Blackout

Prologue

I tried not to open my eyes. I wanted to look away with all the strength I had left, but he held me. He held onto me with his mighty grip and his strong hands and forced me to look at the horrific sight that is one man and my mother while at the same time...

He had me up against a wall, my bare stomach facing it, while his "partner-in-crime" was standing near the edge of my mother's bed. I couldn't see my father's cold corpse in the corner of the room, but he was the first one. The strong stench of gunpowder still fresh from the gun within my holder's jacket pocket and the blood streaming down the back of my father's head still running down and staining into the carpet was all too much to bear and left me weak to the knees, making it easier for my holder to pin me with only his two hands. He had a pillowcase tied around my mouth and a thick piece of rope around my wrists that were held up over my head. At least I wasn't in as bad a position as my mother.

I could hear the handcuffs clink and her silent screams being blocked by a handkerchief and the springs of the mattress closing and opening nonstop. Hot tears filled my eyes with pain, both physical and emotional, from such a sight.

What seemed to have lasted an hour or so of this entire incident, the man holding my mother down had finally released her and unlocked the handcuffs that left a deep, bloody mark in her wrists that looked as if she cut herself. She slid off the bed, weak as ever with tears in her eyes and marked in her cheeks, and wallowed with soft cries.

I heard the man's footsteps approach my holder and tap his shoulder to signal him that they should leave. My holder responded, but didn't immediately leave. He returned his attention back to me, and I could feel his hot breath down my neck.

"Don't fret now," he whispered in my ear, his lips touching my skin. "You've finally grown up." He took a second, then I felt his tongue up the side of my neck, sending chills down my spine.

He stepped away from me, letting my arms fall in front of me as I fell to my knees and onto the ground. I regained the air that was constricted out of me from being pressed up against a wall and took a moment to look around the room to see if they were really gone.

I could only hear the mournful sobs of my mother behind her bed. I chose not to see her, but I only wish I didn't sit there beside my father, who laid on the open floor, pale as parchment and as dead-eyed as a lost soul with his eyes wide open. It was at the sight of him I could no longer hold myself upright. I lowered myself to the floor, holding my arms as close to my body as I possibly could, and began to cry, feeling my father's blood touch my skin and soak my hair.

I had never felt so vulnerable and discolored. I couldn't move for fear the pain would come back or even worse they would come back, but that would be too much to bare. I had never felt so ashamed for wanting to help my mother, but physically couldn't. The fact that I had let my mother be  victimized in all of this is my fault. I deserved what came to me, not her. She was so innocent, so pure that didn't deserve to be tossed around the room like a piece of trash. But from I have learned over the past years, this wasn't the first time.

It was about four years ago. I was just about to turn five (my birthday being only a week away), and my parents were on the verge of getting a divorce (but they never got around to it, so they decided to stay together for my sake, or that's what they've been telling me). I couldn't remember much of the small details that have happened, but those never really mattered.

I was walking down the pathway of Carbon Canyon Park, the day just past its midpoint, and my mother and father were sitting near the lake, hand-in-hand and laughing with soft music ringing through the air. I had only left them for a few short minutes until I came across a man in a hood who was walking in my direction.

He didn't bother me, but chills ran up my spine and my breath and heart stopped when we crossed, and once we passed, I relaxed. That was the first time I saw him, and only a few ten minutes later, when I was across the lake from my parents who appeared to be sleeping on each other's shoulders, he was there again. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on their end as he was walking directly at me. I thought we were going to pass again, so I continued to walk, but that only sealed what I was getting myself into.

He took me by my shoulder and held me close to him, close enough to smell his cologne. "Hey there, little fella," he said a with wide, ear-to-ear grin. "Are you lost?"

I shook my head.

"Where are your parents?"

I turned and pointed to the two sleeping distant figures across the lake.

"Do you want to see something cool?" He asked, gripping onto my shoulder a little tighter.

I had no idea who this man was and what his intentions were, so I just listened to him. Then he led me to the bathroom and into the last stall down the aisle. He locked the stall door behind me, and the only thing I did was look around the stall while he stood there behind me, watching me walk around.

I don't want to get into too much detail about this, but that's what happened. I was stupid and young. The worst part was that it happened to me again four years later while I had to watch my mother go through hers.

But that was it.