He's DeadA Story by LaniElle finds her abusive father has committed suicide and tries to figure out what to do.Oh my god, he's dead. My first thought: Thank god. My second: What the hell will I do now. It is 2:30something, I'm walking through the door, and the first thing I see is my father on the floor with a gun in his hand, bullet in his brain, blood congealed around his head. He's dead. Oh my god, he's dead. Third thought: What the f**k am I going to tell mom? That he's dead. Why, she'll ask. Good question, I'll say. He shot himself. Right. Should I call an ambulance? No point, he's dead, the police would just stir up unneeded anxiety, and besides, what would mom and Sarah think when they get home and there's a fleet of police cars lined up in front of our house? She'd get all freaked out. But coming in the house and seeing her husband on the floor isn't going to help much with anxiety levels. On TV they call the police, in books they call the police, I should really just call the f*****g police. Now I'm kneeling on the floor. How did I get on the floor? I should call the police. Then I'm coughing up bits of bad school pizza. But the police can't do anything, They'll ask questions. Choking on the bile. He's dead, he's dead, he's dead. A little mantra flopping around on itself, losing meaning as it repeats for like the millionth time. He's dead he's dead he's dead– At least now there won't be any more screaming matches late at night when I'm trying to sleep. There won't be any bruises or broken plates. There will be papers, yeah. Police (I should call the police, I know I should). Mom will cry, Sarah will cry. But things will be better. I hope. © 2008 LaniAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
Stats
271 Views
3 Reviews Added on June 18, 2008 AuthorLaniCAAboutI love writing. I live for writing. I write when I should be doing math homework, I write when I should be sleeping. more..Writing
|