They say it's immature and unreasonable. Is it though? I pull my quilt up to my nose, and close my eyes.
"Maybe if I hide, he won't get me," I'd whispered to my plush killer whale as if it could hear me, understand me. I was huddled in a heap under my bed. Then, I heard it. The sound of a glass bottle as it shattered.
Although hearing that sound was always spine-chilling, it offered a small bit of relief, because it meant the bottle wasn't in his hand anymore. I'd been a fool to think I could hide from him. It only made him more angry when he found me. Everyday with him was a bargain with life.
That depraved man was like black dye, staining my childhood. He never gave me food, nor praise, nor anything else a father should give his son. He only acknowledged me when he woke me in the night, just to drunkenly kick me until I passed out. The only reason I even survived was my school janitor, who would either pack or buy lunch for me every day.
Even though he's gone now, the dark is a lingering reminder of what he did to me.
YOU ARE READING
Hello >:3
Short StoryI have a class that demands I write a story according to a prompt every week and I'm behind, so I figured posting them on here might help encourage me to get my shit done. I've already finished and turned in weeks 1 and 2, so we're skipping those. ...
