Don't Push Me

She was running, running until she tripped, that is. The girl had fallen on her ankle into a deep ditch full of water from the downpour of the day. Her clothes now drenched and her ankle now injured, she still attempted to escape her fate. Snickering. Cackling, menacing laughter. 'It's him...' By "him," the sixteen year old highschool-er meant, nonetheless, her father. Her supposedly dead father. A snap. The sound of leather brushing against denim. 'He's taking it of...' His belt, the thing that leaves her bloodied and broken, scarred and weak, for all the years she lived. He raised his hand. More chuckling, more cruelty. The thirty two year old man brought his hand down. The sound of breaking wind, a scream, her scream. The teen's back neck bled, and it bled bad. The scar, the scar that would never heal. It was those faithful words that saved her, that only chance for her to escape. A click, one bullet in the chamber. A bang, A thump, blood everywhere. Screams, Sirens, people trying to flee the scene. People who feared her father, who now feared her, "Don't push me..."