I remember my parent’s house vividly.
I remember the living room especially; it was a lovely shade of blue with white nature paintings on each wall.
I also remember the picture frames. There were a lot of them covering an entire wall, with my parent’s wedding picture right in the centre.
I remember other things too.
I remember the day my mother bled to death on the glistening white tiles after one of my father’s drunken assaults.
I remember his drunken breath on my neck on those cold, dark nights.
I remember, as I pull the trigger on his head.