BLOOD ON MY HANDS (CONTINUOUS WRITING)

If only I could turn back time, I would change something about how my life had turned
out. Staring into fragments of the blue sky through the rustic cells separating me from the
outside world, my mind went back to the night that the tragedy had unfolded. The night where
I had blood on my hands. The blood of my own family.

Mr Rauf, your mom is on the line. She said it is an emergency. I was seconds away
to winning the hearts of every shareholder in the room. Every boss who had worked with a
boss that no one dared to cross. Every name that has left a legacy on Wall Street. And all my
dreams were shattered like broken glass as soon as my secretary summoned my name. Ill
be back soon, My voice trembled as I tried to dodge the judgemental glances thrown at me,
as if hoping that I would choose to ignore the call of the woman who had endured 19 hours of
excruciating labour to bring me into this world.

Mom? I tried to make sense of what my mother was saying as her soft voice alternated
with uncontrollable sobs. All I heard was your father, Raisa, come back now. At my wits
end, I exclaimed to mom that I was moments away to be crowned Employee Of The Month
with a five-digit salary raise at my fingertips and therefore fleeing home at that moment was
not an option. Before hanging up, I heard moms heavy breathing on the end of the line -
exhaled in exasperation. If only I knew that would have been her final breath.

The office was empty by the time I left and it was drizzling as I drove my Maserati out
of the block, heading home. The traffic had just begun to build up and most main roads were
congested with vehicles wheeled by frustrated men and women who seemed to have traded
their souls for a lifetime of meaningless labour. As I tried to divert my aggravation from the non-
stop honking and tail-gating, I dialled the house number but there was no answer. My heart
started to skip a beat as it dawned on me that no one was picking up the phone at the 20th
dial. The dark sky was suddenly illuminated at the sight of the mighty ligthning, followed by a
deafening roar of thunder. Siri, take me to the fastest route home. As I took a detour and ran
over a red light, I heard a series of honking and probably a few rows of profanities echoed from
behind, but at that point I was on the 50th dial to my home number that still remained
unanswered.

After 20 minutes of reckless driving into unchartered back alleys and small, I finally
reached home. It was pitchblack from the porch into the living room. Like an intruder in my own
home, I tip-toed into the living room, unguarded when my feet landed on something sticky.
Cold. In a state of panic, I grabbed my iPhone from the back pocket and switched on the
flashlight. Goddddd! I was flung into the air when I saw that the cold liquid that I had stepped
on was a pool of blood. Red and sticky. At that point my nose began to decipher a smell that
was so familiar the stench of a fish market mom used to drag me along when I was little. And
I despised her for that.

Mustering all the courage I had left, I crawled towards the staircase to reach for the
switch. Then, I heard a small cry not too far away from where I was at. Murmuring a little prayer,
I held my iPhone towards the sound. It was my sister, Raisa. She was drenched in sweat, or
tears, I could not make out in the dark. Slowly, I pulled her petite, shivering body towards mine.
Gently, I stroked her back like a loving and protective brother two traits that were the opposite
of my usual disposition towards Raisa. She then whispered into my ears words that would
haunt me for the rest of my life, I killed our parents.
 BLOOD ON MY HANDS (CONTINUOUS WRITING)

At that moment, it was as if time had stood still, allowing every piece of the puzzle to fit
perfectly into the box. I suddenly recalled that phone call from Mom a couple of days ago,
reminding me to fetch Raisas prescription from the pharmacy. An image of Dads text mesage
that morning reappared in front of me like a hologram Son, your sister is getting agitated. Dont
forget her meds. Love you. Then, as my mind recollected moms desperate call at the office
a few hours ago, I broke down in tears. I cried my lungs out like a child who had just lost
everything I had indeed lost everything. And everyone I loved.

Everything else that happened in the next minutes was a blank. All I remembered was
the police barging into our house and as the lights were turned on, I finally caught a glimpse
of my parents lifeless bodies next to each other on the carpet of our living room. The mustard
Turkish carpet had at last, changed its majestic colour after 15 years, tainted unwillingly by my
parents blood. When I saw a policeman approaching Raisa, my 20-year-old, Schizophrenic
sister, I grabbed the officer by his collar and screamed It was me! I killed them. I killed my
parents!

I had served 10 years behind bars, with no visitors throughout these regrettable phase
of my life. How could I have any, I had taken their lives that fateful night and I claimed full
responsibility for the blood on my hands. I was a selfish son, an ignorant brother, and most of
all I was an arrogant stockbroker who had enslaved himself to the root of all evils. As I was lost
in thoughts of my past, the prison guard then came to my cell, bringing a plate of fish and chips
what would be my final meal before the day of judgement the next day.