Hello Dear Father
Hello Dear Father
By: Akito
I take my steps swiftly as I walk my way down to the park. I've always walked this way, never wanting others to think I may be lost, so I'm always looking like I have somewhere to go...And I know where that is. Getting there, I look at the empty swing before sitting on it. Starting to swing I turn on my mp3 player, look up at the trees and start to swing. I've always been so scared of being alone, worried about it, but now it feels so refreshing to just sit here in the cool breeze. I reach into my bra and retrieve my cigarette, pulling out my lighter from my bag and lighting it. I in hail deeply, taking in as much of the damaging smoke as my lungs could handle. The more I smoke, the faster it would affect me. Or so the adds say. Blowing out the smoke I close my eyes. I may have taken up smoking, but I hate the feel of the after smoke or even the smoke from the cig going into my eyes or nose. As I swing, I hold the cigarette in front of me, noticing that my hand is shaking. I exhale a laugh. I was use to my hands shaking now, it'd been happening for a while. I had just assumed it was stress and shrugged it off. It wasn't long before the cigarette had finished, and the smoke was so close to my fingers it burnt to hold it any longer. I dropped it down onto the play ground and stubbed it out, swinging higher on the swing to throw the butt in the trees ahead of me.
Having no more reason to be hiding out in the park other then to relax, which I knew I wouldn't be able to do, I got up and made my way back home. The smell of other families cooking their dinners brushed past my nose and gave me a craving for whatever those lucky fucks were having. Walking past the little gate I spot the spider in it's web placed at heads height between the two trees. I frown and walk further to the drive way and go threw that entrance to the house. Opening the door, I pushed the dog back in and headed to my room. My mom sniffed me for the smell of cigarettes even though there was no trace on me thanks to the strong winds walking home. It pissed me off to have her always assume I was doing something. Never stopping her picking on me for being as down as I am, not understanding that you can't control a lot of it. She doesn't understand.
I take off my bag and sit down on my chair, swinging it to the side to put my feet up on my bed. My eyes pierce holes threw Luke's name as it comes up repeatedly from whatever was making his sign out and in. I was getting angrier with him every day. I was still so touchy about the subject. I wanted him either with me or dead, and even though I knew that if he wasn't with me, he would die, I still wanted to see it with my own eyes, and now. Thoughts trailed threw my mind of all the many ways you can kill someone, and I tried to pick the most slowest and painful one for me to day dream about. Just as I was in the middle of my imaginary slaughter house, my phone rang, interrupting my delightful imagination. I hesitantly make my way over to the receiver, then pick it up, answering with a voice that let the other know I was in no mood to be spoken to. As soon as I heard the other voice, my frustration grew. The thing that calls itself my father. That dirty stinkin' low life cunt was calling me while drunk again.
I stayed on the phone, trying to keep my cool for as long as I could, but he smashed a bitch-fit button. Bringing up Bri, I had to tell him I was no longer with her, but now was after a guy...A guy who had left me, but I wait hoping would come back. Regretting not lying about it all, he started slurring that mother was only telling me what I wanted to hear, and that I was wasting my time. You know, all the things I don't wish to hear. I cringed, fighting back until something inside me could no longer take it. All the memories of him from the past came flooding back and added to the pain of now. I changed the subject. Knowing there was no way in hell he would give me his info, I asked for his girlfriend's name, he was so drunk a few little lies got me the info I wanted. With that, I hung up, letting the phone ring over and over. I changed my clothes out of my night gown and into a skirt and shirt. Taking my wallet, keys and phone as well as another cigarette and lighter, I walked out, calling out that I would be home soon, ignoring mother's calls of 'no you're not at this time of night!'.
I had looked up that trailer whore's name and found her phone number. Calling her quickly from my old phone number, I got father's address and number off her in seconds. There isn't much you can't get away with when you put on the voice of an innocent little girl. Rage burning in my eyes, I reach the station, hopping on to the next train. Patiently I sit and wait on the train, running threw my mind how exactly I planned to play this out. If Luke really wasn't coming back, a few years in the slammer wouldn't hurt would it? Reaching my stop, I got off, walking my way down the dark dim lit streets to an old wooden house. The grass was long and the pain on the house was pealing and the scrap heap he would have called a yard was atrocious. Trying my best not to touch anything apart from the cracked stone food path, I finally reached the door. I put my hands behind my back and smile after knocking on the door. 'Father! It's me!' I called out in a happy voice. I heard the footsteps reach the door and his shadow shine under it. The door slowly opened to reveal his imbecilic grin that stretched from cheek to cheek. My intentions just grew more as I tried not to barf at the site of the drunken old sewer rat. I followed him inside, shutting the door behind me, still playing it nice. He showed me around, and I took note of everything I could. The money, the items that looked good enough to want to flog, and finally, the shiny sharp objects, which in father's case, were caked in rust. In my mind, I couldn't help but smile, knowing that his poor conditioned machete would help me out more then it would him.
As he sat on his computer showing me whatever it was he tried to show me, I took off the long denim coat I took off mother and announced I was getting a drink from the kitchen. Leaving the room I made my way into the hall where the machete was hidden in the box of other useless rusting junk. I took it out, holding it with the tips of my fingers, not wanting to get dust on me. That's me alright, I'm about to do this and I'm worried about some dust. I dust the handle down with a bit of cloth and slowly step towards the bedroom. The floor boards creaked but he was too drunk to care. I finally stood behind him and as he leaned forward to reach for his icy glass of grog, I plunged the machete into his back as hard as I could. He screamed out in pain, which only made me grin and I pushed the blade in deeper twisting it with both my hands. Grasping the desk he started to fall to the wooden floor, blood dripping down from the tip of the knife that was now threw his chest and onto a puddle on the floor. I took it out and looked down at his bleeding body. Blood was spilling from his mouth and he smudged more of it on the floor as he struggled to role himself over. Noticing he was reaching for the phone I quickly swung the blade across his throat. The gush of blood sprayed out before doing down and dribbling down the sides of his neck. As soon as he had stopped moving and attempting to speak, which when he did it was only painful drunken slurs, I put my fingers to his wrists checking for a pulse to make sure he wouldn't be getting up. I stabbed the blade threw his chest once more and washed my hands and face, hoping I didn't get rabies from that activity. Walking out the door, I grab my jacket and slip it on, covering up the blood stained clothing and filling up my bag with whatever I felt like taking at the time. Might as well give the family something to celebrate with.