Not My Fault

June 14, 2010
By Anonymous

My eyes were glossy, I knew they were red. They were always red when I got this way. My brain was fuzzy, just the way I wanted it. Why should I have to deal with my fathers wrath, in a clear state of mind? I didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t my fault he was so careless. Not my fault my mother was sleazy, and they did it in an alley was just as my father was hitting the prime of his career. It was not my fault he thought he should marry her because, that was what was expected.

Yet to him, my father, everything that was wrong with his life could be connected to me. Me, his only son. Just turned teenager. The one that had his looks (unfortunately). The one that was only home 85 out of 365 days a year. The one that on a regular basis forgot his mothers face. So as I sat here in a jail cell, I smiled to myself. They were charging my father loads of money on my three charges: Underage drinking, possession of illegal drugs, and assault. This thought made me want to laugh. Whenever I was high, I jut wanted to laugh at everything. So I did, and my father threw me the most threatening look on Earth. I stopped, and the laugh subsided to a giggle.

My father signed the last paper, and the officer walked on the hard cold cement floor and unlocked my cell. The keys were big, and jangled with each step. Finally as the door slid open, he grabbed my arm and pushed me to my father. Who then grabbed my collar and pulled me out further. He looked at the black and shook his head. He was waiting, waiting till we were home. He would smack me around a bit. He couldn’t do it here. There were paparazzi, everywhere. My father was musician very famous, known worldwide. Then I felt the small gun in my pants. The one that made my hands warm when I held it. I looked at my fathers head and smiled. Yes there it was. The shot I needed.

My father climbed into the car and started driving. He was shouting some stuff that sounded like “Everything you have. Everything we gave you. This is what you do? Beat up some kid while you high? What the hell is wrong with you? You stupid, arrogant…..”.
I inhaled and withdrew the gun. He didn’t see it He kept speeding down the street. This fight happened every time I saw, him even if I hadn’t down anything. I was done, I was complete. I thought about my life. Nothing to pride myself on, nothing to show I lived. I didn’t even care. By this time the drugs made my mind numb. Exactly as planned. I aimed slowly and prayed to god, he loved me.

The author's comments:
This just popped into my head and I needed to write it down. I kind of transformed it from some real stuff, and made it into a fiction piece. The story stinks, its my first. Hope your eyes don't fall out reading it.

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This article has 1 comment.

TheChuck said...
on Jun. 21 2010 at 8:49 pm
TheChuck, Institute Of Technology, Illinois
0 articles 0 photos 6 comments
This is really good! Not at all bad, and my eyes are definitely still intact(: Really greatly written.


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