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Running was another lesson I ignored.
It felt like that was all we had ever done, but I couldn’t run, not now. Not without her.
Shutting the door quickly without a sound, I moved toward the tree line and away from the glare of the headlights. Rain kept my eyes from fully opening, and its pour prevented me from hearing anything other than heavy drops and thunder. My shoes sank into the muddy puddles of grass as I hurried closer. Lowering my body to the front of the house, I quietly moved and ducked past the windows until the open front door creaked in the wind.
Before I took the first step, I heard it. My mother’s struggles.
Without hesitation, I slid past the front door. I didn’t make it far before my feet stumbled. My hands shot out quickly, catching my body before it could hit the floor. But I didn’t feel the solid touch of hardwood, the sticky sensation of vinyl, or the rough texture of worn carpet. It was warm against my cold hands, rigid and yet soft.
My eyesight adjusted to the dim room created by the car lights, and my eyes fell.
With eyes wide open and a knife by his left shoulder blade, a lifeless body lay beneath my palms. Bile rose as my bottom hit the floor while I scurried away from the dark puddle that continued to grow.
My soaked and soiled shoes slipped against the floor, and the more I kicked to get away from the mud-mixed blood, the more I fought to gain space.
Thump.
Mamma.
Her struggles continued, but they shortened, then weakened. Frantically, I rose from the floor, wiped the feeling of the body my hands had touched, and followed the trail of my mother’s gasps. Each step I took, messy imprints of brown and red stalked my path.
She was pinned down, thrashing against the hand that covered her face as the man reached for his back. He reached for his gun, distracted. Prickled short hair, olive skin covered in colored ink, and blaring teeth. His mass tripled the size of my almost fourteen-year-old body, and yet, he didn’t hear me until it was too late.
Surprise, adrenaline, and anger couldn’t suppress the wicked demon I’d been born with any longer. I rushed toward him. His body hit the ground in a heap. Without wasting any time, I delivered a blow to his temple. Pain shot through my hand. Burning knuckles and sin, I punched again with blinding rage, but he wasn’t any kid or man I’d brawled with before. He was powerful, skillful. Trained. As his body twisted, he carried his right fist down my stomach in anger.
I bent in pain and gasped for the breath taken from my lungs. Dazed by the ache and loss of air, I had no time to react to the agonizing drag of his fist on my face. Again and again. I held on to the throbbing anguish of his hands and blocked his last punch. Its force drove my back to the ground. His body rushed over mine, and I shot my knee into his groin. At last, I saw shock and pain sweep through his hardened eyes. It was quickly forgotten as his scowl threatened death. His heavy hands and fingers wrapped around my throat. I couldn’t smell the rain, blood, or the rotting house. Not while my windpipe burned in misery.
Letting go of his deadly eyes, I scanned the floor for a weapon. I didn’t have long before my body would pass out or accept the afterlife.
Mamma’s footfall distracted me, and his hands slacked slightly. He’d heard her too.
I didn’t face her gurgling sounds, the anguish that bounced off her body, or the slaps her small hands achieved on his skin. It was impossible for me to face her in defeat.
Then, I felt it.
The cool metal against the tips of my fingers. The handgun that mocked life at its distance.
With the little strength I had left, I inched further to my right. It was such a small movement that he didn’t feel my body slithering below.
Battered knuckles gripped its power. Index finger curled, weakening the fearful void. My palm was the one to answer the lifeline call.
I could now face my mother’s frightful gaze. It was bloodshot and filled with unshed tears. She scratched his arm over and over, but it only forced him to apply even greater pressure to her thin neck. He loosened his grip on me as he concentrated on her. With his hand seconds away from crushing her windpipe, Mamma’s eyes held an apology. They held long conversations and years of love.
And yet, her eyes only saw me.
Trapped by them, my chest bounced in burning heaps of silent pleas for her to hold on.
You can’t leave me.
I knew what had to be done. With no hesitation or remorse, I raised my right hand. His foul smile that was aimed at Mamma vanished as he felt the Grim Reaper’s icy touch under his jaw.
His head fell.
His eyes widened.
And I pulled the trigger.
I was the last thing he saw before the bullet penetrated his head. Blood splattered the ceiling in vivid red. The sight of it made it my new favorite color.
