A Strike of a Hand

September 28, 2016

 I was four when it happened. My dad came home from work one night and stumbled in the front door. I immediately smelled something funny, but at the time I didn't know what it was. He looked like he had just gotten in a fight with a crazy animal, but this is how he usually looked when he came home. I got used to it but when my mom heard the car door slam, she started to sweat and shake. He came in, loose tie and rustled hair, and started to yell at Mom. She backed away, frightened. He struck her and she fell to the floor. She began to cry and held her hands up to try and defend herself, but it didn't help. He took his suitcase and hit her head. I stifled a cry as I watched from behind the couch. He turned around and walked over to where I was hiding. He grabbed my shirt and picked me up with angry eyes. He then widened his eyes, dropped me, and ran out the door. I heard the car skid on the road. I sat there and sobbed for half an hour until the police barged in the front door. One of the officers picked me up and kept asking me questions but I just couldn't answer. I just watched them put my mom's lifeless body into a bag and the detectives take pictures of my dad's suitcase and my mom's blood. I don't know if they ever caught my dad, but I hope they did so he can't hurt anyone else. I miss my mom's warm tight hugs. I never and will never know what it's like to have a real dad.

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