The Rest

There are a lot of things that you can think of... one of the things that i thought of was on my thanksgiving break.. it's a 3 page story, and i think ill tell you it right... now...

Indigo, violet, and black stretch accross my room, they are the only colors visible this night. With the blinds of my windows closed, and the sodden pale white light of the moon unable to penetrate the dark shadows.

I lay, awake in my bed, concious of the darkness... no light... not a single light besides what was able to peek past the blinds on my windows- my door is shut- I am unable to see beyond my little bubble of a room. I am frightened. The heavy stomps of fighting rage on the floor above me, and my mind races to figure out what was going on.... I look to my bedside stand. It's 3:07 a.m.

It's him

It's him up there, my dad and a man, my dad and a murderer. I am spared yet, though hope may be lost to me. Grunts ring out like bell tones, sounding death to the one who is the target of the moves from the other.

A shattering-

A shattering of glass rings out in the night, My head spins in utter chaos, a screeching in my mind won't give up, won't give in. I knew the glass to be that of the gun cabinet, a display case. Displaying various tools that could be used to inflict pain on another.

Heavy-

Heavy gasping penetrates the new silence, gasping for air, gasping for life. Someone was down, and struggling to get back up.

Boom-

He's coming, but who? who had fired the shotgun, who had dealt the death blow to the other?
Footsteps.
Dragging along the floor, a limp, a slight stomp every other step, -coming heavily down the stairs, It had to be my dad, it HAD, TO BE...

NO-

No, NO WAY! The light outside my room becomes a brilliant display of rays coming through the cracks between my door and the frame. Giving it a holy appearance.

Door-

My door knob turns, and the door flies open, light pooring into my room nearly blinds me. It's not my dad. It's him- the murderer- come to kill me too.

The End-

The end is near, as the man begins to put shells into the magazing of the gun. after he puts 3 shells in in-heavy loads- by the looks of them, he pullsthe action back, to put a shell in the chamber.

Bring it on-

He puts the gun to his shoulder, and begins to take aim
-he's dead-
At that exact moment, my eye catches the glint of light reflecting of a scope, the scope of a gun that should still be in the gun cabinet,
- The Weatherlight .308 centerfire-
A crackle rips through the night, sending ripples that last forever, as the mans head becomes a mist of red, of red on black. The shotgun drops, the man drops, the mysterious figure on the stairs-my dad- drops, to his death, with 2 shotgun wounds to the shoulders.

A now brighter indigo, violet and black are spread around the room. With the occasional spot of red. A torrent of light rushes from the other room, I lay speechless, stilled by horror, I turn my head, the time is 3:10 a.m.