Random Writing Pieces

Who Knew?

I heard yet another plate breaking against the chipping paint on the kitchen wall. They were going at it again. Mom and "Dad" we're arguing non stop recently. The only reason mom is still with him is so we have a roof over our head. Dad has changed a lot since he got that promotion. It has really gone to his head. He wants to move into a bigger house just so he has his own office. But mom and I like our little ranch house. It's the only house I've ever known. I know this house just like the back of my hand.

I heard another sound of breaking glass. But this time a scream followed.

Mom.

I quickly shot up from my bed and accidentally threw my book across the room. I pretty much jumped down all the stairs, skipping many at a time.

"Just leave! Get out! See if I care!" My "Dad" yelled.

I looked down at the scene in front of me. Mom was on the floor, shards of glass surrounded her. Her shoulder blade had a stream of crimson liquid running down, letting small drops land on the tile flooring with a small splash. A different man stood over my mom. Not the man I use to call Dad. Not the one I would have kiss a wound I had. He use to even kiss a wound I told him I had even though he knew it wasn't real. This wasn't him. This was an egotistical asshole who no longer cared for his family.

He crouched down in front of my scared mother who tried to hide her fear.

She's has always been so strong. Now it is my turn.

Dad ran his fingers across mom's jawline.

"You've changed Clarke. You're not the same person I married 16 years ago." My Dad stood up and began walking to the living room expecting my mom to clean up his mess again. My mom slowly stood up holding her shoulder.

"No Klaus! If anyone has changed it has been you! Ever since your promotion you are no longer the man I married!" There was a vein in her forehead that always popped out when she was angry or excited or really when she was loud. Which is honestly most of the time. As much as I love my mom, she was a very loud person. Most likely because she grew up with her Hispanic adopted parents. And they are also extremely loud.

"You should not talk to me like that! Especially after all I have done for you!"

"After all you've done for me?! Recently the past four years you have started smoking, drinking, not to mention being the definition of an asshole! That was all you've done for me! You have done nothing good to me in all our years together!"

That one got me. In her fit of rage she didn't see me standing there. She didn't see the hurt in my blue-green eyes. She didn't see the red on my nose that always happened when I was about to cry.

In her fit of rage she didn't see my dad coming after her with the pocket knife he always kept on him. But I did.

I ran over towards my mom, and at the perfect moment the knife plunged into the left side of my back. Moments later all three of us crashed onto the broken glass. I looked down at my mom. She was unconscious, thankfully still breathing.

And then  the pain set in. The burning sensation that spread throughout my entire body. The pain that made my teeth clench and toes curl. I tried to fight myself from falling into the sleep. But I could no longer fight it. Or maybe, I wanted this.