Leilani Portillo

Professor Andaluz

ENG100

September 8, 2022

A Killing Decision

It was summer, the illuminating sun melting everything it touched and the

graceful wind blowing cool air through my hair. Summer is when children roam freely

like savage animals penned up and only let out once—no stress, no worries, and most

importantly, no homework. Being a nonchalant and immature 11 year old with absurd

ideas and thoughts I never would have learned such a valuable lesson if one of my

ideas did not have a dramatic consequence. And so it began, the incident that could

have never been forgotten.

A short, licorice black haired kid with yellowish tan skin resembling the simpsons

skin color in real life. His bright red lips that look almost exact to the Psychortia elata

plant, there scarlet red and chubby with a glossy finish; big doe eyes with the darkest

brown eye color that have no soul. My brother, Gershon, is just a mere 2 years younger

than me, he’s quiet, intelligent, somehow extraordinarily lucky.

 Gershon’s best friend is a few months younger than him, short kid as well with

light brown hair, blue or green or hazel eyes-they change color everyday; his skin is

snow white with glimpses of freckles on his flushed pink cheeks. Uziel. That's his name.

Kids who never wanted to be bored and desperately demanded excitement in

their life. On one fateful summer day they captured 11 chicks. Most of the chicks were

bright yellow and some darker than others; several with spotted nude colors and a few

completely a single color. Being insanely bored I decided to join the fun.

We dumped each chick into a mahogany rusted old fire pit, filled with dirty rags

for blankets and to the side of the rag-beds is the top of a cookie jar, round and palm

size with a neonish blue color, used as a water bowl for the chicks. They each scattered

around to find an exit. I immediately slammed the mesh cover back onto the firepit and

placed a beige stained rag on top.

If only I knew the horrific muder that was about to take place.

The next day arrived in a blink of an eye. Early in the morning, like an owl, my

eyes opened, thrilled to see the baby chicks. Looking outside through my room's musty

window, I peered to see if anything had happened to them. To my surprise, 3 dead

yellow fuzzy blobs spattered on the ground. Dirt covering them almost entirely and liquid

residue trickling from their mouths.

 I headed outside as quickly as possible, leaping across the stairs, and stared

down at my once-living children. Unfocussed, dazed and confused I feared this would

happen again. How? Who could have committed such a heinous crime? The crime

scene was confusing, peculiar, and almost impossible. Everything remained perfectly in

place; nothing was touched. There was no sight of paw prints or animal tracks around

the firepit's perimeter.

Disoriented, my hands slowly unsealed the top of the firepit, praying for no more

deaths. The chicks rallied alongside each other, surprisingly sleeping peacefully and

some waking up as the sun’s rays gently stroked their eyelids. They chirped softly.

A sigh of relief and a weight lifted off my chest. I slowly put the mesh top lid of the

firepit back, ensuring I didn't allow any gaps around the edges. My thoughts wondered if

they felt any emotions about what went on that night of the massacre-if they even felt

emotions.

Anger quickly rushed through my veins as I suspected the only possible

killer-cats. I grabbed a stick I found nearby, and like a golfer knocked the lifeless bodies

out of sight. The smell of a rotting corpse stuck and latched on my nose hairs.

What should I do?

My plan was simple, I decided to wake up in the middle of the night and stalk the

murderer attempting to slash the lives of all the chicks, and so I did. The night came
when I stayed up as late as I could, my eyes wide open, the veins throbbing in my

eyeballs bright red and thick. I observed the crime scene, who's the next victim? I stared

intensely. Every second felt like hours; my eyes were closing with every minute. Don't

fall asleep. Don't fall asleep, I repeated.

I woke up.

What? How? I was awake a second ago; my mind was already convincing me I

was dreaming, but it was to live like, yet it had that hazy dream memory. I ran outside,

hoping that nothing had happened, four dead on the ground. In the same positions as

the last victims, enraged. Holding back the frustrating shouts and screams, how could

something or someone do this to the little baby chicks. Again everything was set to

perfection, just the beige rag covered in foaming spit from the slaughtered chicks on the

ground.

This can't keep going. At this point, all of the chicks would die, and I would be left

with no children. I gathered my siblings, commanding them to find the mother and return

her kidnapped infants. Tears swelled like waterfalls as I realized I had taken her life

away. Imagining how dreadful she was feeling, chirping and calling each of them

mourning the loss of her precious ones. Wailing, she spends the nights alone, cold

without her creations by her side; she no longer feels or hears their tiny heartbeats. My

heart filled with guilt, determination fueled by pity.

 We searched hysterically but had no luck until I noticed a lonely female chicken.

