Battle Scars (Complete 1D FanFic)

One

Screams echoed eerily through the deathly quiet house. I run to see Mum, a knife plunged through her. I begin to sob and scream uncontrollably. My younger sister comes to see what is going on, and I block her view as much as possible. Dad is standing over Mum. Angry and spattered with blood. My Mum’s blood. He’s holding the knife. He killed her.

“You monster!” I scream.

“Do you won’t to be next you stupid little tyrant?!” He shouts, spitting in my face.

“You killed Mum!” I continue.

Jake, our fluff-ball dog is whimpering in the corner of the room, cradled in Sophie’s arms.

“I never asked for it! The stupid bitch.” He rants.

“What the hell?! You killed her! What do you mean?! You’re taking something aren’t you, you crazy ass!” I’ve never dared talk to my Dad like that before. I’d be killed. And now I know it would be literal too.

Dad pulls the knife from Mum, it slips out, oozing with blood and I’m sure through that gaping hole in her chest, some veins or cord-like organs came out too.

I felt like retching my guts out.

Then, I realized Dad was about to take a swing at me, and I ran to pull my sister Sophie up, and she screamed as our manic father came after us.

I pushed Sophie, still holding Jake, out the front door, and slammed it, hopefully slowing Dad a bit. I turned to see Sophie crying behind me, waiting.

“WTF are you doing?! Don’t stand there, RUN!” I was still crying myself, and pushed her, sprinting with her into the dark spot-lit street.

It was probably about 10 o’clock, and pitch black, apart from the streetlights, illuminating the way.

Sophie tucked Jake under her left arm, and grabbed onto my hand with her right.

I heard a sharp slam, and shattering glass. That was Dad.

“Don’t look back and don’t stop running, whatever you do!” I cried.

Then, the hypocrite that I am, turned, still running, and glimpsed over my shoulder, the auburn flicker behind us, and an out-of-shape figure, running after us, wielding a knife. Dad had lit the house a-fire.

We were running hard-out, determined not to be anywhere near our killer

father, and not end up with the same gruesome fate as our lovely mother. She was so pretty and lovely and talented our mother. I fought back tears.

When we were nearly outside my mates house, on the end of the street, I tripped up, sprawling across the pavement.

“Ella!” Sophie screamed through her tears, and grabbed my shoulder by her free arm, and tried to pull me up.

Our pause had en-heartened Dad, and he picked up the pace.

On my knee’s, I turned to see him, gained on us.

“Quickly, quickly!” Sophie cried, and I scrambled to my feet, a hole now in my bum-pants, and scrapes on my bare arms and chin. We prepared to run again, I don’t know where, but a voice stopped us.

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” It was Dad.

I s-l-o-w-l-y spun round to face him. There was still a good couple of cars distance between us, but it was still closer than I wanted to be to a murderer. Especially my mother’s murderer.

Sophie crept behind me and hid, peering slightly over my shoulder.

“W-what do you want?!” I stammered.