Strangled

Chapter 1: Death Of The Family

I stare at the ruins of my old home. The memories of this place swell inside my brain. I remember the last horrid moments inside. I remember the flames engulfing a place I once called home. I look away from the charred wood and bodies. A policeman looks at me with concern, "I'm sorry kid. There were no survivors." Tears pool at my eyes. I clutch the blanket that the authorities wrapped me in. I let streams of tears come down my face. My entire body shaking. I have no family. No one to turn to except foster families. The cop picks my small body up and carries me to the squad car. He opens the door to the front and sets me down. I can't even speak through my sobs. The man introduces himself, "My name is Officer Jack. You can call me Jason.." The man's voice is deep but relaxing. I close my eyes and imagine what life was like just a few days ago.

Staring into the mirror at his own features, my dad seemed in an almost trance-like state. He didn't do anything in the mirror to improve his looks like shave, comb, or even slick his hair back with his hand. Instead he decided to just stare. Nothing more, nothing less. This could go on for hours at a time, sometimes even days. We thought he slept on the couch or ate when we fell asleep. The only thing that he would do that we would know about is drink from his mug. He did it in hour intervals. He would reach from his side to his mug and drink savagely. When we would try to talk to him he would just grunt or mutter something foul. He never showered nor checked the time. He never even brushed his yellow teeth (My father smoked and drank mostly coffee when he was my age, 13.) He did nothing except stare and drink. Until one day while he had one of these, staredowns with the mirror, he closed his eyes and collapsed to the floor. He took each breath as if he were about to plunge into water. He shook so much and spit started to pool around his mouth. My mother was very frightened by this act. She immediately ran to the bathroom and wrapped a blanket around him. He hit my mom in the face when she tried to do this. Her nose started to bleed. My brother and I were petrified with fear, tears rolled down our faces. My father was relentless and didn't even hold back his strength. Blow after blow he hit her with brute force. My mother's nose was broken, her eye was gashed open and so was her lip. She was sobbing so hard that the next day her throat was sore. But that night something had snapped in her and my father. Something I couldn't explain. I could tell. After she had visited the ER and gotten all patched up. (Of course not telling the doctors that her husband has beaten the shit out of her but instead, telling them that she had fallen down a flight of stairs and face planted into the concrete.). No one even questioned her or my father. They just patched her up and sent us home.

My father came with us to the hospital. His mood changed from angry to passive in a second. He even picked up my mother like it was their wedding day again and put her in the car. He wore a huge smile on his face the way to the hospital and tears were gradually going down his face. Once he got to the entrance he immediately started bawling his eyes out like he hadn't smiled not once. The paramedics took my mother in and put her on a stretcher. They then rolled her to the room where the doctor was. The hospital was poorly lit and the lady at the desk was quite rude to us when we asked which room my mother was being held in. The lady snorted and she brought her pig face back and laughed, "I don't know which room your stupid mother was in. Dumb kids." My younger brother who was only 5 and started crying softly. The lady then turned her head away like nothing happened. We were all afraid both for my mother and what my father just did and what he might do in the future not only to us, but to others. I got to finally see my mother when they were wheeling her out of the hospital. She looked miserable. More miserable than us. I didn't blame her. No one would or ever will. It was the time of silence for all of my family.
The next morning my father stopped staring. He cooked breakfast at 5:50. It was a large breakfast and was eaten cold because we woke up at 7 or later. He had eaten with the family and fed my mother mush. She couldn't eat because my father had punched her so hard in the jaw that it broke. She couldn't even speak. Her brown hair was in knots and tears wouldn't stop rolling down her face. My dad was very patient with her though. He wasn't the same man that beat her to an inch of her life that's for sure. He didn't even stare anymore. He was more awake now more than ever. He must know the consequences of being a wife beater. But my memories didn't include him abusing my mother. He only did it once. It still doesn't give him an excuse to beat his wife once. After breakfast my father wheeled my mom to the bathroom. He picked her up gently with a smile on his face and set her down in the tub. He had already filled it with warm water. Just the way she liked it. She almost smiled when she was being washed. She knew she could've done it herself, but she wanted to make my father pay for what he had done to her last night. He knew he would be doing this for awhile. But he didn't mind as long as he could get away for what he did. I never forgot what he did. Never will either. The big smile across his face and the way he acted around us. He never forgot to smile. He even died with a smile on his face. I remember the blood on his face. How he drank the blood... It made me feel hollow and afraid. My brother had died inside the house. My father got to him before I could. I hurt myself trying to get to him. I tripped and fell down my cement stairs. I nearly broke my neck and sprained my wrist doing it.