Drowning

Chapter Seven: Death

Chapter Seven: Death

It would seem to any other person, that deciding to tell your entire past, was a simple task. But for someone who

has been through so much... It is a whole 'nother story. The worst memories still haunt me every day. I will never

forget that day six years ago...

I was eleven. Things hadn't been great since I was little. In fact, things had been horrible.

Terrifying. Charlie was away at work, and I had been at home all day cleaning the dank house

to the best of my ability.

I had bleached the kitchen floors in an attempt to turn them back to their original shining white.

Of course, my trial had resulted in error. The bottom section of the cabinets under the counters

had been stained a lighter color from an accidental bleach mishap.

I hid the bleach, hoping that Charlie wouldn't notice, and quickly started on making dinner.

Cheesy pasta casserole. I threw the ingredients together quickly, and put the pan in the oven.

While I waited I washed the dishes and put them away, ensuring that I cleaned up any other

messes before four o' clock.

I heard the lock on the door open, and stiffened, quickly finishing the sweeping that I was doing.

The door slammed shut, and Charlie stomped heavily into the kitchen a scowl on his face. I

stayed silent, looking out the window and watching the leaves float away in the wind.

After a moment of silence, he began yelling, and smacked the back of my head.

"Well aren't you going to ask me how my day was dumbass?!"

I bit my tongue before speaking.

"How was your day dad?"

"Horrible," he began to rant about how people had asked him why I never went outside, and why

he never brought me to work with him.

"Do you know why I don't bring you to work with me?" He questioned a dark edge to his rough

voice. I shook my head looking down.

"BECAUSE YOU ARE A DISGRACE, THAT'S WHY!!!" He shoved me out of the way, and sat down at

the table.

The stove timer went off then, signaling that the casserole was ready. I quickly grabbed a hand

towel, pulling the steaming pan out of the oven and setting it on the burnt stove top.

I sliced him a piece, setting it in the center of a detailed plate, grabbing a fork and napkin, and

taking it to him, setting it before his official appearance. (he hadn't changed out of his police uniform)

He snatched the fork, piling a huge bite on it. I watched cautiously as he put the bite in his mouth.

But, just my luck, he spit it right back out onto the plate. "YOU CALL THIS DINNER?!"

I stumbled back as he stood, stomping toward me. I sighed in relief as he walked strait past me.

But my solace was short lived, as I turned, just in time to see him raise the hot pan of casserole

above his head, before bringing it down, dumping the burning contents on me and dropping the

searing pan on my legs.

I screamed.

Of course, his mind took that moment to realize the cabinets had been stained horribly.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY CABINETS?! CAN YOU GET NOTHING RIGHT YOU

UNGRATEFUL RETARD?!"

He threw random things around the kitchen, tearing through the drawers and cubbies

until he found the bleach under a pile of old wash rags, right where I had hidden it. He didn't

even yell before he did it.

He unscrewed the lid while I was focusing on getting the steaming pasta off of my now severely

burned legs. The next thing I knew, my wounds were being covered in the bleach, itching and burning

a million times worse right away.

He left me there on the tile, crying in pain. But not before telling me to clean up the mess...

I lifted the bed covers to look at my legs. The scars were still there, as always. They always would be...

That is just the way I am. Scarred. From many things. Burns. Razor cuts. . . . Everything in the book.

I had been hit with beer bottles, spat on while I was in pain. My legs had been broken many times before.

But no one had known. Not until now.

I sighed and listened to the sounds around me. The clock was ticking insistently. It turns out when I looked

for the time when I first got here, that I had missed the clock hanging in the bathroom...

The beeping of the machine had slowed. That worried me. Why would...

I didn't have time to think anymore. I had been fading slowly, so lost in memory that I hadn't realized it.

The beeping was almost gone. And then I heard it. A faint voice. Dr. Cullen's as I remembered it.

I forced my eyes open. Another voice was heard, and I saw two figures bickering beside me. One's arm

raised above me, and for a moment, I thought I saw the shining blade of a knife. My assumations were

confirmed when I was met with a sharp stab to my torso.

I heard myself gasp in a breath, and Charlie's dark chuckle. A fire began to burn where the wound was I saw a blurry image of the doctor punching Charlie, and laughed weakly. He was finally getting what he deserved. I sighed. Much to my surprise, the knife wound didn't hurt much.

It was almost as if I were in a dream. The kind where you are restrained from what you want to do. I felt like

I was held back from doing something. I didn't know what though.

I watched in amusement as the doctor threw Charlie against the wall, and his body went limp. I heard the faint beeping stop, and sighed one last time.

So this is what it is like to die...