I crouch down to my father's dead body. I want to cry, but no tears appear. My mother stands with her hand on my shoulder. I hear her sniff, but no whispers of it'll be okay.
Who would want to kill my father? My father who was once an architect. My father who designed the local church and many homes of Breezewood, North Carolina. My father who has a family and does anything to take care of us. Didn't the person who killed him think before doing? Didn't the person think, what if this guy has a wife and children?
"It's time to go, Eleanor," my mother whispers, "the police have to investigate."
I obey my mother for once and get up from the ground. As I turn around to leave, I feel a fury in my chest arise. I want revenge. I don't want anyone to get away for killing my father. I will find out who killed him and I will avenge my father.
I look over my shoulder one last time to see my father's crumpled body with a gash in his abdomen. I cringe at the thought of the life slipping out of my father's eyes. Never will I see his bright silver eyes again, and his wicked smile. I will never hear my father's jokes or his laughs again. The thought tears at every inch in my body, and all I want now is my father back. I want one last hug and one last kiss on my cheek. One last goodnight.
I realize my mother trying to speak to me. Her words jumble and become soup in my head. I nod my head, oblivious to what she actually asked me. Again, I rage with fire storming through my body. I think of all the people who lose important figures in their life. Mothers, fathers, siblings, friends, loves. Now I have become on of them, and now I feel their grief and rage all inside of me. And all I want to do is help.
YOU ARE READING
Mortem
Fantasy[[My old description has been removed because it makes my story seem like crap. I'm having someone else write my description if I ever decide to publish this.]] Anyways if you reallly want a description here you go: Eleanor Halewood is forced to mov...
