murder she wrote

finally finished writing my short story for summer school thanks to pearl who helped me get over my writers block :)...
it had to be horror with the theme of insanity.
i dont' like writing horror because i scare myself picturing what i write. my hands usually end up shaking at the keyboard.
anyways-- here it is. ... it's not very good... but the best i can do :P
not for the faint hearted. and i don't have a title yet... :

It was still. So quiet you could hear the spiders spinning their cobwebs in little corners too long neglected. The sky was dark, not stormy, just darkened by large grey clouds that concealed the nakedness of the sky beneath. He sat in the living room in that chair. That old, brown, leather chair, ragged from all those times him and his girlfriends would fuck in it. I never saw but I heard. And that disgusting carpet, stained from ketchup, nosebleeds, and smelling of putrid intoxication. The small amount of light through the blinds fell in an eerie pattern of lines over the small television. Lines over the nearly invisible coffee table. Lines cutting across my father’s silhouetted figure in that chair.

I hated him. It was his unfaithfulness and crude nature that had driven my mother to the reckless driving that caused her death seven years ago when I was only ten. She told me herself. She tells me a lot of important things. The only things he tells me are how sexy I look or asks me if he can touch me in certain places.
“Ignore him.” She tells me.
So I wear baggy t-shirts and long, loose fitting pants, and hoped that by ignoring him, this sick reality of mine would become nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

“Hey Taylor, baby, be a doll and grab me another beer! And while you’re at it take off your shirt! Hehheh” He called with his gnarled laughter and slurred tones. I sucked my stomach in concentrating on the way my insides folded against my ribs and the way my feet hit the carpet as I turned to grab his empty beer can from the coffee table.

Suddenly, as if by impulse my entire body tensed up, but it did so belatedly as I felt his hand land on my breast. Slap! I stood frozen for a second. An imprint of my hand appeared across his stunned cheek. Without getting up his arms lunged toward me. Grabbing. Ripping. And then his arms changed their mind and pushed me away. “Just get me that beer.” His eyes focused on a red spot in the carpet. I tore out of that room as the tears came and blurred the walls as I ran as fast as I could through the kitchen doorway. I stopped. My mother stood in the doorway, eyes hollow and a knife laid in her palms.
“Go back in there Taylor. Take this. Go back in there and finish him.” For the first time in my life her voice sounded so foreign to me. I stared. “Aren’t you angry?” She asked.
I nodded, then shook my head. “You don’t love me.” She whispered. “He killed me, he touched you. He ruined BOTH our lives and you aren’t even angry! You wicked girl! You ungrateful daughter, you don’t love me!” She was screaming now. “No!” I begged her with my tears. “I am angry. I do love you.” In response she stuck the kitchen knife in my face once again.

She was right. My mother was right. Before he looked up I had already made two red lines across his body. Lines, lines. That was all my mind could hold. Lines of revenge. “You killed her!” I began screaming. “If it wasn’t for you she wouldn’t have driven so recklessly! You took everything from me!” And then there was silence. “Your mother died of a heroine overdose. I lied about the accident. She died of an overdose.” The last word was barely audible and his body gave way to death. And I, I sat motionless looking at the woman who stood at the corner of the room, wondering who she was.

the end.