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It was one Friday night, the 26th of June when he had that scar on his arm. It was a few days after he accompanied me to California to bury my mother. Avoiding any connection with my father, we stayed in my mother’s house in Los Angeles.
He rushed towards me and I thought he would throw a fist to my face, but the next thing I knew was my hand being empty of the tiny weapon that symbolized my salvation.
Not sure what you mean by thumbed. Did you mean thumped?My heart thumbed loudly in my ears and my body shook intensely, repulsed and afraid for him.
Okay, last sentence. Needs a period for startersHe whispered words of comfort with a thick voice, while his hands turned to fists against my back, barely managing to hold his own tears
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