Diary Secrets

         I wrote this story back in the 8th grade (now a JR.) as an assignment. I just found it while cleaning out some old boxes in the garage. I hope you like it!


         I forced the rusty key through the old fashioned front door key hole. I had to push a little to get the door open, slowly I opened the door as it erupted with a creak every time my soft finger tips touched it’s rough, crackly surface. I took two steps inside and gazed at the scene before me and suddenly, that night came back to me.
          “Katie! Go to your room!” My mother shouted as my father staggered through the front door. He had been out again, at the bar. He looked up at me with his wild blood shot eyes and started stumbling towards me. “Katie! Go now!” my mother shouted at me. I turned to leave but my father caught my arm. I spun around to face him. I could smell the bitter whiskey on his breath. His rough scaly hand scratched the skin on my arm. His eyes burned into mine as I realized that he was unbuckling his belt.
          “Mama!” I shouted. I could hear Crystal crying in the corner of the living room. I turn to her cries and see her sitting in a corner hugging her doll. My father had never been this drunk before, and my mom couldn’t help me any. I turned to try and break his grasp, but even drunk, my father was still strong. I heard the crisp leather belt crack in the air as my father straightened it out. Tears poured from my eyes as I begged my father not to hit me. “Daddy please! You’re drunk! Don’t do this to me!” I cried as the harsh leather burned into my back and sliced my skin. You could hear nothing but my crying and the crack of the belt attacking my skin. Thinking this is the end, I heard a gun shot, then all the colors in the room splurged together into one big pool of colors, then darkness.
         I flip the light switch and the lights flickered to life. I was there to clean out all of my family’s belongings because the house was being sold. My high heeled boots sounded like horse hooves pattering across the hard wood floor. I made my way to my room and opened the door.
          “Hennery stop!” My mother shouted. I tried to push out the sounds and try to concentrate on my dolls. Glass hit the floor and my mother screamed. I wanted to rush to her but my promise to her was that whenever daddy was having a bad night I would hide in my room and be silent until morning no matter what I heard. My mother was crying and my father was yelling at her for crying and was screaming at her about being a bad wife. She’s not a bad wife or mom - I thought to myself. I climbed into bed and covered my head with my pillow, trying to drown out the screams and cries.
         Walking into my closet I find Mr. Cheesy, he was my childhood bear, but he was a mouse. He wasn’t what I was looking for. My mother has dies three days ago and her wish was that while clearing out the house, I find her journal and have it buried with her. I walked across the hall and into her room.
         After searching for three hours, I finally found her journal. Her will never said that I couldn’t read it, so I skimmed through it and landed on a random page.

October 17,
Hennery is getting more and more violent and I am afraid for my girls. Katie knows what is going on and is afraid of her father. I don’t blame her, I’m afraid of him myself. He tells me this if I ever leave him he will track me down and kill me and my girls. I never thought he would be capable of hurting any of us, but I’ve never had a good judge of character in the past. That’s why I’ve come to the decision of killing him, for the protection of me and my girls. I’ve been able to get my hands on a bottle of arsenic and I am planning to use the whole bottle. He may have taken a few years of my life, but he will not be taking away the life of my girls.

         I sat in silence while driving in my silver Lamborghini. My father wasn’t just drunk when he came home that night; he was dying and took it out on me because I was the closest to him. A tear formed in my eye as I thought about my mother’s words. She killed him and lived the rest of her life in jail to protect us. I thought about the last thing I said to her.
         Sitting in the funeral home, I realized how uncomfortable I was. Everyone felt sorry for me and was looking down on me. I just lost my sister who was only two, lost my father a few months before, and my mother was going to be in jail for the rest of her life. My sister dies of a hereditary medical problem. A hand softly touched my shoulder. I looked up and saw my mother; I had not seen her for three months. And when I finally saw her, all the hate and madness filled my head. I glared at her with my eyes fogging up with tears of pain from the past.
          “I hate you!” I shouted. “You killed daddy, and you weren’t there for Crystal while she was dying! I hate you!” I screamed at her with passion and ran out of the funeral home swearing that I would never talk to her again.

And I never did.