Whispers of the Innocent

9

My fear of sheep stems from their eyes, a childhood trauma deeply ingrained in me. Most animals have round or vertical pupils, expressive and decipherable. But sheep, with their horizontal pupils, present an enigma, devoid of apparent emotion, neither cute nor fierce, just eerily inscrutable. The silent gaze of a sheep can unsettle the strongest of minds, suggesting an uncanny ability to manipulate human actions, even towards violence.

Turning away from the sheep, I embraced my father, John, with conviction, "Dad, you've taken lives, but I'm not afraid or hateful. You'll never be a burden to me. Others may see a monster, but to me, you're just my father, the best one at that.

My dream of becoming a detective wasn't driven by a strong sense of justice, but a love for mystery and solving puzzles. There are paths to good and evil in every pursuit; being barred from law enforcement won't leave me directionless.

If the man I love is a criminal, I'll abandon my initial path without a second thought and stand firmly by his side."

Acknowledging my selfishness and inability to renounce my father despite the gravity of his crimes, I realized I wasn't cut out to uphold the law.

Without waiting for a response, I picked up a stone and approached the sheep, its unsettling gaze fixed on me as I raised the stone. It remained motionless as I struck, ending its life.

The commotion scattered birds into the sky; blood splattered, blending with the sunset's crimson glow into the river's hue.

My father, stunned by my actions, didn't understand at first but instinctively came to assist. Together, we disposed of the sheep's body in the secluded underbrush near the cliff.

Looking into my father's eyes, I explained, "In religious sacrifices, a lamb is often used as a scapegoat, bearing the sins of others."

"Your sins are absolved by this act. You're free now; we can go home."

This rationalization, akin to burying one's head in the sand, was a desperate attempt at self-deception, yet it brought a semblance of comfort to my father. His lingering doubts surfaced, "But sooner or later..."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," I assured him confidently. "Trust me, Dad, we'll be alright."

As dusk fell, I led the way up the mountain, reversing our lifelong roles. My father had always guided me on these paths, but now, it was my turn to lead.