"And don't disobey me again. Do what I tell you!" My face stung, a big black and blue bruise stayed on there. I held my cheek. Not this again. I feel the heat in my cheeks rise, and my body tense up. Last time he hit me I could barely control myself, and gave him a scare on his back. I would've done worse if I hadn't snapped back from his loud girlish scream. But this time I don't know.
I looked down away from him and mumbled an apology, even though I really didn't mean it. All I wanted to do was put my drawings on the fridge for everyone to see, but he tore it down, ripped it up, and threw it to the side, saying he didn't want that crap on his fridge. I told him it wasn't crap...well more like yelled, and he hit me, saying not to disobey him again. I have to hide all my drawings from him, because he doesn't like them.
I think it's just because he misses mom, if that's even possible for a bastard like him. She used to paint so many beautiful paintings and sell them for some quick cash sometimes. Other times she kept the ones she really liked or treasured the most. One of them was me, sleeping on a window seat while it rained outside under a warm blanket. She kept it in the attic, where my new room now is. Father-no-that man turned my room into his man cave. I hide that picture safe and sound in a place he'll never even think to look, and trust me-he don't think that hard.
I rubbed the bruise on my face, I had gotten used to the pain long ago by now. I reached down to pick up the remains of my pictures, I could just redraw them later. That man put his foot on top of the pile, "I don't want you making anymore of these shitty, half-drawn drawings, got that?" The heat got stronger. Whatever he said I didn't hear, I was too busy staring at where his heart laid.
He grabbed me by my collar and we looked eye to eye. He raised his hand high again, ready to strike down but I caught it in my hand. He said something else, it was like his voice was on mute now. I smirked out of amusement at how weak he really was now. How come I never did this sooner? I reached behind my back and grabbed my scythe. He still looked at my hand, now trying to set his arm free by pounding his fist against mine but I was unable to feel the pain at this point.
I smirked and cut the scythe deep into his skin and made gash marks in places I couldn't dare touch even with the scythe. I just kept going and going, until I couldn't recognize him anymore and he looked like pink and red pig intestines. He was dead.
Lyric: Age 4-goodbye Father
