Creative | Posted by Shenny on 10/8/2010
The morning was grim.
Mom woke me earlier then usual, whispering something about a family outing. Her lips were trembling and her eyes were nervously flitting around the room, as if afraid that someone was lurking behind the curtains, ready to bounce out and kill her.
I wiped the sleep away from my eyes and dressed in the cold darkness of my small bedroom. I could hear my father shouting in the living room. He wanted breakfast.
The sun had barely risen when we left the house. I was confused but too tired to ask questions. Dad was driving the car, his hands clenching the wheels so tightly I thought he might just break them in half. Mom had her cheek pressed against the chilled window, I could tell that she was trembling.
Something terrible was about to happen but my trepidation kept me from being inquistive.
We stopped at a rocky cliff overlooking an angry ocean. The rocks were jagged and dangerous, and the waves of the dark ocean were whipping around, slapping against the side of the cliff furiously, trying to stretch out their limbs to swallow those who dared intrude the privacy of the cliff.
We got out of the car slowly. Dad looked determined, his hands stashed inside his warm coat and his brow furrowed. Mom looked scared and sad, her eyes refusing to meet mine and her shoulders hunched up around her ears.
“What’s going on?” my voice was still hoarse from sleep. I could feel my stomach twisting in anxiety. My throat was scratchy and my nerves felt like they were on fire. Every cell in my body screamed at me to get the hell out of there, to run far far away from my parents and never look back. I planted my feet firmly on the ground instead and stared squarely at my mother and father.
“You have dishonored the reputation of our family,” my father’s words were spoken in a strangled whisper, as if something was constricting his throat and pressing down on his vocal chords. His eyes were wild, he looked terrifying.
“What?” all traces of sleepiness had disappeared from my voice and eyes. The panic that had been mildly gnawing away at my sides suddenly gripped my chest in a cold, unforgiving clasp. My heartbeat doubled, and cold sweat coated the inside of my clenced hands.
“We can’t allow you to continue on doing this,” my father continued as if I hadn’t uttered a single word, “this is where it ends.”
My parents had moved around me so that they were standing by the car and I was standing on the edge of the cliff, my back to the stormy water. I could see my father’s right hand leave his coat pocket. His finger were wrapped around a pistol, his arms steadier than I’d have expected. He raised the gun to eye-level and stared at me as he perfected his aim.
I spared a shocked glance at my mother and could see tears running down her cheeks. My eyes moved back to my father, and for a split second I could read hesitation in his eyes, despair in the features of his well-loved face. My mother jumped in shock as seven quick shots were fired into my chest.
The bullets punched holes into my heart and lungs. Piercing pain electrified every nerve in my body. My breath had caught in my throat and I reflexively raised a hand to stop the sudden onslaught of bullets. My head was suddenly clear and all I could see were my mom and dad, standing there in shock, their featues distorted with fear and uncertainty, every color hightened as I took my last breath.
And then everything went dark as I fell in the sea behind me.
Inspired by The Crimewave that Shames the World
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