The Library

Escape

Authors Note (AN) - Hey guys ReinOfStars here, and welcome to an original story written by me! This is my first story on this website! Interesting? Very. Important? Eh, not so much. Constructive criticism is always welcome, although it may be something I don't want to or can't change. And please, no flaming. (negative feedback; ex; I hate your story)

Important - Please note! This story is copyrighted. IT IS MINE. I do not want to see this story or any variation of this story ANYWHERE. Please respect my ideas and stories and LEAVE THEM HERE. In other words I do not want this story in any way stolen, copied, rewritten, or in anyway moved for ANY PURPOSES. If you really wish to do so, run it by me first. I'm sorry for those who read this but it had to be done. And now; on with the story! 💋

"Da-a-ad" I stuttered. Why did he have a gun? I know he drank a lot, but he always used his hands.

"Brann! Come here pet." He drawled in his gravely voice, the one that came from seven bottles a night. The one that came from a pack of cigs a week. The one that came from yelling out his anger each evening.

I flinched. I took the blunt of his anger when he was like this. I would've run already, but I just couldn't leave Mom behind. She's all I have. She understands. She's seen him.

I looked at the monster before me. Scraggly hair littered his scalp. Thin, cracked lips twisted into a sneer all its own. Wrinkled, pale hands gripped the cinnamon colored beer bottle, though not strongly. Swaying on his own two feet, I looked on in disgust.

"Brann! Come here boy!" Dad barked, his spit reaching me, a whole ten feet away.

I shuffled towards the armed man. Obedience was often rewarded. As soon as I was in arms reach, a frail shaking hand clutched my forearm.

"Erin! Get in here, cow!"

"How dare you! How dare you speak of her in that way!" I screamed out, looking at my inprisoner, my hatred showing in my glare.

"I never said you could speak, boy!" He roared, aiming a hard slap at my cheek, the sound resounding through the small, dirty room.

My mom stumbled through the wooden doorframe, gazing at my father warily. She was like me. Calculating. Intelligent. Cautious. We were more alike than just in personality. We looked similar, too. Just like her, I had sandy brown hair, mine short and parted at the side. Her frame was lanky, but yet graceful, a feature we shared.  My favorite part though, would have to be the striking, crystal blue eyes, combined with the light dusting of freckles, painted across our noses and cheeks.

"Watch this son!" Dad whooped pointing the loaded gun at my mother. My heart leapt to my throat. He's going to shoot her. She needs to move.

"Mom! Move!" I hollered at my oblivious mother.  

"Wha-" She began, but she cut herself off with a blood curdling scream. My body went into autopilot. I sprinted to my mom, pulling her wheezing body into my chest. She stared up at me, tears trailing paths down her narrow face. I stroked her hair comfortingly.

"Shh. Calm down Mom. Calm down. I'm here. You're going to be fine. Calm down." I whispered, keeping my voice soft, just for her. She shook her head, slowly uncovering the wound I had yet to see. Deep in her side was a small, bloody hole, just big enough for a shotgun bullet. Looking at her bloodstained pajamas, I realized Mom wouldn't make it. She lost too much blood. Silent tears streamed down my face, trying to capture the image of my mother. I never wanted to forget what she looked like. What she sounded like. What she wore, how she walked. Her smile, her laugh, her tears.

With one shaking hand, Mom weakly cupped my cheek from her position on my lap.

"Don't cry my baby boy. I love you. And I'll always love you. Just do Mommy a favor."

I nodded frantically, dying to do anything to help her.

"Go." She said, so quietly I almost missed it. "Go and never come back."

"But what about you?" I said, more tears threatening to fall.

"Baby, believe me. I am with you. I am with you always."

With one last shaky breath, and a small, very small, smile, she closed her eyes for the last time.

"Mom!" I couldn't stop the tears now. It was just too much. My vision was blurred, colors and shapes overlapping and dancing with one another.

"Boy!" My dad called.

Go. Go and never come back.

Without a word, I bolted to the door, ripping off the locks as quick as my hands allowed.

"What are you doing?!" Dad raged, picking me up from behind. Looking at his grip on the beer bottle, you wouldn't expect such strength to come from a drunkard.

"Leaving this hellhole!" I spat, swinging my arm back to strike his bony chest, dropping both feet to crush his fragile ones.

"Fu-" He started. I didn't let him finish. Instead, I kicked him in his knobby knees, causing him to fall back and let out a surprised yelp.

Whipping back to the old door, I tore the handle towards me, dodging it and begging myself to go faster. Turning the corner, I saw an old cherry wood door with a white steel knocker. I pounded my fists against the door, ignoring the use for the intricate Raven holding the vine patterned ring. Breathing heavily, I looked at the door, pleading for someone to open it, if only to shelter me for an hour. The pounding of footsteps echoing in the distance, I panicked, my banging becoming louder and more frequent. I slowed down resigning to the fate of death. No one's opening that door. No. One.
I slumped to the ground, holding my head in my hands. Just over the slap of shoes on pavement, I heard a small creak. I lifted my head, turning from left to right. Where did that squeak come from? I glanced back at the door, only to see it open. In my haste for safety, I slipped. I saw the feet come past the corner before I saw the face, though I could imagine it contorted with anger, his wrinkles and yellow teeth sticking out spectacularly. Not caring about noise level now, I ran into the house and slammed the door shut.

When I turned around, my jaw went slack. This was not a house.