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Class ended and everybody rushed out. I don’t know why we had two teachers that day, but we did. The other one I had never seen before in my life.
As I was walking up to my front door, I could feel something was wrong. I didn’t know what it was, I could just feel it. I reached for the doorknob and the metal felt hot, in retrospect, I should’ve seen the signs. Opening the door was the last normal thing I would do in this life. Opening the door to my home, my safe house, the place I could always come to and feel okay. But it wasn’t safe today.
Welcome home, Addison. My father greeted me. He looked off. His smile was just a little crooked today. His hands were shaking. Those shaking hands that saved my life. I turned, just about to drop my backpack on the floor, just about to walk upstairs, just about to continue my life.
There’s a bullet-hole in my line of view. There’s blood streaking the walls of my home. There is blood everywhere. I turn back around and it’s like a whole new world. My dad’s smile is black. That slightly crooked smile. His smile is black and his clothes are bloody. His hands are shaking and his smile is black and his clothes are bloody.
Thud, my backpack dropped. Thud, my life turned around in a matter of a second. Thud, I started to run. Thud, thud, thud, I was running.
Running down the street and it was raining. Well, of course it was fucking raining. The grip on my shoes hit the pavement as I ran as fast as I could. Running and panting and screaming. So much silent screaming. He was right behind me though. His smile is black, his hands are shaking, and his clothes are bloody.
It went right passed my head, that first bullet. It went right passed my head and I followed its path, seeing finally the people running towards me. I tried to shout to them, tell them to turn around, but there were no sounds. So much silent screaming.
He was running straight at me. Stop it, stop it, turn around. I was screaming, I was screaming so loudly, I was whispering, I was whispering so softly.
He didn’t turn around. The world was spinning in slow motion and he didn’t turn around. He didn’t turn around, but he fell. He fell and I watched it all. I caught him, while the world was spinning in slow motion. It was spinning and he was falling and I was screaming and my father’s hands were shaking. The one person I was closest with in my life died in my arms from a bullet sent straight to his heart from the person who created my own. I was screaming. I was whispering. I was holding him and I was falling.
I turned around just in time to see my father go. To see his crooked smile. His black, crooked smile. Crackling laughter drifted passed my ears as he became transparent. My father was gone, but the bullet was not. The person I cared about most was asleep in my arms. Asleep for an ever-long slumber.
I was back in her room. My sister, she wasn’t there. I was back in her room and I knew she was gone. I knew he had killed her. His smile was crooked, his hands were shaking, and his clothes were bloody and she had been his first victim. There were holes in her bracelet. I picked it up from her dresser and there were holes in it. His hands were shaking. She was gone. His smile was black.
In the corner of my eye I saw him. My brother had come out to play. He was flickering, his body never fully staying put. Like in the movies he walked out in front of that door. His eyes were searching. They found me. His smile was crooked. He opened his mouth. His teeth were jagged. He was screaming. I was whispering. I was crying. He was smiling.
My father’s clothes were bloody. He walked out behind my brother. Putting his hands on his shoulders, his smile was crooked. His hands were shaking. Leaving, my brother was leaving. My father was staying. His hands were shaking. Those shaking hands saved me once, but they wouldn’t again. His clothes were bloody, his smile was crooked, his hands were shaking. I was crying. I was dying. The bullet found it’s niche and I was dying.
The scene was rewinding.
My brother was flickering. My brother was walking. My brother was smiling. My brother was screaming.
My father was walking. My father was signaling. My father was shaking. My father was shooting.
I was crying. I was dying. The bullet. I was screaming. I was dying.
His smile was crooked. His hands were shaking. His clothes were bloody.
I was screaming so loudly.
I was whispering so softly.
I was fading so quickly.