I didn't want to shoot her, she made me do it.
I had to shoot her.
Listen, okay? I have a completely understandable reason? Pay close attention and let me explain.
It was June tenth, 2018. There had been a fault on Aircraft carrier in my dads Naval yard so he stayed a little later than usual. He called to explain to us why but the phone had shorted out, which wasn't unusual with the bad reception. My mom was pissed and locked herself in her room, and my sister, Frida, casually went upstairs to call a friend of hers to make plans for the next day. Of course, I locked myself in my room as well, plugging in all the stuff that I had to and pulled out a magazine on cooking. It dealt with country style foods, and it was one of those thick, plastic like magazines that came with posters of biscuits and gravy.
My friend, Shaughn, ended up calling me to talk about how weird his dad had been acting after he got back from work. Since our fathers work in the same area, it worried me enough to message my mom about it. I wasn't really thinking much about it after that. So, I continued to talk to Shaughn about dogs, jokes, or anything we found enjoyable.
Of course, in my family, enjoyable never lasted long.
It was, lets say, 11:30pm, my father came home and slammed the door. I knew that meant he was incredibly angry at something. Whether it was his car or his job, i didn't want a part of it. So I made sure I had locked my bedroom door and shut off my light, telling Shaughn I had to go while doing so.
I checked my phone, my mom never read my text which meant she has probably been asleep since she went to her room. I couldn't even warn her that dad was pissed. So pissed, his foot steps were practically shaking the whole house as he went up the stairs. Whatever it is, I will NOT be coming out till morning.
The last thing I heard, the slam of my parents' bedroom door. Maybe he will calm down once he's in bed? I got onto my phone once more and messaged Shaughn, I immediately got a message back.
"Are you okay? I think theres something wrong? Please be careful."
Of course, I'm taken back a bit. Shaughn is never this nice, I turn my read receipts off and make sure he doesn't know I saw the message. I had absolutely no clue how to respond.
Thats when I heard a scream. It had come from my parents room. It nearly startled me onto the floor. My heart rate rapidly increased as adrenaline seeped into my veins. Was that my mother? Am I dreaming? What the fuck is going on? Police? Should I check? intruder?
I yanked open my door, nearly tripping as I ran down the hall to where the penetrating, fearful sound had aroused. I reached for the handle, but stopped. Was I prepared to see what was going on? Hell no! But I have to, what if someone is dying?
I practically kicked the door in, into a dark room. The only sounds were ripping and weeping. My eyes weren't adjusting fast enough, so I quietly flicked on the ceiling light, and as I looked towards the bed, my stomach comprehended it before my eyes could.
Vomit practically waterfalled from my mouth. The sight of my father ripping and biting into my mothers now red, shredded arm. She had fallen unconscious, from a probably unbearable pain. And as I looked at my father, fear building inside. His now, dead cold eyes pierced into my soul, burning into my brain. I did what any teenager would do. I began to cry, an angry, dreaded, quiet cry.
I had to do something, but what would that something be? By what it looks like, it seems like he's having a meal, and I would not enjoy being the second course or seeing my mother be finished off. I guess, to stop it would would have too.. oh god.
My brain processed all the weapons throughout the house, the closest one being... The revolver under the bed. I started breathing heavily, shifting a bit throughout the room so I could be closer but not to the point where either of them could reach me.
My father was more into the flesh then he was with me. Which, gave me an emotional wave, but a good chance to shoot easily. I kneeled to the floor and began reaching underneath, feeling for the grip of the gun. Once I had a hold of it, i slowly cocked it and step up to face the monster. A few tears rolling down the sides of my face. As I take aim, those memories from his good actions turning into cold ones gave me a motive, the fact he was literally killing my mother was motive. I took one last look, and pulled the trigger.
