I walked into my home. The house was dark, and that was nothing unusual as light flickered out from the living room. My father was probably waiting up for me. That was normal for him. He always wanted to protect us no matter what. I quietly hung up my coat as I tiptoed to the kitchen. I was dying of thirst. The small room at the club had gotten hot during the concert. I flicked on the light and everything was in disarray. The kitchen was torn apart. I instantly felt my stomach drop as I backed up and started to walk to the living room slowly.
“Daddy?” I whispered. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up despite how hot I was. I felt my body collide with the floor as I felt my forearms and hands become covered with something sticky. I stood on shaky legs and flicked on the light with a shaking hand.
“DADDY!” I screamed and backed into the wall hard. His neck was sliced open. I looked at my hands and arms that were covered with his blood. I looked at the ceiling when I heard two deep thuds. Against better judgement, I ran up the stairs and into Caitlyn’s room. “No, no, no, no, no.” I cried as I saw her clothes cut open her legs lewdly open. I followed the third blood trail knowing well who it belonged to.
“Mom,” I whispered as I fell to my knees. Her chest was rising and falling sporadically. She sounded like she was choking on her own blood. I took her into my arms. I didn’t know what else to do. I rocked her as my tears splattered on her face.
“Do...don’t st-stop liv-living.” She breathed as she held my hand as I watched her take her final breaths. I grabbed cried into her neck and felt my face become sticky with her blood. I didn’t know how long I had sat there rocking my mother and crying until there was nothing left. I didn’t remember the questioning or why everything had happened. My home had been intruded into and my family was wrongly murdered. They had become a statistic that they didn’t deserve to become.
I opened my eyes and tried to pull myself out of the memory like my therapist told me to do. I gently stroked my mother’s headstone, “I didn’t stop living mom. I live for my family.” The police told me that I was in shock. But I knew I was angry.
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