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Description
There came a night when I could stand it no more. His cruelty was unbearable on the best of nights, and this was not one of those. Slipping a worn shit over my bruised ribs and calloused heart, I reached for my dagger. My hair lay half-way down my back, ragged and worn - like the rest of me, I had not cared for it in days. I crept upstairs to the living room, holding back my urge to vomit. Incredibly, the hand I held my dagger in was steady; the rest of me shook like a damn Parkinson's victim.

The TV was on, but the volume was incredibly low. No doubt so he could listen to any sound I dare make. Prick. On the screen, basketball players were running like fucking ants, throwing sweat everywhere. A fresh wave of nausea hit me. Damn OCD! My nostrils flared as I edged closer, and from the light of nasty, sweaty basketball players I could make out empty beer bottles on the table. Ah good... Alcohol thins the blood. He'll die faster.

His gentle snores told me he was passed out in another drunken stupor. For a moment, I paused and thought how unfair this was. He would not even be able to fight back as I slit his throat. Was I ever able to fight back? No, he was much larger and stronger than I. Damn his job as a construction worker. I need to stop thinking and just do this! It was true.

I was standing by the couch now, looking down on this man society liked to call my step father. One of the basketball players must have done something good because the crowd suddenly erupted in loud cheers. His eyes fluttered at the noise and I knew it was now or never. Me, or him. In one fluid motion I caught him under his chin with my dagger, applied a fair amount of pressure, and jerked.

Immediately I was cursing my insolence, as blood was suddenly flying everywhere. To make matters worse, the poor bastard attempted to sit up and fight. The curtains were splashed, the dining table ruined, the floor stained. As I stabbed the man in the belly, twisting angrily, I wondered if red was 'in' or if mum would have to redecorate. A blood stain turns orange after you wash it 3 or 4 times ain't that right Norman?

Finally, he went limp on the couch. I stared him straight in the eye and smirked as I watched the life burn out. I'm sure he'll always remember that look. I glance at the TV. Two huge sweaty guys are hugging and more are clapping them on the back.

"Fucking disgusting," I mutter darkly, yanking my dagger from the dead man's belly. I wiped it clean on my shirt and then heaved a sigh. Now you just stained your favourite shirt! Ripping my shirt off, I throw it on the floor by the couch and give th guy one last glance.

"You're running up the power bill homes." I grab the remote by his side and click the TV off. No more nasty-ass sweaty dudes. No more beatings either. Maybe this *was* one of the best nights.

Description
There came a night when I could stand it no more. His cruelty was unbearable on the best of nights, and this was not one of those. Slipping a worn shit over my bruised ribs and calloused heart, I reached for my dagger. My hair lay half-way down my back, ragged and worn - like the rest of me, I had not cared for it in days. I crept upstairs to the living room, holding back my urge to vomit. Incredibly, the hand I held my dagger in was steady; the rest of me shook like a damn Parkinson's victim.

The TV was on, but the volume was incredibly low. No doubt so he could listen to any sound I dare make. Prick. On the screen, basketball players were running like fucking ants, throwing sweat everywhere. A fresh wave of nausea hit me. Damn OCD! My nostrils flared as I edged closer, and from the light of nasty, sweaty basketball players I could make out empty beer bottles on the table. Ah good... Alcohol thins the blood. He'll die faster.

His gentle snores told me he was passed out in another drunken stupor. For a moment, I paused and thought how unfair this was. He would not even be able to fight back as I slit his throat. Was I ever able to fight back? No, he was much larger and stronger than I. Damn his job as a construction worker. I need to stop thinking and just do this! It was true.

I was standing by the couch now, looking down on this man society liked to call my step father. One of the basketball players must have done something good because the crowd suddenly erupted in loud cheers. His eyes fluttered at the noise and I knew it was now or never. Me, or him. In one fluid motion I caught him under his chin with my dagger, applied a fair amount of pressure, and jerked.

Immediately I was cursing my insolence, as blood was suddenly flying everywhere. To make matters worse, the poor bastard attempted to sit up and fight. The curtains were splashed, the dining table ruined, the floor stained. As I stabbed the man in the belly, twisting angrily, I wondered if red was 'in' or if mum would have to redecorate. A blood stain turns orange after you wash it 3 or 4 times ain't that right Norman?

Finally, he went limp on the couch. I stared him straight in the eye and smirked as I watched the life burn out. I'm sure he'll always remember that look. I glance at the TV. Two huge sweaty guys are hugging and more are clapping them on the back.

"Fucking disgusting," I mutter darkly, yanking my dagger from the dead man's belly. I wiped it clean on my shirt and then heaved a sigh. Now you just stained your favourite shirt! Ripping my shirt off, I throw it on the floor by the couch and give th guy one last glance.

"You're running up the power bill homes." I grab the remote by his side and click the TV off. No more nasty-ass sweaty dudes. No more beatings either. Maybe this *was* one of the best nights.