These Masks We Wear

Alright everyone. I promised this story a while ago but I have been going through a lot lately. But I will work through it! FOR THE FOLLOWERS! Anyway! Here is the prologue. It isn't much. But it is the begining!

Prologue

Murderer

I walk silently through the almost never ending halls of my humble home. I could barely hear the pats of my bare, wet feet against the Indian rug beneath my feet.  The air around me was cold to my bare skin. The towel I had wrapped around my stark form was warm and welcoming. I slump slowly into my small, closet like room. All there was space for in my room was a small single bed, a hope chest, and a simple nightstand with lamp. I throw the towel away from myself and onto the bed and open my hope chest. I grab a fresh set of clothes, a dark blue shirt with black droplets down the front (I spilled engine oil on it; thought it made it look cool) and a pair of black and red striped skinny jeans. As I squeezed my head through hole I sigh. A loud creaking sound resonated through the house. Great. Dad’s home. I thought miserably. I walk out of my room and down the stairs into the living room only to see my father leaning drunkenly against the couch. “Hey Dad, how was your day?”

“Shut the hell up Winter! Why are you even here,” he slurred? I felt the anger boiling behind my eyes. Stay calm.

“Because I am your son and I’m only 17, hence the fact that I still live here. I am going up to my room, if you need me; you know where I am.” I turn to go back up the stairs but stop as I hear him fall. I hear a rustling behind me as he rises from the ground in his drunken stupor. I turn back around only to see him leaning on the couch again. “You alright?” He growled at my question.

“Get out of my house.” I wanted to just turn around and walk up the stairs as if I hadn’t heard him; but my thick headedness got the best of me.

“And why should I? If I leave then you have no one left Dad. You will be all alone.”

“The only reason I would be alone after you left is because you killed your own mother. You are the reason she is DEAD! It is YOUR FAULT! I want you OUT! Get out of MY house! I don’t want a MURDERER in MY HOUSE,” he bellowed! I felt the anger boiling, waiting to burst. It felt like I had just drank pure magma and it was stewing in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to let it out. I wanted him to feel what I felt at that very moment. I wanted him to feel every punch, slap, and kick he had ever done to me. I was done. I was at my peak. I snapped.