• My Father: A Killer?


    I woke up at about 6:45 that morning. It was dark, fuzzy and distant outside. I could see a blur in the drive way outside my second story window. It was my father, with his “friends” again. I hated his friends, so much. All they did were be loud, obnoxious and rude. They drank until they were drunk then caused “structured chaos” as they called it, which consist of hitting anyone, anything, anytime. They weren’t usually up this early in the morning, I was kind of confused. The looked very discombobulated and disoriented. I walked down stairs to the kitchen and pressed my head against the sliding glass door, to try to hear what they were saying.

    “Stop Steve, you’ll only making the wound worse” said one of the men, whom I recognized as the 7 foot tall mammoth of a man, Chuck Logan.

    “Damn it Chuck, he is going to die anyway, I might as well, god this was such a bad idea.”
    uttered Steve, a short, plumb man with no hair and deep raspy voice.

    “Lue, grab the car, we will have to dump him in the lawn and leave” I recognized that voice as my fathers, Mitch L. Sterlly.

    “Done not do any’ good Mister Sterlly.” This was Lue, an tall skinny black man that had very poor English.

    “Well,” uttered my Dad, “We best get to stepping, I want to be gone before Mickie and the kids awaken, if they find the blood on my hands, I would be out quicker then a hiccup.”

    Then, after that I heard Lue, My Dad, Chuck and Steve get in a car, and sped off into the dawn. I waited until the coast was clear and then, walked out of the kitchen, creeping as a mouse would trying to gain some cheese but not get caught, so quietly that I held my breath. As I stepped outside I realized that there was a smell in the air, a smell of the dead. I looked down. There on the ground was a corpse, of a man, a large (at least 6 to 7 ft), burly, white man that had blood all over his face from a wound about his eye, the blood flooded like a fountain. The man was bleeding internally as well, for blood was coming from his mouth, his mouth was flowing blood. I was petrified, I didn’t know what to do. I just turned and ran back into the house, slipping on the floor and knocking my head, causing a minor pain, then ran back to my room, closed the door and climbed into bed. I thought this was dream, that none of this could ever happen. I began to cry, tires trickled down my face as I held my breath, sacred so bad I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to die. Nothing like this has ever happened to me, ever. I cried, and cried and cried. I cried my self to sleep that morning.