The smell of alcohol lingering on his harsh breath, and the red liquid dripping from his fingertips, he had done something. This is the true story of my Uncle Tony. I always loved my uncle, he was the center of our universe, the heart of our soul, but that heart had been cut out by a peaceful death. He got caught up with a life of a mobster the day he was born, never really knew why he didn’t turn away and run from it. It was one cold summer’s night, shots of a 9mm echoed through the streets of Ohio, and the screeching of tires screamed against the pavement, I knew something terrible was going to happen. A loud bang on the front door startled me and in a quick motion the wooden door swung open with a large man leaning in the doorway, Uncle Tony ran in and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and carried me to the bathroom. He pushed me up into the top shelf of a cabinet. “Don’t move I’ll be right back, no matter what happens stay here until I come get you.” Then he kissed my forehead with his dry lips and closed the door.
Screams filled the house and a couple of rounds were fired from the gun, I waited for what seemed like an eternity until I heard footsteps in the bathroom. I panicked because they weren’t uncle’s footsteps, they came closer and I could hear a hazily breath. The door opened a crack then closed; I searched in the dark with my shaky hands for something sharp. All I could find was towels. The door opened slowly, tears were streaming down my cheek and I couldn’t get myself to move. A man’s dark-skinned face appeared. His hands we slowly wrapping around my neck, I fidgeted for a moment, but I sat still with my eyes closed feeling the grip get tighter. A loud noise sounded in front of me and I felt wetness splatter against my pale face. I opened one eye to see the guy loosening his grip and sliding down to the floor. My uncle was standing behind him with a large metal piece that happened to be a shotgun. His face was enraged; two more bullets were pumped into the guy’s dead body. I looked down at my shaky hands to see they were bloody. My uncle cradled me in his arms for a few minutes.
He left the house while dragging the dead corpse that was wrapped up in black bed sheets. I crawled back into the small cabinet and curled up with a soft fuzzy towel. Hours passed and it started to poor heavily. I clinched each time a raindrop hit the gutter because it sounded like a gunshot. I ran out of the house looking into the sky, I felt as if the sky was crying with me. The sounds of thunder scared me so I hastily ran inside the house, I grabbed the same towel I was holding onto and dried myself off. The blood was smeared on my pale face and on my shaky hands. I sat down on a rocking chair to watch a little bit of cartoons, a huge gust of wind came through the door from my uncle. The smell of alcohol lingered on his harsh breath and blood dripped from his fingertips, he had done something… he had saved me. After that incident I was never allowed to go back to Ohio. Years past and thoughts of the blood still haunt me. A few months ago I had got a phone call from my cousin saying Uncle Tony died of cancer. He will surely be missed from what he had done.