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A Father's Rage

A Father's Rage

Gavin

5.0
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11
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My son Leo, valedictorian, MIT-bound. On his graduation day, my heart swelled with pride as I ironed his gown. He was my entire world, the only light left in it. Then, my ex-wife Victoria called, her voice flat: "Problem at the old industrial freezer. Go now." Dread seized me. I ran. The massive door creaked open to darkness and a metallic scent. My phone's light revealed the horror: Leo, grotesque, hundreds of construction spikes pinning him. "Dad?" he whispered. Then he was gone. Trapped with his body, I called Victoria. She scoffed, dismissing his death as a "prank." My own father only wanted money. At the hospital, Victoria' s security blocked Leo' s ambulance while she discussed a new family with Chad. He then tricked me into a "miracle procedure" to save Leo – actually, to dissolve his body and destroy evidence. I burst into the OR: hazmat suits, acrid chemicals, Leo' s desecrated remains. They were dissolving my son. My grief transformed into pure, black rage. Victoria then called this unspeakable horror a "prank that got carried away." The profound betrayal and boundless cruelty were incomprehensible. Something inside me snapped. As Victoria's men dragged me away to a forced psychiatric committal, her mocking words echoed. I looked at her, at Chad, at the vile scene. My voice, flat and emotionless, was a vow: "You will pay. Both of you. You will pay for this." This was no longer just sorrow; it was a chilling promise.

Introduction

My son Leo, valedictorian, MIT-bound.

On his graduation day, my heart swelled with pride as I ironed his gown.

He was my entire world, the only light left in it.

Then, my ex-wife Victoria called, her voice flat: "Problem at the old industrial freezer.

Go now."

Dread seized me.

I ran.

The massive door creaked open to darkness and a metallic scent.

My phone's light revealed the horror: Leo, grotesque, hundreds of construction spikes pinning him.

"Dad?" he whispered.

Then he was gone.

Trapped with his body, I called Victoria.

She scoffed, dismissing his death as a "prank."

My own father only wanted money.

At the hospital, Victoria' s security blocked Leo' s ambulance while she discussed a new family with Chad.

He then tricked me into a "miracle procedure" to save Leo – actually, to dissolve his body and destroy evidence.

I burst into the OR: hazmat suits, acrid chemicals, Leo' s desecrated remains.

They were dissolving my son.

My grief transformed into pure, black rage.

Victoria then called this unspeakable horror a "prank that got carried away."

The profound betrayal and boundless cruelty were incomprehensible.

Something inside me snapped.

As Victoria's men dragged me away to a forced psychiatric committal, her mocking words echoed.

I looked at her, at Chad, at the vile scene.

My voice, flat and emotionless, was a vow: "You will pay.

Both of you.

You will pay for this."

This was no longer just sorrow; it was a chilling promise.

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The Monster They Made Me

The Monster They Made Me

Short stories

5.0

My life was perfect. I was Sarah, a loving mom, taking my sweet six-year-old Lily to Kids' Kraft Korner, all smiles and glitter castles. In an instant, my world shattered. A bloodcurdling scream. I raced back inside to find Lily' s lifeless body, her head gone, crafting shears beside her. My heart died. The real nightmare began. My best friend, Jessica, shrieked, pointing at me. Detective Harding arrested me. My own husband, David, abandoned me, highlighting my past postpartum depression. The media branded me a monster; "Suburban Mother Snaps, Murders Daughter" screamed headlines, bolstered by manipulated footage and a janitor's twisted testimony. Under relentless accusations, I plunged into a torturous haze. Dr. Peterson, a psychologist David suggested, hypnotized me. Horrifying images flooded my mind: me, holding the shears, filled with rage, striking Lily. I confessed, truly believing the implanted memory, convinced I was a child killer. The "recalled" physical evidence-Lily' s head, found exactly where I "remembered" it-seemed to seal my monstrous fate. I was lost in self-loathing. Still, even through the despair, a tiny flicker of inner doubt persisted. Could I really have done this? Then, as I was dragged to court, I saw Jessica in the crowd. She wasn't yelling. She was smiling. A small, smug, triumphant smile. It wasn't my madness. That hateful smile ignited something raw. "You did this, Jessica! You set me up!" I screamed, tearing at my restraints. "She's having an affair with my husband! David is the father of her son!" My desperate accusation, fueled by rage, finally started to unravel the terrifying conspiracy, pulling me from the abyss of my false memory.

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