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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Life can be hard at times. No one knows what could happen. Unpredictable, that's what life is. No one knows what to expect...

Submitted: December 27, 2006

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 27, 2006



They’re yelling at each other again.  I creep stealthily to the hallway, listening to their heated conversation, my heavy stone in my hand for comfort.  I’m trembling again.  I’m always like this whenever they have a fight.“Do you think this is enough?!” he screams.  I wince as I hear a glass object smash.  From within the trickles of the shards, I hear her voice, pleading.“Stop now, please…” she mumbles helplessly.  I know how this will end.  It always ends with a heartfelt sorry, and a hug and a kiss.  The fools, they always believe each other – well, she believes him.  Then, next week, the same thing happens again.  His excuses are getting worse, too.  Same arguments, differently phrased.  But each time, he gets angrier and she gets more bruises.  Now I have hardly any possessions of value, and hardly any patience left.  Whenever I go to college, he just storms into my bedroom in a rage and tears everything to shreds, no doubt with a mouthful of filthy abuse.She’s screamed.  As suddenly as it started, it stops.  A thud.  Another smash of glass.  Another, louder thud, coming from outside.  Then silence.  I run in, basically smashing through the door.  I see her, lying motionless on the floor, her eyes shut, a filleting knife forced into the flesh of her stomach.  The windows shattered, there’s blood all over the glass.  He’s not here.  I see his crumpled figure on the floor outside.  He’s shakily heaving himself up.  I speed out of the room in a whirlwind of emotion, into the hallway, out of the front door, down the stairs, barely touching the floor.  Silently, I march towards him, my eyes on fire, boring into him emotionlessly.  He’s furious.  I see it in his own merciless eyes.  Panting deeply, he charges at me, his fists brandished threateningly.  People walk past, staring at us, me calmly standing still, my eyes following him, my stone concealed behind my back, him baring his teeth, roaring and running aimlessly at me like a bull.  He screams once more, barely human, and dashes at full pelt towards me.  I lift my stone and launch myself at him, my body forced into him.  Momentarily, I see his face, worried and staring at the stone with genuine fear.  His eyes flicker to me, my face bitter and contorted, but my eyes closed.  I hit him hard on the head with my stone.  It has fulfilled it’s purpose, but I keep it in my hand.  I hear a crack, and see gushes of blood.  He looks at me almost questioningly, in disbelief that I could ever be able to do such a thing.  I watch him fall to the floor, now lying in his own pool of blood, twitching nastily.  He’s got his comeuppance.  As soon as I’m sure that he’s dead, I leap up the stairs, heading for her.  I grab the phone as I fly past it, quickly dialling 999.  running into the room, I say breathlessly, “Police and Ambulance, please.  77 Alsborough Road, Langstone, PO12 8PQ.  And hurry.” Then hang up.  “Don’t worry, Mum, you’ll be fine,” I whisper soothingly to the trembling, seemingly small person on the floor.  She seemed repulsed by the sight of her blood, and tears were drying on her face.  She didn’t even have enough energy to cry.  “You’ve got me,” I say encouragingly, “You’ll be fine.  Your butterfly will make it all better…” she looks up at me lovingly, tears still swimming  her eyes, her mascara trailing down her face, making her look peaky and poisoned.  Several times she tries to pull the knife out of her flesh, but the pain causes her to fall back, and soon enough, she sleeps.  While she sleeps, I place a clean tea towel over her wound, almost fascinated by the blood seeping in to the cloth.  By  the time the Ambulance and Police arrive, I had cleared up most of the pool of blood unblinkingly, no soft words to comfort me, no one top hug me or say that I did the right thing.  I indicate to the doctors unnecessarily where my mother was, and explain to the Police that I was responsible for the bloody corpse outside.  I could have lied, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, knowing that our justice or my conscience would have failed me.  I kiss my mother, though she is in a deep slumber, though whimpering, and whisper “I love you” before I am taken away, understandingly, with the Police to be taken to prison and punished for my wicked crime.

© Copyright 2018 tinegeal. All rights reserved.

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