I’m so fed up with him beating me and swearing at me,
Clarissa thought. This is the last time, father. Her father had been an alchoholic since she was six years old. Now, at thirteen, she had learned enough from the outside world that she knew what she could do, how to end the terror of her father’s beating her.
He never bought anything for them to eat. It was always take-out or pizza. This was another thing Clarissa hated about him. There was never anything in the fridge except strawberries (he had a weakness for strawberries) and liquor.
Because of him, Clarissa was depressed, and took pills to handle it. Now, as he slept, she took several of these pills and slipped them inside the last of her father’s strawberries, which she knew he would eat in the morning. He wouldn’t notice the pills, he would be hungover (or already completely drunk again).
When she arrived home from school the next day, he was lying dead on the floor. She called the ambulance, pretending to be frightened. No regrets, she thought.