Original Writing - The Dad I thought I knew.

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Original Writing – Short Story

The Dad I thought I knew

School had finished early for the long awaited six-week break. It had felt like an eternity, but it was all worth the while; mum and dad had come to collect me. Dad called me over to his new five-door saloon, which he only wanted to bring so he could show-off. As I walked towards him, the sun reflected off the front windscreen blinding my view temporarily. He greeted me, “Hey, my little soldier.” Dad always called me this, not that I minded.

Florida was a boisterous town full of excitement for everyone. Dad always took me to town for our father/son day out, or wherever we suited. He played baseball with me, took me to school, the park and gave me everything I had ever wanted. He never laid a finger on me, and we loved each other dearly. But today was a preparation for something special. Tomorrow was my tenth birthday. Dad argued that tomorrow would be a big milestone for me, as I would be ‘moving into double figures’. We spread out decorations all over the ceilings and walls of our brightly painted home.

I couldn’t sleep a wink that night; hearing mum and dad wrapping up my presents and the build-up of excitement within of waiting for a near birthday contributed to this. But at sunrise, dad came into my room to give me a prevalent hug. The day was off to an enjoyable commencement. Dad went out to buy some extra bits and pieces, leaving me with mum. She had a swollen pale bruise across her neck. She went rosy red when I asked her about it. I could sense the distance between us. Mum and I never saw ‘eye-to-eye’ with one another, but there wasn’t very much love lost between us. I tried to not let the anything worry me that day, and I was filled with relief when my friends and neighbours began arriving. When we gathered around after a while to blow out the candles of a patterned hand-made cake, I made a wish I thought would easily come true. It was something simplistic yet requiring a great amount of skill.                                The day was complete without a hitch, although dad had become slightly intoxicated with alcohol. But not even that stopped him from making me feel like his ‘special little guy’ today. He also took the time to read me a bedtime story. But I couldn’t just go to sleep straightaway. It didn’t feel right; not staying up until the midnight bell after all the commotion everyone made all day. However, just as I was about to go to the moons and stars, I could hear it - my worst nightmare…

Mum was screaming, the vases were being smashed, the thumps were getting louder and the atmosphere was tense. I got up, sneaked past the first floor landing and peaked through the tiny hole in their bedroom door. Nevertheless, the room was dark and all I could see was reflecting moonlight peering past the slightly opened window and the creased lines in the pains of glass. The owls outside amongst the darkness of a bitterly cold night were hooting dramatically. Then it hit me. My hero was nothing more than an abusive two-faced brute. He could never be my hero anymore. All the loving emotions I had for him were quickly fading. I tried to stay strong and bold like a lion amongst a herd of it’s own. But this wasn’t about being strong or bold, it was about faith. I believed in him, but he let me down greatly. I took a quick moment to compose myself from the rush of blood to my head, even when the mayhem was still taking place. I dashed into the room, in a bundle of fury, knocking my shoulder onto the creaking door, which had began to ache, and jumped over my mum.  I did my best to shield her body as much as possible. “Ouch!” I screamed. “You’re hurting me dad,” I bellowed once more. But the blows kept on coming, and it felt like someone had dropped an anchor over my back. Yet, it didn’t stop there. The attacker kept coming, and the hitting carried on for what seemed like forever. My body was numb and as far as I could remember, dad knocked mum and I out-cold.

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“Where’s mum?” I asked. There was no reply for a brief period but then a nurse walked to my bedside and began stroking my hair. “There, there, your mum is in intensive care – a unit for people in critical conditions”. I barely had the energy to open my eyes. I suffered a fractured spine, along with a couple of cuts and bruises. However, compared to mum it was like a championship wrestler to a battered fly. I was going to be ‘fine’, as far as I could hear from the whispering doctors by my bedside. But I couldn’t come ...

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