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The frigid air seeped through my light, damp shirt and froze my body. I stumbled through the dark, gaining new scratches to my arms and hands. I knew I should be inside watching TV, or even sitting by a fire. It was Saturday night, for crying out loud! Looking at the moon, I thought it was around midnight. I was never an astronomy wiz. Any other teenager would be out with friends, but not me. I was busy dragging my father’s dead body through the woods.
I dropped the heavy load and leaned against a tree. I rubbed my arms and legs, trying to get warmth in them again. I moved my frozen fingers, stiff from the cold. I put my head against the cold tree bark and closed my eyes. My icy hand reached up and touched the warm, swollen bruise on my face. I opened my eyes again and stared at the body wrapped in a bed sheet. That was why I was out here.
I looked around the side of the tree and saw where I was going. The faintest shadow of the sink hole showed me I was close. If I threw the body there, no one would find it. Only my father and I knew of this sink hole. We always threw our garbage in it. Now, I had to get rid of him.
A tear rolled down my cheek and stung the scratch on my face. I looked back at my father’s body. I didn’t mean to kill him. It just happened so fast...
I cleared my head and thought back to the very moment. I was home late from my job. But I knew I would take all the late hours they gave me if it meant I could stay away from my home a little longer. Now, however, I knew I would be in trouble. It was Saturday night, so I my father would be drinking.
He started drinking heavily when Mom died from cancer. At first it was nothing. Then he became dependent on every bottle. Then, he started to hit me. The first time, it was a mistake. Then it became frequent. I would wear long sleeved shirts in the dead of summer to hide the bruises. I loved my father, and I didn’t want him to be taken away.
I unlocked the door and shut it gently. I hoped that he had drank himself to sleep. All the lights were off and the TV was set to a low noise. I hung my jacket on a hook and slowly made my way past his old easy chair. I never paid attention to the shape in the shadows. I saw the fist too late.
My head snapped back and I fell to the ground. I felt my face swell in a matter of seconds. I looked up at his looming shape from my good eye. Warm, sticky blood seeped through my fingers.
“Where have you been?” he asked roughly.
I pressed myself up against the wall. I shook as he stepped closer.
“I was working extra hours at work. I didn’t know it would be so long!” I pleaded.
His large hands reached down and grabbed my hair. I squeaked from pain tried to pull his fingers from my hair with that hand not covering my oozing eye.
“That’s not a good enough answer.” Heavy fumes of beer hit me. I gaged at the smell.
“Let me go!” I demanded.
His bitter laugh shook me clenched teeth. Then he began to drag me by my hair toward the kitchen. I screeched and kicked my feet out. I pulled my hand away from my eye and began to claw at his fingers.
He threw me down on the cold, hard wooden floor. I crawled away and pressed myself against the cabinet. I looked around frantically for something to protect myself with. Then his large shadow covered my crouched form.
His hand shot out and pulled me up by my hair. I struggled as he pulled me close to his face. He held me there for a couple seconds. We both stared evilly at the other. Then he let go of my hair and clasped his hand around my throat. Then he slowly began to tighten his grip.
I gasped for air and clawed at his hand. His stare didn’t waver. Almost as if he enjoyed seeing me fight for my life. My vision began to slowly darken. His smirk widened at my attempts to pull him off got weaker. My mind scrambled for a way to stop him. Then, I got an idea.
My knee hit him heavily below the belt. Surprised, he let me go and doubled over. Seeing my chance, I shoved him with what strength I had left. With my attack and the beer leaving him unbalanced, he fell... hard.
All I heard was the sound his head made when it hit the granite countertop. The force of his large body hitting the floor shook the entire floor. He made a low moan when he hit the ground. Then... there was nothing.
I fell back frightened and stared at his unmoving body in shock. After a few minutes of hearing my ragged breathing, I slowly crawled over to him. His mouth hung agape, his eyes cloudy and lifeless.
“Daddy?” I whispered.
He didn’t even twitch. Shakily, I put my fingers to his neck for a pulse.
There was none.
I gasped and scrambled back. All the times I prayed him to die, and now he did. But I didn’t want to believe it.
“Daddy!” I said urgently.
His face didn’t move. I positioned myself over him and began to pound my fists on his chest.
“Don’t die on me you b****rd!” I screamed at his body.
After 20 minutes of yelling at his corspe, crying, and shaking, I finally accepted the truth. I killed my father.
And there I was, sitting in the middle of the woods staring at his body. After a few moments, I rose. I walked stiffly over to the bed sheet and continued to drag it. After twenty frozen steps, I reached the edge of the sink hole.
I stood and stared at the dark hole. This would now become my father's grave. I stood up straight and looked up at his body wrapped in the bed sheet. Now, I would not shed another tear for him.
With my remaining strength, I pushed his body to the edge of the hole. Then, I pressed my back against a tree and with a shove with my feet, it tipped over and rolled in. I dusted myself off and shivered. I stood there and listened until the dirt stopped sliding.
I turned my back to the hole and began my long trek back home. With my back straight and my jaw tightened, I knew I would never be the same person ever again.
My new life had begun.