Saturday, 28 June 2014

Poor Little Rich Girl

My parents weren’t bad – not really.  After all, they gave me everything I ever wanted in life.

I got a top notch education.  I drove the best sports car around.  I had an unlimited amount on my credit card to use.  My Dad even got me a gun licence…but that's not why I hated them.

I hated them because they said: ‘No.’ once to me… just once, and it was for the silliest thing too. 

I wanted to get married.

Now, that’s not so bad is it?  Nah, it isn’t.  But I wanted to marry my high school sweetheart.  My folks didn’t like him at all.  According to them, he was wrong for me in every single way.

He struggled for money – he had two part time jobs; one after school and one on the weekend, so I barely saw him unless I hung out with him at the diner and we chatted during the slow moments during his shift or before his shift.

He didn’t have a sports car or a credit card, or anything to the likes that I had… no, what he had was life experience.  Richard was a lovely young man who loved me because I wasn’t rich.  He loved me for who I wasn’t to my parents.  There was something special in me he adored that I hadn’t noticed; not until he took me to the gun range and taught me to use that gun Dad bought me on my 18th birthday; soon after I received my licence for it.

Richard said I was a natural… how cool was that?

He took me away for the weekend out into the desert where we practiced shooting at cans and bottles at a distance.

He told me that I was getting better and better each time.  I was thrilled!  Then we sat around the fire and dreamed about the places we’d go after school – after university – and how our love couldn’t die. 

Now you tell me, how could parents hate a guy like this?  A guy who was teaching me something my Dad wouldn’t teach me about something he bought me.  A guy who would never let anything bad happen to me.  A guy who cared about me – loved me, heart, body, mind and soul – and didn’t want to leave me side. 

I got to meet Richard’s parents.  They were hard-working people who lived a basic life on what my parents called ‘the wrong side of the tracks’… and yet they managed to keep a roof over their heads, paid their bills on time and food on the table.  The red meat that graced their table was amazingly fresh!  And I was invited to dinner in a minute, but Richard didn’t want me to stay; instead driving me home.

“I don’t want you to ever eat at my house.” He said as he pulled into my long, winding driveway and took his time as the action-lights blinked on all the way up along the asphalt.  Before I could ask why, he glanced at me, “Don’t ask me why, just don’t eat there.”

“Okay.” I nodded.

He pulled his pick-up around the circular driveway, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure.” I smiled, “Have you got the day off?”

“Yes.” He nodded, “My boss gave in to my asking for one weekend – finally.” He leaned over and kissed me, held me close, “I love you Lyndsay.”

“I love you too.”

The next morning, I heard on the news that Richard’s diner had been robbed – the owner’s remains had been found not far from his house.  I was shocked!  I wondered if what Richard had told me had something to do with why he never liked me eating at his folks’ house… really did make you wonder.  Before I wondered anymore, I received a message on my phone from Richard: ‘You heard about the diner? OMG!  I can’t believe my boss is dead! Pls meet me at the gate.’

I grabbed my pushbike and cycled down to the gate where his pick-up was waiting and he was leaning up against it, “Lyndsay.  I don’t know what to say.”

“What was that at your folks’ house?” I asked.

He looked down, “They call it venison.  It’s not.”

“Answer me.” I walked my bike to him, “Look at me and tell me the truth.”

His eyes met mine, “Lawnpig.” He frowned when I didn’t answer, “Lyndsay, my family… are…” he took in a deep breath, “They don’t eat beef or pork, their meat runs around on two legs.”

I stepped back as my bike dropped to ground, “What?”

“This is why I befriended you.” He said, “I can’t do what I need you to do… and you’ll get away with it because you’re rich.”

My gut cooled as I swallowed thickly, “You’re kidding right?”

“You’re Daddy’s Little Girl, he’d never see you doing this kind of thing; and I’ll take the blame.” He said, “After all, they’re my parents; not good ones either.” He looked at me, “And your parents aren’t any better.”

The sirens are getting louder as I sit here in the corner.  I have blood all over me.  It’s painted all over the walls, floor and spattered aross the ceiling of this house; and none of it is mine.There’s Richard’s family everywhere – all dead.  He’s here too, but I killed him as well – because he turned on me when I pulled out my gun.

I had no choice.

I had been invited over for a ‘nice visit to get to know you’.

Even Richard fell for it.  In truth, they knew his little plan to get rid of them; and I was next on their menu – so was my family.

When the police pushed the door open, I saw them walk in, but didn’t resist.  Instead, I just put the gun on the floor and began to cry.

My parents weren’t bad – not really.  After all, they gave me everything I ever wanted in life.