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Escaping Fate
It's my collection of short stories or poems. Enjoy. I've been having writers block lately so, forgive me if they don't come so quickly. The new ones are some old ones I found from last year I think.
Thunder, lightning, coal black skies. The whispers of Mother and Father arguing again quietly reaching my door. Silent tears forming in my eyes, "Father, please don't do this again."
Tap, tap, tap goes the bony lifeless tree at my window, it's branches looking like a hand reaching out to grab me then it's tormented oak face stretching open it's mouth getting ready to devour me.
Moans of deep sorrow haunt the halls of my home. "Father, please don't do this again. Tell mother not to cry."
Opening my eyes I see two golden eyes staring at me. Holding my gaze, foretelling the future. My aging sink goes drip, drip, drip in perfect tune with the bony tree's hand still going tap, tap, tap on my window. Mother's restrained sobs making my face twist in fear, sorrow, and somehow relief.
The golden yellow eyes hold my gaze, I can hear heavy, painful footsteps coming down the hall. My tears stinging my eyes, but I dare not wipe them away.
"Father, tell Mother not to cry."
The creaky hinges say someones here as the drip, drip, drip of my faucet and tap, tap, tap chant for more fear, pain, sorrow. I can hear Father loading his shotgun, one, two, done. The tears blurring my vision, the golden yellow eyes still holding my gaze.
"Please forgive me my Father whispers." then a gun shot is heard. A thump following close behind as my eyes snap shut in fear and pain and father runs back to his room. His loud moan evident at what Mother had done. Tap, tap, tap and drip, drip, drip goes the rhythmic chant.
One more boom and now I'm alone. The golden yellow eyes holding my gaze, slowly forming an idea.
Slowly, cautiously I crawl out of bed. Walking like a ghost I go to Mother and Father's room.
Mother's blood lay scattered across her bed, her crumpled body laying to the side, eyes closed, gun still in hand.
Father slumped down the wall, vacant eyes staring dead ahead. The shotgun laying to his left.
Grabbing the gun Mother used I whisper "Angel on high, tell Mother and Father not to cry, I'll see them soon."
One more boom and the house is empty.





 
 
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