This is an excerpt from a story I wrote for my Literature class. I’m a newbie at the whole, ‘arena’ thing, so be gentle. Thanks.
I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t. I was just protecting myself from obvious, life threatening danger. Sure, I could’ve taken a safer route, or maybe screamed and hoped to god that someone heard me. Or I could’ve let him kill me. But of course, my instincts got the best of me like they usually do, and I went with my ‘gut feeling’, because that always does me a lot of good. Well, I suppose it’s only fair to let you in on my side of the story.
Darkness surrounded me, my breath shallow. I flinched as footsteps sounded, echoing through the dark kitchen. I heard a stumble, and grinned silently to myself as I imagined Ray’s bloodshot eyes and confused look as he leaned against the rickety table.
“C’mon Kiki, don’t hide from yer ol’ man.” Grimacing, I scooted farther into the cupboard with narrowed eyes. I was used to him coming home with his poker buddies, drink some beer, sing some songs and lose money, but this was ridiculous.
A loud belch came from his gnarl-toothed mouth, and I imagined a drunken sneer on his face.
“You can expect a nice ol’ beating when I find you, child,” he said in that sickly sweet voice of his. My face grew hot, and I burst out of the cupboard, my eyes burning with rage.
“You won’t lay a hand on me,” I said bravely, though inside I was screaming with fear. Ray was a big guy; he could easily turn me into a pile of broken pieces. His nostrils flared as he walked slowly towards me, a slight limp in his stride.
“I ain’t gonna take no back talk from you.” He grabbed my wrist with one hand, holding his empty beer bottle in the air. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down, the bottle coming down above my head, my hand reaching for the knife on the table. Even as my hand grabbed the knife, and thrust it towards his midsection, my whole body, as well as his, seemed to slow.
But then it all sped up. I twisted the knife, my heart lurching as I heard the piercing scream erupt from his throat. As he dropped to his knees, his eyes seemed to fog, and his mouth quivered for a moment before he fell to the ground. Blood poured onto the smooth linoleum, gleaming scarlet in the luminescent light. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I had killed a man; I was a murderer. Oh, mother wouldn’t approve of this. Not one bit. I never did well with scoldings from mother, and I certainly wouldn’t be able to handle the look on her face when she saw Ray’s blood-soaked body on the floor. So, I ran.
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