Dangerous Spare

Darts

I held my breath and listened to my dad continue, "What a wimpy little baby," he muttered. He is holding a woman at gunpoint while gazing directly through her exposed, bloody chest as he fires another dart in her direction. I whimpered while attempting to mute my garbled whines as her shouts echoed.

"You asshole. Fuck you, Tyrell!" The woman breathed, losing her strength as she struggled to break loose from her binds. Father only laughed and shot another dart, this time towards that woman's eyes. I tightly closed my eyes as she screamed in agony, firmly holding my ears to muffle the horrors that were being revealed before me.

"One more question, Lydia, one more, and this dart would go through your head," he meanacingly said to the woman. The lady continued to cry and didn't budge on my father's words.

Seconds passed, and the woman still didn't listen. She continued to struggle and scream. Besides my cramping legs, I couldn't move an inch. I wish I could just go out there and bolt, but I can't. I know, father, he'll tore my limb off if he'd known that I'm here. He hated me from the beginning, and he shows it every second he can.

I hate that I can't do anything. I hate that I'm scared and can only crumple from fear. I hate everything that's unfolding, and I can't even do anything.

"Hell awaits bitch," he said, shooting the dart towards the woman, who's now histically trying to break free. The shot missed and instead flew towards the closet door where I was hiding. I closed my mouth to silence my whimper as my dad walked towards me and picked up the dart.

I could have sworn that he looked through me. His gaze is peircing my every being. But I guess not. He walked away.

"Fuck," he muttered before plunging a direct shot of that sharp dart into that woman's head. I tightly closed my eyes as her head fell to her side, a pool of blood scattering all over the beige carpet.

My eyes widened as I tried to process the situation.

The second time.

This is the second time that I have witnessed death.

How I wish I hadn't opened my eyes. All that's left for me is trauma, nothing more. I felt a lump in my throat. I feel like throwing up.

My fear grew stronger as my father walked straight to the closet. He opened the door, and there he saw me. A five-year-old kid who's hiding in one of the small spaces, tucked enough that my floral cream dress blends with the suits that hang there. Wide-eyed and shaking, I let out a whimper as I saw the lady-her eyes still open, filled with fear.

Annoyance filled my father's eyes as he grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me outside his office door.

I let my silent tears flow as I watched my father. His eyes tell a lot; as a toddler, I couldn't read it at that time, but now I can clearly recall the fury within those terrifying orbs.

"Who told you to enter?"

That spine-shivering voice still hunts me. He stated that sentence with so much coldness that I began to sob. My body froze, understandably. I slowly looked to the side of me to find someone-anyone. Anyone that I can run to.

Besides the big flower vase stand my older brother and sister, who's holding back a giggle. They didn't understand the context of my predicament at that time, and I did too. All of it was just supposed to be a game.

"If I knew you were so much of a nuissance, I should've left you back then," my father told me, and he slammed the door shut. Tears continued to flow out of my eyes as my sister hurriedly came for me and comforted me. My older brother Sky talked to my nannies to prepare my room as some of them scurried away.

My sobs have become uncontrolled, and my feet are still frozen. My sister practically dragged me to the living room, as I would not budge. Sky, my older brother, tailed us closely behind.
"I thought you were hiding in the attic! You stupid beetroot, why did you hide inside dad's office?" my sister asked me.

I remembered hugging her for the first time ever. She's not sure how to react at first, since it's not our nature to seek comfort. We were supposed to be strong on our own, even though I'm only five, my older sister, laureleih is eight, and our oldest brother is eleven.

That memory haunts me, and up until now, it still does. Every night, I can still see the picture of that woman. That's the first time that I have seen someone kill, and that memory terrifies me. All of it became more real the moment I learned that that woman was my mother.