Chapter 1

A Chapter by Chris Parker

Thunder louder then the roar of the fiercest lion crashed, as a blow was delivered to my right eye. It knocked me back about six feet, causing me to slam against the wall, slinking to the cold floor. “Get up!” Jorge pulled his leg back and kicked me, hard, in the rib cage. I couldn’t move my legs felt weak and my head spinning. “D****t Aphrodite, I said, get up!” His cry rang out through the empty house. He kicked me again right in the stomach. I groaned and got to my knees. “Please. Please stop.” I looked up at him, my father, his hair wild and curly, his eyes enraged, and his breath stinking of liquor. The same look I saw when my mother was killed two years earlier.

My mother, Grace, looked just like me. Pale skin, black hair, and the most beautiful violet eyes. Her skin covered in blue - black bruises. My father arrived home one quiet night, intoxicated as usual, to find that my mother did not have dinner on the table. “D****t Grace what the hell is your problem!?” Mom never got a chance to answer. Jorge grabbed a frying pan, hanging from the potholder in the ceiling. “You’re a filthy, dirty, woman! You useless female!” I saw mom hit the floor, holding her bleeding scalp, tears cascading from her face. “I’m sorry Jorge. I won’t do it again.” He dropped the pan to the floor then walked out, pushing past me. I had the urge to walk into the kitchen, wrap my arms around her crumpled figure, and heal her emotional wounds. But I couldn’t. Instead, I turned around and walked away.

Later that eventful night I witnessed the murder of Grace Form; daughter, mother, wife. It seemed like Jorge was always intoxicated because even six hours later he was still drunk as a fish. Mom sat at her vanity combing out her long dark hair. Daddy came up behind her, stumbling, walking like a crab, he kissed her lightly on the head. She smiled slightly. His hand then gripped her arm; she winced as a fresh bruise was penetrated. He jerked her back, throwing her against the bed. I wasn’t stupid, I had known what rape was since I was eleven. And this sure looked like it. “Jorge please not tonight I’m tired.” Grace pleaded, anger filling her voice. “D****t Grace you’re my wife you will please me when I tell you too!” He was yelling so loud the words reverberated through our tiny yellow house.

A flash of anger shot across her face as she pushed him off of her. Anger was replaced with fear as Jorge rolled off the bed. Mom sat very still. I knew I should’ve saved her but my feet felt like they where nailed to the ugly light blue carpet. He came at her as if she was the prey of a starving panther. He sprung swiping his big black paw at her neck. A claw pierced the skin, blood poured from her fresh wound. Another swipe across her face, her eye squirting blood. The prey fell from its nest, landing with a thud at the panther’s feet. Dead.

I watched in horror as my mother was slaughtered. Jorge checked her pulse. “D****t she’s dead.” He cursed shrugging his shoulders. I knew I shouldn’t have watched the rest. I knew I should have called the police but this was like a train wreck. I watched him as he removed her bloodstained nightgown and defiled her until he was too tired to continue, and then plopped down next to her chilling body.

“D****t Aphrodite listen to me!” The sound of his voice brought me back from my terrifying walk down memory lane. A blow to my ear sent me stumbling again. Lying still, I earned one final kick, and he slammed his door on the way out.

It was still raining later that night. The rain leaving crooked messages down my windows and the thunder tearing up the sky. I fumbled around under the blankets trying to disentangle my arm from the sheet. I felt for the familiar scar on my face, where Jorge had thrown a book at me when I saw two. I felt the up rise in my temple and began to cry. Not like silent, easy just - got - dumped tears but body shaking, seems - like - you - cant - breathe tears. A sob shook my frame and to the last slash of thunder to end this terrifying night I fell asleep.

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