Sandcastles

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: The Imaginarium


Instead of digging sandcastles...

Submitted: October 20, 2017

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Submitted: October 20, 2017

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My parents passed away when I was twelve-years-old. Rosie—my little sister was barely four, she doesn’t remember them the way I do. Since then, we have been living with our father’s younger brother Ryan; in a two-story house near a beach.

The same beach my mother would take Rosie and me. I remember her so vividly, my mother’s blonde hair and the rays of the sun shining right through it. Rosie is eleven now, and she looks just like her. Our summers were spent digging sandcastles and sunbathing.

My parents were killed in an interstate car wreck seven years ago.

Our lives aren’t exactly ideal, on the contrary, ever since our parents died—my uncle has turned me into his slave.

I come home from school and I make dinner, prepare lunches, do laundry and help Rosie with her homework.  On the weekends I take Rosie to the beach just like our parents would and for a few hours; we laugh and dig sandcastles, everything is perfect. But at night, those dark nights, there’s an uninvited visitor that comes to my room.

It began a little over a year after the car accident. My uncle came home drunk one night and sat beside me on the sofa while I watched TV. I caught him staring at me from the corner of my eye, something that disturbed me greatly. After he tried to make conversation with me, he came onto me and held my hands tightly against the wall. As much as I fought and cried—he didn’t cease. He made it clear to me that I belonged to him. You see, I took the abuse for years. My mind even escaped on those dark nights when he would come into my bedroom. “Be a good girl for Uncle Ryan”, he would say. “It’ll all be over soon”.

I did it for Rosie. Too keep her safe. And just as long as his attention didn’t turn to her, I was willing to put up with it until she was older and moved away. But unfortunately… it wasn’t the case.

One afternoon, when I came back from work, I found Rosie crying as she sat on the rocking chair on our porch.

“Rosie, what is it?” I asked her as I dropped my purse and bent down to her level.

“He told me not to tell you”, she said to me.

“Who? And tell me what?” I demanded answers as I felt my heart racing inside my chest.

“Uncle Ryan”, she responded.

“Rosie, what did Uncle Ryan do? You have to tell me!” I exclaimed.

“He touched my chest”, she whispered. My heart sank and throbbed. I exhaled my strength away. No, not Rosie, I can’t let this happen to her, too.

I sent Rosie away for the weekend to a friend’s house, it’s Friday night, she had just left and wouldn’t be back until Sunday; giving me ample time to clean up.

Uncle Ryan sat on the couch watching a UFC fight, something that agitated him very much.

“Sarabeth, bring me a beer, will you?” He shouted from the living room. I stared at him as he watched the television so amused. He didn’t know I stood there for half a minute.

“Yes, Uncle Ryan”, I responded. I walked to the kitchen and got him a cold beer from the fridge. I placed it on the coffee table before him, he was so intrigued with his show; he dismissed my presence.

I ran up the stairs and walked into his bedroom very quietly. I walked over to his night table and retrieved the gun from inside the drawer. I walked down the stairwells very quietly as I carried the Glock 23 in my left hand. I saw him shouting and jumping up and down on his seat very excitedly. I walked to him very subtly; he didn’t acknowledge me until I stood in front him at close range.

“Sarabeth, get the fuck out of the way!” he commanded. The gun was heavy and I hid it behind my back, and then slowly raised it as I aimed straight at his forehead. I knew I wasn’t going to miss; I was a good shot, thanks to my late father who taught me how to hunt.

“Sarabeth—what are you doing?” I heard his voice crack.

“You will never hurt Rosie the way you have hurt me”, I said.

“No wait!” he shouted and I pulled the trigger. Just as I predicted; his forehead was the target.

I walked calmly to the backyard as I wiped the blood splatter with the back of my hand from my face. I took the shovel and started digging. It was at that instant that I realized; all these years of abuse and unhappiness—instead of digging sandcastles, I should’ve been digging graves.



© Copyright 2018 jaylisbeth. All rights reserved.

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