The impact of his hand across my face sent me to the ground. I wasn't afraid of him anymore, a thing like was almost routine now. The anger he built up in jail was always taken out on me, one way or another.
“What is wrong with you?” His stern words were kind of worthless since he was still stoned.
My father was a very violent man. Some nights he would come home so intoxicated that he would think I was a stranger and call the police. He’s always ended up down at the station, spending a few nights in jail. Tonight was one of those nights, but I was no stranger.
He pulled me up by my shoulders and dug his thick distorted nails into my caramel skin. The front door was slammed and I could see Chris scattering away from the window. He had been pestering me about meeting my family, but I refused to let him meet the decedents of Satan. I told him I would leave him if he stayed, so he quickly disappeared.
He squeezed me tighter and shook me, “Why was that boy here?”
“W-we had a project...” I stuttered. Being strong was one of the personality traits I lacked, but believe me you wouldn’t be able to hold your own either if you were being shaken by a man who could make you quiver with only his wrathful eyes.
“You were kissing him!” He shouted. He dropped me and kicked me a few times.
“I-I’m sorry,” I wailed, my guilty hazel eyes mirrored his and looked for an ounce of forgiveness, or maybe even shame. I found no emotion behind his eyes and he began to attack me with his fists.
I exhaled a painful relief as he towards the door. He placed his hand on knob.
“Don’t ever let me see that boy here again. Intiendo?”
Sometimes he would throw some Spanish into his short tirades to make it more meaningful, but by no means did it matter.
“Yes, sir,” I said softly.
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Canary word: Present
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
She would never tell the police, because she would never be safe. I don't want to give away too much so, look out for part two!
Well, this is good so far. I can't really say much else, although I do wonder if the police would ever, you know, get her out of that home into a foster -read:better- one.
Oh, yes! I did mean descendants, thanks. Lol
I quite liked this, I don't have a lot to criticise on. But I did notice one tiny thing.
Are you aware that a decedent is a deceased person (thanks, by the way, this story made me find out)? I think that was a typo when you were trying to say "descendents". That, or I don't understand what you mean by deceased people of satan.
I particularly liked this line:
"dug his thick distorted nails into my caramel skin."
That gives a really vivid image of the father's nails digging right into the narrator's skin.