That's her. I saw no other chicken as tired and miserable as her- she is the one. Yelling

frantically at my siblings to bring the chicks. We tossed them on the ground next to the

mother chicken.

The mother reunited with her chicks; her eyes glistened with joy, watery eyes that

were to the point of tears. A beautiful sight. They scurried away, but the mother did not

pay attention to one of them -avoiding the presence of one of her own offspring. He

remained chirping, alerting his mother, each chirp more passionate than the previous.

He wobbled and walked awkwardly back and forth. I grabbed and held him tight, making

sure he didn't squeamish to freedom. His right eye was shut, and his left vision was

blurry and gray like clouds. He must be blind in both eyes. His leg appeared normal but

why did he stagger to one side when walking?

Immensely depressed, a piteous frown crossed my face. Poor little guy; his own

mother left him there to die. He wasn't gonna make it in the wild, and neither could I

keep him alive. I ran to my father with the crippled chick in my hands, hoping for

comforting and encouraging words.

"Dad, we put all the baby chicks back to the mom, but one of them is blind in both

eyes, and it won't walk normally. The mom left it there; what should we do?"
 He didn't utter a word, not a sound; with a steady face, he grabbed the baby

chick and headed to a short fenced pavement on the neighbor's lawn. The baby chick

chattered and peeped. I didn't want to know what he would do, but I knew exactly what

would happen deep down. Whimpering secretly, I followed him, my brother and sister

trotting behind me. My father stood on the fenced brick,

"This is why you don't mess with nature. If you guys intervene, you're making them

suffer even more than they must." He paused for a moment. "He won't make it; he will

suffer even more if we let him go in the wild. He can't grow or live like this."

With his right hand, he lifted the chick high in the sky, and everything gathered

together. My eyes blinked rapidly, and I shouted with pain before my father could do

anything. My siblings and I bawled, that feeling of dire and anger. My dad is in a

psychopathic state, in my perception. He had no mercy. He smiled slightly, trying not to

laugh at our ugly crying.

How could he? What's wrong with him? My father had done this multiple times to

many of his pets. Whether they were poisoned or sick, HE was the one to kill them

because he couldn't bear to see his pets suffering in pain. How could I comprehend

such a cold action?

"He's not gonna survive by himself. You want him to be ripped apart and mauled by cats

and suck and munch on his insides like a light snack."

 My imagination vivid in my mind, like replaying a movie in my head; their claws

submerged with blood, and the ground absorbed the crimson red liquid that gushed out

of the baby chick’s mouths- horrifying imagery.

"N-no," we all said in response. Our words were muttered and unclear. Could this really

be happening? It felt once again like a dream.

"This will teach you a lesson to never do these dumb stuff again because it's not you

who pays the consequences. You guys will learn and must learn the hard way." His

voice was stern and strict.

Raising his hand rapidly, not a second left for me to react. He slammed the baby

chick on the ground, the sound of the chick a single gasp and the teensiest chirp ever.

Anguish- pain so unimaginable. The baby chick lying on the brick fence is still alive,

twitching and trying to stay awake. He was not going to let the candlelight of life easily

be put out; he was a strong one.

My father picked it up, squeezed it in his hand, and hit another blow-a loud click

blared in my ears. My mouth was sealed shut, I couldn't move, my eyes cowered, and I

didn't dare to look. My vision is blurry yet so clear. My body tightened and cringed.

"Just to make sure…." He whispered.

He grabbed a nearby rock, heavy and oversized. My teeth gritted together,

chewing the side of my cheek already. The taste of blood was lightly sensed on my

taste buds. The chick lies on the ground peacefully, its little breaths moving its body

rapidly up and down. He's barely alive, but he's curcumin to his fate.
 My father carries the rock and aims it right over the baby chick. Without

hesitation, he let go, a forceful impact bound to kill creatures as tiny as him. Oozes of

blood ran down, sliding across the brick fence. I was left traumatized. Without thoughts,

we cried, walking back home with our heads down and holding each other's hands.

Comforting one another. I couldn't see my father the same. Who is this man? This isn't

the father I knew? A different side was shown by the man who created me-an evil one in

my eyes.

My emotions are still swirling, anger, sadness, selfishness, and so many more I

have not discovered yet. I couldn't bear the thought that I was to blame for the death

and torture of that little baby chick, the chick that was only alive for four excruciating

days. I was, in fact, the murderer-not my father. The remembrance of that moment I can

never forget will always fill my heart with grief and sorrow.

To this day, I have not entirely comprehended my father's decision; he had all the

right reasons, yet taking a life would not have been my choice.