Her Last Words

  Rebecca leaned out the open window. The day was over, and the blue tinted sky soon melted into a bold ink blue for the night. Shadows of grey clouds which covered the twinkling light from the stars lingered above their house. She and her father lived on a small plot miles away from the nearest town, where the road is too distant from their land on foot. Rebecca's eyes darted around the property, observing every slight motion from the bushes and bristles. Her face stiffened and her eyes narrowed, trying to focus her eyes on a figure which made its way through the towers of trees, subtly revealing itself. Rebecca jumped back, immediately running down towards the front door. Her loud, echoing footsteps attracted the attention of the sleeping family dog who perked up and excitedly darted over to see what's going on. Rebecca slided to a stop in front of the plain white door, hesitantly using her remaining functioning hand to open up the door. Immediately the heavy autumn winds heaved their way into the house, bringing uncomfortable shivers throughout Becky's body. The front was dimly lit with a small lantern which snuggled against the brick wall. The figure came closer to the house, carrying the weight of a burdensome rifle propelled in their two arms. Rebecca leaned on the open door, holding her long hair back from blowing around too recklessly.

"Care to explain yourself?"

The figure brought itself into the weak light, revealing a tall, thin man with a scowl carved onto his wrinkled face. He walked through the door and hung his gun on the wall hooks near the door, refusing to acknowledge the question hovering in the air. "You disappeared without warning, dad," her taut voice thickened."You can't just leave me alone."

"You can take care of yourself." He tossed his coat on the rocking chair which sat right underneath his hanging gun.

"No I can't. I'm still recovering from my injuries, dad. The doctor said I shouldn't be doing much heavy work."

"Well that's your fault, isn't it."

She stood there brutally stung by his words, a heat of rage slowly growing inside her.

"Why don't you even care anymore?"

"Now don't you start another fuss with me, Becky." The dog started to whine, as if they wanted them to stop.

"You didn't even visit me once at the hospital." Her voice began to brittle.

"I stayed outside just looking for this made-up beast you saw lingering around my house,"

the father shot his head over to Rebecca, his voice obviously getting louder. "Well, there was nothing, Becky. It's all in your sick mind. Your mind is sick." His voice sharpened and his posture stiffened. Becky refused to look up at him, as she was too busy fighting back her angry tears. "I care more about you than you do yourself." Her father muttered loud enough for Becky to hear him. "You don't care about me at all!" Rebecca skuttered off, bumping into the various furniture which conveniently stood in her way. She slammed her bedroom door, the noise echoing throughout the house. "That door better not be broken, you rascal!" The father cried. The house stood silent, only the quiet whimpers of the dog occupied the air. The father let out a sharp sigh, walking on the creaking old floor planks of the hall towards the kitchen. Most cabinets and shelves were wide open, likely from Rebecca trying to prepare her something to eat, disregarding her pain. The dog followed him into the room, making his appearance with his increasingly loud whimpers and began desperately nudging the fathers left leg. "Back off." The father shoved the dog away with his foot. The dog backed up, walking over to his right side and began nudging him again.

"What are you? Hungry?"

The dog sat down, looking up at the fathers tensed up face. "You're not my responsibility." The father grunted, walking over to the sink to pour himself some water. The dog was Becky's mothers' dog, who she let her daughter keep for company. Yet Rebecca's father found the dog to be a useless companion, and increasingly wished to get rid of it. As he grabbed a cup from the open cabinets and poured himself a drink, he noticed a small and empty orange bottle which laid at the bottom of the sink lifelessly. White tablets protruded out of the bottle, scattered all over. He picked up the bottle, visibly disturbed and heated up.