messages. (j.g.)

eight.

"dad?" "dad?" i yell throughout the house, receiving no response. "are you sleeping?" i walk into the living room, hes not in his normal seat but the television is still on. when i pick up one of the beers on the floor, i notice a note under it. it reads:

go into your room, babygirl.

i lay the empty bottles on the kitchen table and make my way up the stairs. i enter my room and see a nother note on my bed, reading,

look under the covers for a surprise.

i flip open my blanket and see my dead, bloody, father. "dad, oh my god, that's my father. my father is dead. my mother is dead." i breath to myself while rubbing my face. i grab him by his feet and drag him off of my bed, down the stairs, and into the backyard, remembering the note left for me a few days back telling me of a place for my "soon-to-be" but now dead father.

i plop him into the ground and cover him in the dirt. "god help me. how can i be so okay with all of this." i say to myself "why is this happening?" i look up and see a figure quite a distance away.

"hey! who are you? are you my "daddy"?" i say while standing up, enough of this shit. i come closer and closer and the figure doesn't make a move. "who the fuck do you think you are? huh? you think this is okay? you fucking psycho." he begins to move when im only four steps away. "where are you fucking going?" i catch up to him and tackle him from behind, making him fall over.

i rip off his ski mask and wish i could unsee who was under it.

"jack gilinksy?"