Broken

Senses

It was three months since that knock on the door, three months since I'd happily ran to the door to welcome my father finally home. How I'd planned to childishly complain because I wanted him to hurry up so we could get going to the coast, we'd wasted precious time. Three months ago I'd have sulked because he was late after promising he'd only work half a day, he said we could leave before four, beat the weekend traffic, it was now after six and I was more than impatient. Now I'd give anything for my dad to be late home, I'd give anything to know he was coming home at all.

As I flung the door open instead of my dad standing in the doorway laughing and hugging me, I was greeted by two solemn looking police officers. I recognised the younger of the two, James Hanley; he had a brother on the football team in my year at school, I noticed as he fidgeted nervously with his hands and chewed on his bottom lip. Never once making eye contact with me instead he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor. I remember thinking how young he looked in his uniform, like a child playing dress up, only he didn't look like he was enjoying the game. The other officer was an older woman, probably mid-fifties with a salt and pepper shoulder length bob immaculately tidy; she introduced herself as Officer Sheringham. I remember her piercing ice blue eyes, and how they had transfixed me when she'd smiled serenely at me then gently asked if my mother was home.

I don't remember them coming in, or the police woman ushering my mum and I to sit on the sofa, or any of the words the officers spoke to us. I don't remember my mum crying uncontrollably, or the doctor being called 'to give her something'. I have no idea how long it took for my grand-parents to arrive at our house, or how many cups of sweet tea James Hanley encouraged me to drink. I can't recall any of the questions the officers asked me about my parents and our lives together or their reasons for taking away the family computer. But I know like a dream it happened.

I just remember the pain, it emanated from my chest and engrossed my entire body, I could feel it spreading to each and every cell, burning as it flowed like the blood in my veins only instead of the warm, red liquid I imagined it was a white, hot acid corroding away at my insides . I remember feeling like somebody had suddenly cut off my air supply or I'd forgotten how to breathe, I felt I was drowning from within. I could feel my senses shutting down, hiding me away from the outside world, the only thing I could hear was my internal screaming, the only thing I could feel was the consuming ache which filled my being and the only thing I could see was the image of my father, slumped in his office chair, dead with the gun in his hand.