Writing Exercise based on Come With Me Now — Kongos
I don’t know why mom and dad agreed to let my cousin Keith live with us. He’s the devil incarnate. After spending several summers with him at his family’s cottage, you tend to learn a lot about a person. For instance, Keith had an air rifle. He loved going through the woods shooting whatever he found in his sights. Animals, birds, trees. Twice he shot hikers, but his parents paid off the families to keep the police out of the equation. When you have a lot of money, you can buy your way out of trouble in a small town. There were dark rumors too, when two kids went missing. They never found the bodies, but Keith was the last one seen with them outside the party store in town.
When the live-in maid discovered Keith’s parents dead in bed, Social Services placed Keith in our house. When my parents told me about my cousin living with us, I tried to talk them out of it. I told them what he did in the summer at the cottage. They said he’s family and we have to do what’s right. The police have no leads in the murder of his parents.
The first couple of months weren’t bad. At least Keith had his own room. He kept to himself a lot. I sometimes heard death metal music through the wall, but managed to ignore it. I was polite to him, but spent most of my time with my two best friends, Liz and Marty. We talked about our plans after graduation in June. The three of us planned to attend community college for a couple years, before selecting our major.
The day after Halloween, the three of us were sitting in my yard drinking pop and talking. Keith came out the back door, a can of beer in his hand. The way he walked and talked I knew he had drank more beer in his room. My parents were out for the evening with friends. Keith began hitting on Liz, trying to get her up to go to his room so they could ‘talk’. Liz wasn’t having any of that, and Marty told Keith to take a hike. My cousin hates it when someone refuses to do what he wants.
Keith grabbed Liz by the arm and attempted to drag her inside the house. Marty did what any boyfriend would do, and punched Keith in the face. In response my cousin broke the beer bottle on the brick wall of the house and slashed at Marty, cutting his arm. When I saw the blood, I lost it. I smashed Keith in the head with my pop bottle. He dropped like a rock. I hit him several more times, until Liz’s words stopped me.
“I think he’s dead.”
She was right. I beat him to death with the bottle. Strange thing is, I felt no remorse or guilt for what I did. I remembered what my cousin did during the summer at the cottage; believed justice served.
copyright 2014 Anna M Dobritt