I really miss him. I always will.
I was five when me and my father left my mother. I was too young to know what was going on. I was happy I didn't. But my father always seemed, strange to me. He cared for me and loved me. But his habits were odd. But I got use to it as I grew up. His job was easy and he got a lot of time at home, with me. But soon, I noticed it. Things would always change in my house. My room would stay the same, it never changed and often was the only thing in the house unchecked. But things were always moving outside it. My dad would forbid me from entering his room.
Once I was ten, I started to ask questions. My dad didn't mind when I did. He would laugh and avoid the question. I never got any answers. But I was unaware of everything falling apart. It was when the knocks on the door started. In the middle of the night. My dad would answer the door and talk to the people outside. I think that was the reason that the house would change so much, those people would have something to do with it. But things got worse. The knocks became much louder, harder. I started being awake all though the night. I think that ruined my mental health just as bad.
I remember walking home, it was late and my father was home. I was looking around when I saw flashing lights. All blue. It was something I couldn't deal with. I rushed home and saw the police cars outside the house. I ran to the officer outside the living room window. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Some people have been to your house and now the door is locked. Do you have a key?"
"Yea. But is my dad okay?"
"I'm not sure, all the lights are out and its too dark to see anything."
I unlocked the door and turned on the first light. Blood. Dripping off the walls. It was all over the floor, walls and on the plants. Everything was stained red. I led the officer through the house. Every room was covered in blood. But no one was around. My father was no where to be seen. Going up stairs. Still no one around. Just more blood. Then my room. Bloodied hand prints plastered the door. It was a bad sign. Slowly, I opened the door. Hoping nothing was inside. There he was. Lying on the floor. My dad. Lying on my bed. Dead! I couldn't help but puke right beside me. The officer called for backup as I was escorted outside and away from the house. I'll never forget that day.
It turned out that my mother was too unstable and sent people to get rid of my father. Thinking I could return to her. She was far from wrong. I was admitted to a mental facility. I will never sleep. I'm too scared to sleep. I never will.
