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Its five o clock in the morning and the sun is passing lightly through the window and the gray sky in a warm amber glow. I was too weary to get up out of bed. I didn’t want to face the music, didn’t have the strength to face the days.
After all he was still here.
And he was still waiting for me. I did not want to get out of bed.
I knew he was waiting for me in the living room, waiting for me to make a show.
A puppet show and guess who was the puppet?
I let fall stone heavy legs that slammed against the floor hitting my ankles and heals.
I dragged myself up wobbly, jumping from foot to foot avoiding the ice cold linoleum floor.I sat back on the bed.
I did not want to be a puppet.
I slipped on warm furry Bart Simpson slippers inching towards the door and peered out.
Looking for him.
He wasn’t there. I hope.
The house was hushed at first and otherwise vacant with the exception of my him my mother and me.
Someone shrieked my mother.
The sound of a belt slapping on bare skin was familiar and echoed through the house hold.
I ran to the master bed room which was right beside my own. i scurried to open the locked door with a penny, sticking the coin in the slot and turning it.
The door swung open silently and I began to scavenge through his drawers. I put a hand on the bottom of the drawer.
My footsteps were hushed from the fluff of the slippers as I ran out with a beautiful black pistol.
The scissors to cut my puppet strings.
I dashed towards the living room and looked dead at him beating my mother senseless with a belt and his fists.
I dont want to be a puppet. I thought weakly.
"Father!" i screamed at him.
I pulled the trigger.
I will not be a puppet.