The picture of Mother, struggling for air against the cold metal of the kitchen knife, was printed in my mind. I couldn't just stand there. I had to do something.
I started towards the man, a new resolve taking form inside the deepest caverns of my soul. This man was not just going to barge in here and take my mother from me.
But, though I should have predicted, I was too slow.
"Dean, don't!" I heard Mother cry.
As though in slow motion, the man lowered his hand from my mothers neck, and then extended it upward near my chest.
I looked down to see my blue shirt turn a vibrant shade of red, and the material fell where it had been torn.
I didn't feel the pain for a few seconds; but when it came, it came to get me.
The stinging made my heart beat faster and sweat cloud my vision. I hoped the cut wasn't too deep, and didn't think it was, but still, it was surely going to leave a mark.
My arms fell limp at my sides and finally the thumping in my chest began to slow.
"I told you to leave, boy,"
the man recalled.
"Looks like maybe you should've listened."
I couldn't respond.
I could only stare blankly at the bright yellow light on the ceiling, as my body fell backward, gravity taking my consciousness with it.
YOU ARE READING
Orphaned
Short Story12 year old Dean Hansen always loved Christmas, but this year things were going to be different. His parents had been acting strange; more secretive. But with the sudden disappearance of his older sister, presents under the tree are about to be the...
