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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Death / Heartbreak / Loss
- Published: 05/05/2020
Broken Homes and Broken Hearts
Born 2005, M, from Cromwell, CT, United StatesI stood there with the barrel focused on his head. My sweaty palms made the double-barred shotgun slippery in my hands. Sweat poured down my face as my legs were trembling with fear and weakness. But I had to do it, and I had no choice after all the times he hurt me. All these years I dreamed of the day when I would see him hurt and defenseless. Just then I heard a familiar whimper that sounded like my mom. I looked around with optimism, but I was no longer with the old man and the shotgun had faded away from my hands. I was now sitting in a house that was all too familiar. I looked around the kitchen to see broken plates and opened prescription bottles scattered across the counters. Just then I heard chatter gain volume as two young adults were arguing in the living room. The living room had pillows and glass tables thrown on the floor. There was a man that had a bulky build and looked like he had just finished a pack of coronas. The woman was under 5’7 and looked powerless compared to the guy. I knew these people even though the memory was almost lost. These were my parents. My father walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a kitchen knife. I knew the story, I had dreamed it over and over again, but I wouldn’t dare do it again. I shook my head and appeared in the house with the shotgun in my hands pointed at his head. I closed my eyes and clenched my lips. “BANG...BANG!” The gun clattered on the floor. I ran and ran as far as I could and never looked back.
Broken Homes and Broken Hearts(Malik Salaam) I stood there with the barrel focused on his head. My sweaty palms made the double-barred shotgun slippery in my hands. Sweat poured down my face as my legs were trembling with fear and weakness. But I had to do it, and I had no choice after all the times he hurt me. All these years I dreamed of the day when I would see him hurt and defenseless. Just then I heard a familiar whimper that sounded like my mom. I looked around with optimism, but I was no longer with the old man and the shotgun had faded away from my hands. I was now sitting in a house that was all too familiar. I looked around the kitchen to see broken plates and opened prescription bottles scattered across the counters. Just then I heard chatter gain volume as two young adults were arguing in the living room. The living room had pillows and glass tables thrown on the floor. There was a man that had a bulky build and looked like he had just finished a pack of coronas. The woman was under 5’7 and looked powerless compared to the guy. I knew these people even though the memory was almost lost. These were my parents. My father walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a kitchen knife. I knew the story, I had dreamed it over and over again, but I wouldn’t dare do it again. I shook my head and appeared in the house with the shotgun in my hands pointed at his head. I closed my eyes and clenched my lips. “BANG...BANG!” The gun clattered on the floor. I ran and ran as far as I could and never looked back.
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Gail Moore
08/17/2020Wow, that put a halt to that argument promptly.
Well written story with an unexpected ending. I thought they would murder each other. :-)
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JD
08/16/2020Of course I do not think gun violence is ever a way to solve problems, but my guess is that any person who has ever been abused, or had a loved one abused, has fantasies about killing the abuser. The character in your story made that fantasy a reality. He'll probably be on the run for the rest of his life now... but still... it made for a good story. Thanks for sharing your short story on Storystar, Malik, and Happy Short Story Star of the Week! :-)
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