I crawled out the window, dropping from the second story onto the birch tree limb. Once I hit the branch, I stopped briefly to ask myself Why didn't he kill me in my sleep? I just assumed he wanted me to know I was going to die as a child, that I wasn't even going to live to the age of 20. I shook my head, trying to clear my mind of blood. Steadily, I made my way down the birch tree, using small stumps that grew a few inches from the trunk as steps. I looked down. They say not to look down. But when you want to remain alive when you're running from your drunk and mentally broken father, you have no choice to look down. Because if you fall, if he gets you, chances are you are not going to get up. I heard the sound of the window open up, and saw my father grasping his ribs, looking at me, right at me, right through me. I saw blood gushing from his nose and a scar right beneath his chin. "Where did that come from?...", I whispered to myself. "You worthless piece of shit!", he yelled to me. He had black rings around his eyes.
I dropped from the branch, and ran towards the shed out back. I ran as fast as my legs could, until I could hear my worn heart beating, my head ached, my whole body ached. This was all happening too sudden. I was his target, born to take his hits, kicks and slaps. Made to be his punching bag. I had to endure this all. I was strong for my age. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks, that meant I was way too worked up. I don't cry. I can't, I can't force myself to cry, sometimes it doesn't even happen naturally. I sniffed and kept running. I saw the shed sitting with vines over the oak doors. The rusty roof looked like it was falling apart. Dead brush seemed to strangle the shed to make it appear lifeless, deprived of color and appeal. I ran to it and pressed my hands against the door, looking for the handle to open in. I heard my breathing patterns run wildly. You may ask why I didn't run to anybody, well good question, but unfortunately I only had to say I couldn't. No matter how much I wanted to. I couldn't. I finally found the rusty handle, and, relieved, I pulled it. Nothing happened. I pulled again. Nothing. I gave it one last pull, with all the energy in my arms. Snap! I stepped back in disbelief as I held the handle in my red palms. My eyes widen. "No!", I scream, beating on the old doors with my battered fists. "No no no!". I lose all control, tears run down my face. "They were in the shack....", I say hidden behind my inaudible sobs.
