Vengeance

I stared at the sink as I brushed my hair. The porcelain seemed to glow in the dark bathroom. I didn't want to turn on the lights, I knew what was waiting for me in the mirror.

Why waste electricity? You'll look terrible either way.

That's what my father would have said. I heard a hoarse croak from somewhere behind me. I set the brush down and left. As I walked downstairs my mother appeared from the living room. She smiled with sad eyes.

"Mandy, you don't have to go to school today. After all, I'm sure your teachers would understand. Your father-"

"I just want to get out of the house," I said quickly.

If you're so anxious to leave then leave!

His voice echoed in my head as I walked to the bus stop. As I stood there I heard the croak again. It had been a week since my father died. Heart attack. At least, that's what the police report said.

I still remembered that night. He was angry Mom went out with her friends. I was laying on my bed, watching some nature documentary when he stormed in.

"So, you're just gonna lay there?" He asked indignantly. "I gotta go to work in three hours, your mom decided to run off, and you can't be bothered to cook your own father dinner."

"Why can't you make your own dinner?"

His dark eyes flashed with rage. "Why don't you pack your bags and get out? Oh, right. It's because you're a spoiled parasite."

I turned away from him. I was used to these rants and abuses by now. He stormed over and ripped the remote from my hands. He threw it at my window, shattering the glass.

"You're a worthless little whore," he said through gritted teeth. "Clean this mess up and get downstairs."

He slammed the door as he left. Hot tears filled my eyes as I knelt and carefully placed shards of glass in my trembling hand. Would I ever be rid of him?

"Digitalis, or 'Foxglove,' contains a toxin that, when ingested, leads to irregular heartbeat, nausea, and even death."

I turned toward the television. A beautiful purple flower was on the screen. It looked familiar, very familiar. 

I remember my father shoveling spaghetti into his mouth, the way his hand clutched at his heart desperately, the way his eyes flashed with fear and rage as I asked how he liked the "special spice" I added to the sauce, the croaking noise that exited his mouth before he collapsed.

The screeching brakes of the bus woke me from this trance. The doors hissed open and I stepped inside. People whispered as I passed by. The poor girl with the dead dad. I sat alone at the back and looked out the window. Familiar dark eyes flashed angrily from the reflection. A croak echoed from blue-tinted lips. No one else could hear it.

I wanted to get rid of him. Now, I never could.