Monster

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Footsteps clumped against the wooden floor boards, creaking underneath the weight of the unwanted visitor. Something was being dragged behind them with a low scraping noise. The small pitch black closet where I hid was musty and cramped. I was sitting as far back as I possibly could, my knees pulled tightly to my chest. I had spent many nights in this closet before, but I had never feared this much for my life. I could feel the terror pulse through my veins as the sound of the creaking floor boards got closer and closer to the door. I began shaking uncontrollably and began to quietly sob, partly because of the fear, partly because of the immense pain that was going over my body in waves. When I heard the footsteps turn around, and walk out of the hall way, I let myself relax a little. It hadn’t found me this time. I grabbed one of the many rolls of toilet paper I kept in the back of the closet in case I had a nose bleed when I had to hide in here, which I usually did. I crumpled the toilet paper into a ball and pressed it to me bleeding lip. How am I going to hide this many cuts and bruises at school tomorrow? People already think I’m hurting myself because I won’t tell them what happened. In reality, they simply wouldn’t believe me. My back ached from where it had been hit, and my left hand felt like it was broken. A dull throb passed through my spine and up into my skull. I was used to these kinds of pains, the kind of pains that hurt the outside and the ones that filled my chest when I was out of breath from running from this horrible monster that I have to live with for possibly the rest of my life, because it won’t let me leave, the kind of pains that healed up, and stopped hurting after a while. These pains I could deal wit... ... middle of paper ... ...et the edge of the knife cut into the skin. It was dead within seconds, and I pushed the body to the carpet and it landed with a thud next to the baseball bat it had been dragging down the hall. I knelt down next to the body slowly. I turned it over and inspected its face. I looked deeply into the eyes of my now dead mother, but I felt no sadness, because to me she wasn’t my mother, she was my monster, because mothers are supposed to care if you ate that night or not, they’re supposed to be there for you no matter what, and she did none of that, so all I felt was relief. Relief that it was finally over, the times that this woman who was supposed to love me unconditionally, beat me until I couldn’t feel anymore and told me that she wished I was dead, were finally over. I smiled and placed the knife in her fist and walked out of that house. I never, ever looked back.

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