I could say I hope you’re doing well, but we both know that that would be a lie. So, I’ll simply say your petty tricks will not work. You can send your men to my jail as many times as you want. You can have them beat me as much as you want, but I will not confess. No, I won’t. I won’t give you the satisfaction.
But I do have a query. When you order your men to beat me, do you imagine I did the same to your son? Oh, you're beautiful, darling son. Pretty on the outside, rotten on the inside. How many must have celebrated when they found him, dad, hanging from the willow tree outside your farm, his body beaten black and purple. Do you, when you order your men to beat me, tell them to beat me the same way your son was beaten? Does the irony there not twist your head inside out?
Speaking of irony, let me share another one with you. One, I hope you can, or at least have learned to tolerate. The way your men beat me, pushing me onto the ground and kicking me with their thick boots. Well, that’s how your son and his ruthless friends used to beat me and many others in our school. Yes. But you knew that, didn’t you?
You know, I used to wonder how such an upstanding citizen like yourself could have birthed such a horrible monster. You were, and I imagine you still are, a shining example of our town. A local boy who had risen up to become a member of the government. A member of the council! Oh, how my parents would talk you up every time you came on the news. The town’s pride! It’s most important, son. That’s what they called you. I wonder if that’s what they still call you. Surely, you’re the town’s tragedy now. And guess what? You deserve it.
While you were living it up as the town’s pride, your son was wreaking havoc at school. Oh, how many pages I can fill with the tales of how your son and his pack of loyal hyenas would pick a different kid, every single day, and spend the whole day torturing him. During class, they would toss paper balls, pencils, rulers and even compasses at the kid, and he’d have to simply shut up and take the abuse. And the teachers! Oh, the teachers. What could they do against the son of the ‘Town’s Pride’? They just shut up. Turned away. And kept scribbling on the board like the imbeciles they are.
And the girls!
Oh, how your son treats the girls. Wait. A small mistake there. Treated. Yes, treated the girls. How your son treated the girls. He’d tease them for sure, just like he did the boys, but I’ve seen firsthand how he and his goons would grab a girl and drag them to the roof during lunch and after a half hour or so she’d run down, her clothes all twisted, and her eyes and cheeks red from sobbing. So, I need you to understand. Your son is a monster. Oh! Oh, wait, I made a mistake. Was. Yes, your son was a monster, and he got what was coming to him.
Anyway, going back to you. The Town’s Pride! I used to wonder. Oh, how I used to wonder. How could someone as esteemed as you have given birth to such a monster? I tell you, Councillor, there were many a time when I wanted to take my cycle and race to your home, throw open your doors, fall on your feet and tell you about your son. Beg and plead with you to stop him, help him, or even get rid of him. I’m ashamed to say that there was once a time I thought you would listen. I thought, after I’d fallen to your knees, you would lay a gentle hand on my shoulder and apologise. Apologise for raising a terrible son and then promising me you’d make sure he never harmed anyone in that town ever again.
What a fool I was. What a fool I was to ever think that.
In fact, the real fool was Aman. Remember Aman? I’m sure you don’t. Aman was the one who actually went and did what I had simply dreamt. He came to you. Not your house, but the office. He came to you, fell at your feet, and told you everything your son did. I don’t know everything he said but it must’ve cut you deep. It must have right? Isn’t that why you kicked up such a fuss at school? Threatened all the students and teachers. Why? Because of the monster your son is? NO. Because Aman had dared to speak up. You had him expelled. And that’s one thing, but you had his parents run out of town too. And everyone ate it up. Everyone just accepted your decision. Even my parents, who had loved Aman, had had him over to our place and loved him like another son. Even they were whispering about how terrible he and his family must be if they angered you that much.
Well, that was the last straw, Councillor. That was the last straw. Your son had taken away my dignity and my peace, but you had taken away my best friend. I had to do something. And that’s exactly why…
Ah
Did you catch your breath there?
Did you think I was going to slip up there?
Did you think I was going to confess?
Did you think I was going to tell you how I lured your son into a quiet place and did away with him? Or did you think I was going to tell you how I kidnapped your son and did away with him? Did you think I had finally cracked and was going to tell you every lurid detail about how I mutilated your mangled son?
Well, keep holding your breath because
A) I won’t confess
B) I didn’t do it
C) And even if I did, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction
You can have your men come to my cell every night and do what they want to me. They’re working for you, so I’m sure they are psychopaths, but that’s fine. I gave up on my life a long time ago. In fact, this was always the decision. I would be the scapegoat. In fact, I volunteered to be. The reason was that I had made it clear to everyone who mattered that I wanted to be the face. Yes. I wanted to be the face of your torment. Your son harassed and bullied almost everyone in school, and now everyone in school can go to sleep knowing they will never have to see him again. But you, oh Councillor, you lost your only son, and I want you to think of my name and my face whenever you try to remember your son. He’s gone, but I remain. And even if you kill me, you will never have justice. You will never have justice because, Councillor, I truly didn’t kill your son. Or at least, I wasn’t the only one.
21.31°C Kathmandu
