Drunken Killer

My Dad and I are moving to a new Victorian home in the middle of nowhere. My dad claimed it was because he wanted a fresh start, however I knew it was because he lost his job again. After mom left, he began to drink. Everyday he consistently drank to the point that the people at the bar knew him by name. The local officer brought him home a few times shit faced. His drinking made him aggressive, which in turn made him abusive. When he is out drinking, I stay home and clean. I have to make sure the house is spotless before he gets home or I’ll face his wrath. When he is in one of his moods, the scariest thing about him are his eyes, something about it just makes me uneasy. At that point you can tell he is no longer in control. 
As I opened the front door, a strong smell of liquor stung my nose. Walking into the kitchen, I saw bottles of bud light laying everywhere. “Christ”, I whispered under my breath. The worst part is I was only gone for a few hours for school and the house was clean when I left. I placed my backpack down and began to clean. Garbage bag in hand, I tossed every bottle I saw. Once finished, I brought the half full bag outside to the trash. 
I sat down in the living room to do my homework with a random western show playing in the background. When I finally looked up from my books I realized that it was already dark out. A shiver ran down my spine, that means dad will be home soon and who knows what kind of mood he is in tonight. 
Shortly after I put my books in my bag, the sheriff’s car pulled into the gravel driveway, his lights shining through the window. The sheriff stepped out of his car and walked around to the passenger side where he pulled out my stumbling buffon of a father, figures. The sheriff struggled getting him up the old creaky stairs but managed. I met them at the door to help him get my dad on the soffa. “Hey”, the Sheriff said in my direction. “H-hi”, I said with a puff as we placed my dad down. The officer turned to me, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this but next time I’m going to have to bring you dad to jail for a night. This is the third time this week he has been caught drunk off his ass in public. Technically he should have been arrested for public intoxication but I know it can be hard being a single father.” We walk to the door, “I understand”, I say as I open the door for him. “I’ll try and talk to him when he comes too.” I shut the door and began to walk to the soffa, if I didn’t know any better I’d think he was dead. 
A few more hours passed and I began to cook dinner. Shuffling through the shelves, the only thing we have is pasta for spaghetti. I placed the pot of water on the stove to begin to boil. In the other room I heard my dad moaning, he was still a little tipsy. He came into the kitchen and opened the barren fridge, the only thing in there was a case of beer and some condemns. After he shut the door he opened his beer, letting the cap fall to the ground. “Hey” I called over to him as I stirred the pasta, “The Sheriff said that you can’t be out in public drunk again.” I could feel his eye burning into my skull, a lump formed in my throat. “Who the fuck is he to tell me what to do? An who the fuck do you think you are, stupid bitch?!” His tone rose, “You’re the reason your mom left, you’re the reason I drink so much!” He had that look in his eye again. My ears began to ring as my eyes fixated on his shoes, my vision getting blurrier by the second. All I could hear was aggressive mumbling. As I finally snapped out of it I heard,“You fucking bitch, are you even listening?! It’s all your fault!” He began to stumble closer to me. “I ought to teach you a lesson, a lesson in a woman's place. That’ll teach you not to speak out of turn.” 
I turned my head fast enough to see his eyes narrow down at my butt, his hands extended out at my hips. With his arm against my back, he pushed me up against the stove, droplets of boiling water splashed on me. I fell to the ground and he continued to push on my back till my cheek was on the floor and my butt in the air. With his other arm he began to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. “No” I cried as he pulled his pants to his knees, he knelt above me, one knee on the ground. My struggling only seemed to make his crooked smile grow. I began to grab the top of the stove, hoping to pull myself up, I grabbed hold of something only for it to fall on my father’s back. With him towering over me, the boiling water streamed down his back. He screamed and backed away, but this only made him angrier. With me still on the ground, he quickly grabbed hold of the back of my head and slammed my head against the stove. Over and over, I began to taste copper. As the chrimsone liquid grew on the ground, my vision began to blur with every hit.  Finally, I blacked out. 
I saw my mom, arms extended for a hug. I ran to her, but it wasn't the same me. I was five again, and I was seeing this as if in third person. See grabbed five year old me's hand and we began to walk together. She and I walked further and further until I couldn’t see them no longer. “Wait” I called, but it was too late. 
The sound of hammering woke me. One pound after another. But then replacing it, I could barely hear the faint sound of dirt covering my coffin over my own screams. I dug at the wooden lid that traps me until my fingers bleed, then began kicking instead. When that didn’t work, I screamed and pleaded, but there was no hope. The more I cried, the less oxygen I had left. With my last breath, I vowed to get revenge.