Maria Diaz had always suffered at the hands of the men in her life. But when she murders her father and husband, she decides it's time to take matters into her own hands. She creates a hit list of every man who has ever hurt her or her mother, deter...
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It is all a plan.
Remember these words.
All a plan.
I was eight years old when the idea of murder came through my mind, watching crime movies and horror stories. I made sure to understand the mind of criminals, made sure to understand what weakness are the same or familiar.
See the brain works in so many ways with fear.
The paradox of our time is that when we experience the fear that is necessary to inform us of the dangers of a polluted and fearful world, we are pushed back into our primitive brains—the part of us that evolved to deal with immediate danger requiring violent and impulsive solutions.
Our higher brain, which is the part of us with reason, empathy, self-control, and steady resolve, can be accessed once the fear has subsided.
However, by this point, the sense of immediate need has subsided, our biological state has returned to "good times," and we fail to act with the necessary urgency.
We must fix this mystery.
In order to make the best decisions, we need to be frightened without being scared, able to use our higher brain while still being aware of a sense or feeling of urgency.
With my hands wrapped around his ankle, I continue to drag him towards the cemetery where I had his grave done and ready for him. For me, the cemetery was a happy place; I enjoyed looking at the gravestones and knowing that everyone, no matter how much money they have, they will die one day.
Arriving at his destined grave, I drop his leg and take a deep breath before rolling him into the six feet ground, I done for him. My father used to say that death was always hunting him. I look down at the blood in my palms, little did he know he was right. It was unavoidable.
I couldn't take him hurting me on a daily basis; I could claim self-defence, but no one believes the woman.
Self-defence doesn't exist with rape.
It never has.
I was sleeping.
The biggest mistake I made in eighteen years. What type of despicable man would do such a thing to his own daughter? I toss the spade to the ground before moving my father into his final resting place. I didn't feel sorry for him. I despised this man with every fibre of my being.
My mother however, she loved him.
And he did nothing but torture her, damage her and make her-she died in the bathroom of our house.
I still can't believe she fell in love with such a terrible man, but I suppose women have their preferences. I pull my hair back behind my ears, enabling the blood to print on my shirt.
I pick up the shovel once more and begin completing the task at hand.
Before sounds of coughing interrupt me, my eyes widen, and I look down to see my father slowly trying to sit up. He examines his surroundings, noticing where he is. "Maria! Maria what is this!" I leans against the spade, watching him attempt to climb out.
