I wrote this story a couple of years ago for an English project, I don't think it's too bad, I'd like to see what you think
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“Please, please no, not again” I plead, falling onto my knees as the violent trembles take over my body. But no one could hear, no matter how much I beg my worst nightmare is still creeping closer, edging forward to spring on me when I thought it was over. He promised and yet his memory of that night has temporary elapsed, momentarily forgotten, but I do not have the time to dwell on promises he has obviously broken, a more pressing matter has my attention; he is still coming closer towards me. Dragging his feet painfully up the dark gloomy stairs, attempting the impossible, to climb with out falling over. Even with these slight pauses he is still climbing higher and higher, nearer and nearer. I can hear him shouting or trying to sing, neither matters much, the only thing I care about is if he is drunk, and this is apparent by his words slurring and morphing into each other, making it impossible to figure out what he is saying especially as half his words are indistinct over the sounds of him stumbling and falling over. Unable to move, the fear of my own father is too much to cope with. Not able to get out if I did run since the only way out is blocked by him.
“Lara, little Lara, I’m coming…. Whoops” he shouts, slurring his words.
“What am I doing”, I ask myself, I’m just wasting valuable time staring at a once white door when I could be hiding. I have Ellie in one hand, she is staring up at me, her eyes full of trust, because she realises what is coming; she can feel my hands shaking and she knows only one thing scares me. Now she relies on me to save her. I make my decision instantaneously, no matter what; my adorable baby sister will not be part of the cruel suffering which is inevitably coming closer. If we have to run onto the streets someone will take pity on her, she is so cute even for a toddler. Ellie has adorable brown eyes, shaped like giant saucers; her hair, the colour of milk chocolate, is so smooth and silky, it falls just past her shoulders. She has a gorgeous chubby face with dimples, no one could turn her down. A few months ago it was obvious where she got her looks from; Dad. Now if you look very deeply into his face and look past the beard, beer belly and booze you can see the handsome man he once was. In the months after Mum died he changed so much, turning to alcohol, quickly losing his muscles, the stress greying his hair, gaining sunken eyes through lack of sleep, he stopped bothering. His image isn’t the only thing, which has changed, his personality has too, he was the protector but now he is the one we need protecting from. He takes his anger out on us, too drunk to even know it is us. He will be fine when he is sober but until then we just have to cope with it. I will do everything in my power to hide Ellie.
I return to my senses, just in time to hear the sound of his key on the door, it will take him a few minutes to put the key in the keyhole, he starts banging on the door, knocking some more paint off, with the force of his fists.
“Lara, open the door,” he mumbles. I turn and run past the bathroom and into the bedroom, dragging Ellie along. I gently prise her fingers from my hand and push her under the bed,
“Ellie, don’t move and don’t make a sound,” I whisper.
I spring to my feet making sure Ellie is hidden, as I rush through the door and back down the dismal hallway. I am so preoccupied with conjuring a plan out of my already full head, I don’t see the obstacle in my way, I trip, falling flat on my face, I try to fight my way out of the clothes, but it’s too late. I hear the click of the door and my worst fears are confirmed, there is nothing I can do now, I’m not clever or strong enough to overcome my own father. I burrow my head deeper in to my arms, desperately trying to cover my face, but know this is a lost cause.
YOU ARE READING
Sick Little Games
Short StoryWhy do we always end up fearing those who are meant to protect us the most? Whatever the reality should be it does not compare to the nightmare people have to live through... Even if we beg and plead the horror still washes over us all.