The Torch
November 2018
forgot that I had that party tonight,” I said out loud to myself. I hit my steering wheel out of frustration and my indicator lights flickered. This car is so old. I felt my arm go numb. I must have hit that really hard I thought to myself kind of grinning because of my newfound strength. I got home and the kitchen light was on. I rushed through the door and saw my dad in the dark shaking, tapping his foot on the hard wood and his head buried in a newspaper. “Dad?” I asked cautiously as I walked up to him. “Get… Away… From… Me.” He took a breath between every word he said. “Dad, whats wrong?” I asked as a took a small step back. “Get… Away… From… Me.” His voice shaking with every word he said. “Dad, talk to me please.” I demanded as I regained my confidence and took a baby step back towards him. “GET AWAY FROM ME,” he paused, “MURDERER!” I step towards him and he faded into the couch while his foot tapped faster and faster. My face was in the newspaper. “Psychopath on the loose, death toll rockets up to 15.” I shook my head in disbelief as my dad reached for the phone. I looked at him and I passed out. The whispers grew louder and candles burned higher around me. I woke up immediately later with my dad’s cold dead eyes staring at me on the hard wood of our living room. I jumped up and my eyes got blurry from all the blood rushing back into my head. I reached down to my dad and tried to resuscitate him even though it was very apparent he wasn’t going to wake up with a home phone bashed through his head. The puddles of blood surrounding him drenching my shirt and the weight of my dad’s death on my shoulders seemed not to disgust me, but it seemed to energize me. I rushed out the door and threw the door off its hinges when pulling it back towards my dad’s lifeless body. I sprinted down the road hungry for more.
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