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escaping death | drabble
The gun feels heavy in my hands - as if it weighed a thousand pounds. The once cool metal now burned against my palm, and I almost threw the damn thing away, cursing myself in an exhaled breath. It was the first time I had ever held a gun, and the adrenaline that rushed through my body was exhilarating enough to make my hands shake ( maybe it was the fear, but I had hoped that would subside ). In a few hours, I would be free from all of my problems. In a few hours, my father would be dead.
There was a lump in my throat that didn’t seem to go away, and the more I swallowed, the more apparent it became. I knew that this was risky, but it had to be done. I spent months of my life being tossed around like a ragdoll, used at his expense, and if I didn’t get out now, I’d be dead in another month or two. I couldn’t wait that long - I wanted to live.
Making myself comfortable on my bed, I tucked the weapon under a pillow, leaving it within arms reach for when the opportunity presented itself. If I knew my father, he’d be walking in the house in no less than thirty minutes, go straight to the fridge, drink at LEAST half a bottle of whiskey in one sitting, and make his way to my room. It was a routine that I had fallen accustomed to. The silence allowed me to think over the plan thoroughly, but also allowed me to grieve the relationship we once had.
My father wasn’t always a monster; when I was a child, he was my best friend. Anywhere Walter went, so did I. Things only started to change when my mom got sick, and suddenly daddy’s little girl became daddy’s favorite punching bag ( my mom had become too weak to take his hits so his frustrations were taken out on me ). My once favorite person quickly became my mortal enemy, and eventually, when my mom died, things escalated, and I was left to clean up my own blood more than once. He didn’t care, either. He laughed at my pain, told me to ‘suck it up’ and act like a big girl. And most of the time, I did. But I couldn’t handle it anymore. Walter Grey was the f u c k i n g devil, and I wanted to send him back to hell.
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Walter’s footsteps grew louder as they got closer to my room, and suddenly any plan I had was tossed out the window. A shaky hand wrapped around the handle of the gun, still concealed by the pillow on my bed.
“Lennon! Get your ass out here!” I could tell he was angry, but I stayed still, refusing to move. “Lennon!!” It grew louder, and suddenly Walter was standing in my room, his strides moving in closer to where I sat. “When I call you, you f***i-”
A loud ‘BANG’ surrounded the air around us, echoed off the walls, and cut off his words. Warm liquid splattered across my face, the deep crimson taking me by surprise. I don’t even remember pulling the trigger, but the hole in his chest had made it apparent that I had. I felt frozen in fear as I watched Walter stumble forward, his hand clutching the open wound. I pulled the trigger again, this time to make sure he wouldn’t survive.
My eyes glued to his face as he fell to the floor, blood pooling around his limp body, and only then did I scream.
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