Screams.
Shouting.
Arguing.
It happened every night.
Every time, he came home drunk and threw a fit over every little thing.
His eyes were always bloodshot and baggy.
His clothes reeked of the alcohol he had before getting home.
He always laid his hands on her.
I hated him.
Despised him.
Wanted him gone.
I remember that he once told me monsters don't exist.
That they were a figment created by my imagination.
He's wrong.
Monsters are real.
He is a monster.
He hurts us.
Abuses us.
Tells us we're worthless.
He fuels my hatred without realizing it.
And then...
It happened.
Crashing.
Breaking.
Everything being tossed to the ground and shattering.
A fist taken to my mother's head.
Those red eyes set on me.
I had enough.
I walked away from him.
He called after me but I paid him no attention.
I made my way into his room.
The drawer hid the gun from me but I took it.
The door slammed open.
I pointed the gun.
Bang.
Bang.
Two shots to the chest.
Blood.
It spread over his body and he lay there against the wall.
Those glassy red eyes I hated so much began to droop.
He opened his mouth and called me a monster.
I just scoffed.
Don't you remember father?
There are no such things as monsters.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Poems/Short Stories
HorrorI decided to make this a poem and short story book since someone suggested I do so. All are either a poem or short story having to deal with the dark corners of the mind and soul. Particularly mine. I come up with all this on my own so please read a...
