shorty one.

I stood there, gun pointed towards his head. My dad looked as though he'd pissed his clothes. Good. I started to remember what he did to me. I remembered his weight on me, his fat, sweaty lips on me. His half shaved face scratching my skin. I realized why I'm doing this, why I can't forgive him. Maybe he will change. No. I heard someone knock down the door. Cops. "Put the gun down!" the cop yelled. He'll never change. I pull the trigger and so did the cop.

I woke up, unaware of where I was, but I knew I had done what I needed to. He was dead. I looked down at my clothes. Dang. Orange jumpsuit.