The School's Lost Cause

Where's the milk, dad?

A six year old mini me was cutting a heart for my papa as it was his day off work. He was always busy with work. If not he would always drink. Papa was a meanie when he was drunk. He would blame me for mommy's death. I blame me too...

He says all I bring to the world is death and misery and that I should just drop dead. He even hit me a few times. I cried and cried but never for the physical pain as I could not feel it, but for the emotional pain.

Not paying attention to the scissors in my hands, I saw blood fall from my fingertips. I just watched each droplet in sadness. Why couldn't I feel pain? The scissors were stuck in my hand, stuck in my tendons. With a sigh, I just pulled it out without a word.

I was at a school and I was alone inside. I needed fresh air. I left my open wound unattended and went outside. With each step came a teaspoon of blood. I became unfazed at the sight of blood. Just another accident that my father says should have gone deeper.

When I reached the play area, I went over to an empty swing and began to rock back and forth. I heard screams and whimpers of shock and terror. I wonder what their screaming about? I looked down at my hand. Oh...

Feeling light headed, I lost grip of the steel chains as I couldn't swing any higher. Falling forward, I landed on my wounded arm and passed out when I saw my bone shattered and tendon sticking out. Maybe my father would get his wish after all...

I woke up, drenched in yet more sweat as a figure was standing above me with it's face close to mine. Naturally, I punched that fucker in the face for watching me sleep. The man let out a string of curses.

He left and turned the light on.

"That's not how you greet your loving papa is it?" He spat.

Still as lovely as ever(!) I have no idea why he isn't dead yet. Not that I would miss him.

He came storming towards me and ripped the covers off my bed. He's lucky I wasn't naked. Wait, if he is this nasty that must mean. Oh fuck, he's drunk!

Well I'm no fucking naive ten year old that he left with his perverted brother.

Jumping out of bed in a tank top and shorts, I readied my fists. He'll be too fucking hammered to remember tomorrow anyway. I looked at the clock. Seriously, two in the fucking morning!?

"Do you really want to do this, darling?"

Darling!? Oh great he's high as well as he only called mama that! All the more reason to fuck him up. He takes a swing at me to which I dodge and counterattack when I swipe him off his feet. Finally I get to pound his head in. Disgusting bastard. No wonder mom never loved him.

I felt a wet substance around my feet. Why are my feet wet? Slowly moving my glance towards the floor, I just stared at what I had done. Why did I leave that nail in the wall? Now he is either unconscious or dead.

Kicking his feet, I tried to get a response, but none came. Slowly lifting his body out of the six inch nail that went into his brain, I still believed that stubborn bastard was still alive.

Wishing death upon your own father may be treacherous, but only if they have no reason for death. He has had many chances to prove he is worthy enough to live. Now he lost it. His chest was still rising up and down, but very slowly. These may be his final moments.

Kneeling in front of him, I saw his eyes shoot open. Panic shot through him as he tried to move, but his body was quickly becoming immobilized. I stared into his glassy eyes and just wondered where my old papa used to be, and if he would be different if I didn't have a stalker.

He had confusion in his eyes, wondering what would happen before his death. I knew that look all too well. All those people who died because of Mr Psycho, all gave me that same look. But this time, I will explain.

"You must be wondering... what life is like when you know death will come? Your brain starts to shut down, making you immobilized from your feet to your very ends of your fingertips. Your vision starts to blur. Your reality starts to dwindle. Your hearing sounds like you're underwater. You relax to the point of almost deflation. The blood that is treacling down the side of your lip is the second to last step of death. And finally, your eyes release the tension, in your case the tear which is strolling down your cheek."

He choked on his own blood, to which I just stared at his almost shut down body with no remorse. Strangely, I felt no regret. He was never my father anyway. In one final tug of war, his fingers clenched, then dropped to the ground. I leaned down to his ear and whispered; 'Where's the milk dad?'

His blood stained my bare feet as I stood up. I looked at the clock again. 2.05am. Announced death of Darren Cerius Ward, widow and father. 1969-2020. Cause of death blunt trauma. Ruled as an accident due to drugs and alcohol found in system.

"May he rest in hell for eternity and become an enemy of the devil." I snarled.

In a fucked up way, I was glad he was dead. No more ignorance for months then him coming back to torture me.

I moved to another room and wrote a letter to him, knowing he would come to give me a visit anyway.

My sanity has already withered so what is the point of thinking that I can change anything?