Garrison walked through the deep moss of the forest, blood dripping down his face. He sat under a tall maple tree, a common sanctuary from his father, Gerard. Earlier that day Gerard got upset at Garrison, and attacked him. And for once in his life, Garrison fought back.

“Your school grades are terrible, you don’t have a job and you look like you’re homeless!” Gerard ranted angrily. Garrison looked down at his dirty, ripped shoes, as his father continued, “What would your mother say if she saw you like this?” Garrison looked up, appalled at what his father had just said. Garrison’s mother died when Garrison was born, and his father never spoke of her.

“I don’t know, father, what would she say?” Garrison asked, with a hint of bitterness. “Don’t change the subject; you’re lucky I never told you about your mother!” Gerard shouted. “She was an unfaithful liar, unfit to be a mother!” he added. “Sound’s like you two were a perfect match!” Garrison retaliated. Garrison lunged at his son, and grabbed him by the collar. “Don’t you ever compare me to that whore!” Gerard screamed, his face red with anger. After a string of blasphemy and swears, Gerard sent Garrison to his room.

Garrison knew what it meant when his father sent him to his room. He heard the familiar click of the liquor cabinet. Without realizing it, Garrison gingerly stroked the bruise his father gave him last time.

Garrison decided he couldn’t live like this, with his father constantly beating him. He knew he had little time to make his escape, and started packing essentials. Clothes, money, and some blankets, all found their way into a small duffel bag. Garrison quietly peeked through his bedroom door, into the kitchen. No sign of his father.

Garrison snuck out of his room, and quietly opened the pantry. He grabbed cans and boxes of food, and shoved them into his bag. “Garrison!” his father called from the next room. Garrison froze in his tracks. Did he hear me? He thought to himself. “Garrison, get me a beer!” Gerard shouted. Garrison let out a breath of relief and hid his bag behind the stove. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, and took it to his father.

Garrison handed the beer to his father, praying his father wouldn’t keep him long. “Garrison, why were you going through the pantry?” his father asked. All the blood drained from Garrison’s face. He heard me! What do I do? Before Garrison could come up with an excuse, Gerard swung the beer bottle at his son. The glass smashed against Garrison’s face, leaving cold beer and blood running in its wake.

Garrison’s eye screamed in pain, and he instinctively clasped his hand over it. A piece of cold, bloody glass stabbed further into his eye. Gerard wasn’t done with his thief of a son, and he grabbed an empty bottle. He swung around Garrison, and hit him in the back of the head.

Garrison fell to the ground in agony and pain. Tears, beer and blood blotted his vision. His father left the living room, and walked through the hallway, towards his bedroom. As Garrison was about to crawl away to safety, his father re entered.

“Garrison, look at me,” Gerard said. “There is something I’ve always wanted to do to you.” Garrison looked up at his father, pleading with his bloody eyes for him to stop. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, he was staring down the barrel of his father’s hunting riffle. He managed to get up and run, as his father shot. The bullets hit the wooden doorframe, splinters shattering out.

Garrison ran into his father’s bedroom, and got another riffle. He had never used one before, however he had seen his father load it. He quickly mimicked his father’s actions, just in time for Gerard to step into the room.

“Put that down,” Gerard hissed. Instead, Garrison lifted the heavy rifle, aiming at his father. “Put that down!” Gerard shouted. Garrison’s hands shook, and he pulled the trigger.