and my friends liked to see Kuro-chan, a name we
randomly baptized to a black cat with white stripes at the back of the school. The cat was so furry that I
touched it to its neck and held it so tightly. I only knew what I was doing when my friends snapped me out of
it. “It was just a joke” I told them. The next day, for the sheer pleasure of it, I came back and popped the
cat’s head out. To dispose of it, I placed it with grandma’s garbage fire discreetly. Also, I had this girl
classmate of mine. She really gets into my nerves! I really want to rid her out of my life because she always
calls me “no-good” and and orphan because my mother and father...

...oh, my mom and dad. They were my most precious kills.

It was my 13th birthday. I was looking for the small book my dad brought home last night. He said that I’m still
a kid and reading those materials were not healthy. There were two things he didn’t know about me then.
One was that I had already finished the whole thing from my friend, and the other was that I was desperate
enough to read it again, but my friend wouldn’t let me, so I had to blade up some wounds on his wrists until
he gave it to me. “You’re really fucked up Ame-kun!” he told me. I disposed of it accidentally one day, and
my father found it.

I started reading that small booklet. It was hidden under mom’s jewelry drawer. It was said to be made by a
kid who also did a lot of nasty things in his life. The title flashed into my eyes like gold.

Scarlet Fever.

...The emptiness inside of me keeps me bothered everyday...oh, my mom and dad. They were my
most precious kills.

But with all my excitement, someone knocked the door. Probably it was mom or my dad. Either of them, they
should not know I’m reading again this stuff. I hid it under the sofa covers and rushed to play (dumb) with
them.

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“Mom! Dad!” I grinned sarcastically, and hugged them tightly.

My dad ruffled my hair and my mom kissed my cheeks and constricted my arms.

“Hey, big guy! You’re 13 now!” my dad said

“Look at what we’ve got you!”
Mother held up a box. It was ornately tied up by a scarlet ribbon. I imagined them being tied up by that
ribbon. The thought openly invaded my consciousness.

Mom and dad brought me inside the house, and told me to go to my room. They said it was a surprise.
Secretly, I got the booklet from the covers and ran towards my room.

My dad ruffled my hair and my mom kissed my cheeks and constricted my arms.

By the time I have read that line, my dad opened the door. I hurriedly kept the book in my pillow.

“Can you at least knock, dad?” I told him with a disgruntled tone.
“C’mon! Let’s go now, our surprise is out there” he said.

I trailed behind my father who was looking towards me, smiling. As he walked, I saw traces of blood flowing
from his back from a stab wound down to the feet. I rubbed my eyes and it was all gone. It was just an
illusion.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine, dad.”

I rubbed my eyes and it was all gone. It was just an illusion.

Suddenly, I remembered another thing that I saw in my mom’s jewelry box. It was pretty black and heavy,
made of metal. It had an L shape. I think it could be a gun, and I’ll ask them later if I could get that instead as
a gift.

The dining table, I must say, was perfectly set. Thirteen candles were lit, and the knife was above the plates.
The knife, due to its size, was easily recognizable.

“Happy birthday, Ame-chan!”

...“Happy birthday, Ame-chan!”...

I gleamed towards them, and decided to sit down and start to slice the cake. It was my favorite, Black Forest.
I held the knife and aimed to slice the cake, but mom took the knife away from me.

“Oops, Ame! You might get hurt!”

They were affectionate parents, but she was just too annoying for me then. And so is my dad. There were
three plates, the smallest one was mine. There was a slice of cake with a cherry on top. Its vivid red makes it
look sumptuous. But it landed on a big plate.

My dad’s.

I saw my plate also with the same slice, and somehow it took some of the anger I am
feeling. I ate it nevertheless, but I’m really getting pissed off.

... but I’m really getting pissed off...

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 I told them the gift that I wanted, the “gun” from my mother’s jewelry box.

“Hey, I’ll get it!” I told them and ran towards their room.

I heard them follow me, but all I can hear are those fights that they are having when I’m
asleep.

“He’s not my son!”...”Nor is he mine!”...”If at the first place you gave me

freedom!”...”Shut up, bitch!”...

I reached for my mom’s jewelry box first, and it was really a gun, a typical revolver. I saw how the cowboys
use it on movies, and did the same, but didn’t yet pull the trigger.

I aimed it towards the door. I was so scared of mom and dad and whatever they said. I thought they loved
me. But do they? I felt tears dropping in my face.

I thought they loved me. But do they?

“Hand me the gun now, Ame. Stop this!”

“You’re scared to die now, right?!” I heard myself say. I feel like doing this. It was the happiest thing that
happened in my life. My empty heart filled its long-awaiting void.

My empty heart filled its long-awaiting void.

“Yes, so please do us a favor and stop it!” my mom cries.

That same voice, I recall, has the same tone and pitch when I heard the most destructive of all the fights they
have. Were they careful of what they say, I would have still been their faithful son.

“He’s not my son! For Christ’s sake, he’s a demon! A monster unwanted!”

I’m not deformed or anything, but I know my mom didn’t want me at the first place.

A sound of a gunshot was heard across the room, and a splatter of hot scarlet smeared through my face.

The bullet hit mom. She fell flat on the floor...

...dead.

I ran towards the kitchen to escape. While running, I realized that the feeling of warm blood splattering in
your face is as refreshing as a warm bath in the blistering winter. Instead of escaping, I grabbed the knife my
dad used to slice the cake. I ran again towards my dad, and stabbed him at the back while he’s grieving.

Again, a splatter of blood gushed into my face.

They were unidentifiable enough after a couple of stabs. On the Internet, there were several identical bodies
to these. I slit the throat of my mother until her head severed from her body and kicked it towards my dad’s
severed torso: their last sex before nirvana.

I realized that the only suspect of the killing, if the cops went inside our house, would be me. I lacerated
myself, and enjoyed in the process. And I realized that I have to act dumb if the police find me alive, just like
in police chases.

It was the beginning of my new life, baptized with the blood that gave birth to me, the living of death.

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I now live with my grandmother from my father’s side, taking my custody with false pretenses. Rather than
adopted, “enslaved” would be a better term. For now, cats and mice serve as my temporary corpses. After
eleven years, the police hadn’t yet found the culprit.

As for the girl, I stabbed her at the back while she’s in the shower room. I made it look like an accident rather
than a murder. It was convincing enough for the police, too.

After the last leaves were thrown into the garbage fire, I saw my grandmother glaring at me. She approached
me and gave me another sermon about me being unemployed and a great asshole vis-à-vis my father. She
turned her backed on me. I clutched my Swiss knife and twisted it on the sharp edge.

It’s getting dark.