My father, and me.

[PigsNose]

A short story I wrote.

Head in my pillow. I can hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. I brace myself. This is going to hurt, I just know it, from the tense steps coming through the landing. Stopping in front of my room. I suck in a deep breath and wait as the door**** is turned ever so slowly, or that is what I think, then it is flung open. My father’s eyes blazing, bulging out of its sockets and boring into my skin. He can’t wait, I think angrily. My father grabs me by the neck, closing off all the air supply that is possible to get through. I scrabble and choke, tears forming in the corner of my eyes. What will happen? Will he finally let go, or hold on forever, until my blood turns cold and my eyes glued open, and me to never breathe another breath ever again.
He doesn’t let go. I pay no attention to what he is shouting at me. Something about it all being my fault and if I was never born. I dig my nails into his thick skin, but his grip tightens around my neck. He throws my head against the cold, bare wall, and I heard a crack. Of my skull? Air rushes through my lungs as my father lets go of my neck and walks out the room. Is that it? That wasn’t much.
It wasn’t it. My father’s footsteps appear on the stairs again. I make my hands into hard, boney fists. This is not how life should be for me. Not at all. I should be a normal kid, running and jumping with my friends and gossiping and worrying over what to wear. Not hear with my dad, bruises over my face and a red ring mark around my neck. But that is how life is for me, I can’t change it.
My father appears at the doorway but my attention swings to his hand. A long blade sits in his palm. I scream and plead.
“Daddy! NO! Don’t please daddy!” I cry.
He steps forward and raises the knife in the air. I close my eyes, as tight as they go and I breathe my last breath. Goodbye horrible life.
The knife is dropped into my heart and I don’t bother screaming, even though the pain is horrendous. I just sit there and die slowly.
When I am dead, my father crouches of me, touching my cold skin and then he takes the knife out of my heart. Blood tricks from the cold blade and dropped onto my school blouse. My father gasps sadly and points the blade at himself.
“Good bye cruel life. I am sorry my dear daughter.”
And he plunges it into heart and he breathes his last breath, before his eyes roll and he sits their, motionless with one hand clasped around mine.
Good bye cruel life.
I should never have been put through that torment. There was no point of it. And I was still only a young teenage girl with a whole lot of ambitions. I wasn’t there to live them, though.
The End.

[Moosik]

Aww. Ebil Daddy >;[

[Tiuhdur]

apart from a few mis-spells and some lack of sentance structure the overall story is dramatic. 8/10

[Browney]

All your stories and poems end with someone dieing? Well, this and that poem I read. I can't understand why someone has to die. It was fine when the dad dropped her. You shouldn't need to have someone die. It makes me think that you need the shock factor of someone dieing rather than rely on your, quite frankly, great talent for writing to get a message across.

I don't care if I get flamed.

[FrozenWhisper]

All your stories and poems end with someone dieing? Well, this and that poem I read. I can't understand why someone has to die. It was fine when the dad dropped her. You shouldn't need to have someone die. It makes me think that you need the shock factor of someone dieing rather than rely on your, quite frankly, great talent for writing to get a message across.

I don't care if I get flamed.

I liked the story but I agree. I know my stories do involve death but I don't really foucs on it. Like my bullying one, it was more the affects of bullying than the death. Still nice story, 7/10.