FATHER

Wandering through the graveyard, it felt like something was watching me. As I turn the corners, my heart races as the echoes grow louder and louder; ringing in my ears. Everything starts to
blur, I can't even see my own feet; running at such a pace. My face, burning to the touch- from the amount of stress I bare...
Everything stops, things finally clear up. The echoes stop... everything just... stops; uneasily quiet. Walking slowly, I can finally see it. It's you, dad. It's you; covered in dirt and stone, but I still can see your name etched into the gravestone over your lifeless, dead body. Tears start to fall down my face as I remember being held in your arms in my restless nights, playing in the backyard... and when you shot me. I lift my shirt, just a tad so I can see the wound, healed, but still open with memories.
    I can feel my heart start to race, my chest burning from the beating. The smell of blood fills the air, overwhelming my nose to a burn. Clutching my shirt in agony, I feel something dripping. Looking down, thick, metallic blood covered my hands and shirt. I can hear my heart beating faster, and faster, and faster. The heartbeat being outran by the screams coming from all around, growing louder and louder...

   "ALEX! GET DOWN HERE!" Dad yelled at my dead brother. he's been dead for years. he died of a car crash, leaving our family alone and broken. The only time he'll forget about Alex is if he's drunk, and he's always drunk.

Minutes pass, and I don't leave my bed, afraid of what I'll see. I hear grunting and slight screams coming from the kitchen.

"JOHN! DON'T!," mom yells, and I jump to my feet. She continues in a whisper but loud enough for me to hear, "put the gun down, you don't need to do this." I slowly emerge out of my room, dad and mom coming into view.

Mom stands with a black eye, which she's had for a few days now, from the amount of hits she took from dad to 'protect us'. And dad, he's standing there with a bottle of vodka in one hand, and in the other, a hunk of metal pointed at mom.

His eyes softened, looking like he's resisting what the alcohol is telling him. But they harden seconds later. The darkness taking over his face, as his eyes never left moms; I can feel his eyes hardening on mom's face. Tears dripping down hers.

Oh, I want to hug her, to tell her that we'll find a way out of this; but I can't or something really bad will happen, and we don't want that.

Sidetracked with my own thoughts, I heard dad whisper oh, so quietly, "I'm sorry Eliza, but you did this, not me." and just then, everything went into slow motion. I saw my dad pull on the hammer, the clicking echoing through my head. He's going to do it, he's really going to do it.
"NO!" I run in front of mom, trying to stop the bullet from hitting her. The blast spreading throughout the room.

Everything goes numb, I can't feel anything. All I hear are screams. Mom coming into view, tears rushing down her face, as she's grabbing onto mine. I look over to see my dad sitting on the couch, staring at us, drinking his vodka once again. Then, the pain comes. The pain rushes through my veins, spreading to every part of my body. Looking down, I see the blood engulfing me.

    Looking back up, the gravestone etched with his name stands before me. 'Lovely father, we'll miss you, John Gregory Adams.' The pain in my chest fades away, the blood gone. The eeriness is upon me, once again. The feeling someone's behind me.

I've done what I need to do, I just wanted to see how horrible you were doing.. dad. Turning away, my heart races just a little slower than before. The streets glow from the lamp posts, gleaming with an orange tinge.

Making my way out of the graveyard, the feeling of someone watching is following; the unknown eeriness. The image of my dad pointing the gun at mom, replays in my mind, causing pain in so many ways. My feet are moving, but I'm not sure if I'm walking, I can't feel anything; everything's numb.

Hearing my heartbeat pounding in my ears. But with the sound of a lullaby, everything feels better. The sweet soft piano playing, mom's voice singing a soft melody. Calm. The eeriness gone; although, the sounds of whispers grow louder as I approach the front door,  home.

The lights flash on as my hand touches the doorknob, the lullaby stops abruptly. Opening the door oh, so slightly, I see it. Me. Lola Marie Adams. Me. Standing there behind the door, hiding; a coward.
The unforgettable clicking echoes. I see myself running in front of mom. Dad walking back, as he couldn't believe what he did.

Why me? Why am I the victim? My family got torn over you, dad. It's your fault. "You did this, not me".