My eyes shot open as the loud bang echoed through the house. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but I couldn't help but compare the noise to the sound of a gunshot. What if someone broke in? Do I dare to go downstairs and see what atrocity may lie out before me? Trembling uncontrollably, I walked towards the white crisp doorframe. My hand seemed to slowly hug the doorknob as I started to turn it. My patience level seemed to get the better of me, because before I knew it I had already swung the door open. The hinges on the door squeaked with pleasure as I mentally slapped myself, forgetting that I had to remain as quite as possible, just in case there had been an intruder in the house.
I suddenly stopped and remembered something. About three years ago, my father had an alarm system hooked up. There were so many burglaries going on in the neighborhood at the time, and soon enough, paranoia got the best of him, so we got this high tech alarm system. However, one question still remained; if the alarm was so high tech, why didn't it go off? I tried putting the pieces together, but they just didn't seem to fit. Curiosity slowly took over, and I quietly walked down the stairs. I peered around the corner, but I was only met with the darkness of an empty hallway. I turned away and decided to check out the kitchen. The light flickered on, and the coast seemed to be clear.
I swiped my hand over my forehead, realizing I had been sweating. Going over to the fridge that seemed to dimly light up in the corner, I grabbed a cold water bottle and put it to my head, in hopes of somewhat cooling myself down. Opening the cap, I chugged about half of the bottle. I turned around to put the bottle on the marble counter, and my breathing seemed to come to a halt. There stood before me a large dark figure, dressed in black. I quickly ducked behind the counter top, feeling a bit dizzy from being dehydrated. I poked my head out to get another glance at this intruder. The person seemed to be well built and buff, so it obviously couldn't have been a woman, due to the large frame. I was expecting him to be holding some sort of bag filled with our possessions that we grew to cherish greatly over the years, or at least that's what intruders normally do, right?
But that's the thing. This wasn't normal. For a daughter to wake up from the sound of a gunshot in her own home; Home, a place in which she thought was a safe place, a peaceful sanctuary. Clare scoffed at the thought. The only time it was ever peaceful was when one of the two parents was out, therefore the yelling, bickering, screaming, and what not seemed nonexistent.
The man clad in black started to then walk towards the back door of the house, leaving muddy tracks from his large studded motorcycle boots behind. The phone was too far away for Clare's reach, and she wasn't about to get into a large predicament with a total stranger, who happened to have a gun in his hands. Relieved that he was finally leaving, Clare watched him exit. It wasn't until he left, that she noticed in his right hand, the one not occupied by the gun, was a sharp knife. A knife that seemed so perfectly fit for his hand. A knife that was an accessory to a perfect crime. A knife that dripped with newly found blood.
Tired from hiding behind the kitchen counter, Clare stood up, terrified at who the intruder may have harmed, or better yet killed. She toured all the rooms, stealing quick glances at them, making sure they were still in their previous state. She huffed from exhaustion and plopped down on the couch, which sat in the lounge, until a light bulb went off in her head. She had completely forgotten about her father's workplace. She got up in a hurry, and quietly marched over through the long hallway, and past the staircase. Clare opened the door, and shut it behind her, being careful not to make too much noise in the process. She smiled, loving the smell that always greeted her when she came in here; the smell of pine and her father's cologne that smelt like the ocean breeze. It wasn't too strong, but had the perfect amount of aroma in the air.
As a child, Clare loved coming into this room. The walls were made up of large bookcases that reached the ceiling. Being in this room made her feel important, special. The amount of history and knowledge that all the books held amazed Clare back in the day, which probably led to her love for reading and books in general.
Almost forgetting why she came into the room in the first place, she turned to her father's large messy desk, which had his leather wheeled chair behind it. However, she found it odd that the chair wasn't facing the front, and that the back of the chair was facing towards her. He always pushed the chair back into a neat order, unlike everything else in the room. Finding the small matter peculiar, she swiveled the chair around, only the find the dead corpse of her very own beloved father. Clare gasped, taking in his grotesque features that seemed to replace the old warming ones. His skin that was once so lively was now pale and sickly looking. His mouth was agape, and his welcoming brown eyes were now slightly open, looking at nothing in particular. Clare flinched while looking at the gunshot directly above his eyes and perfectly in the center of his forehead. Not only was there the gunshot, but also multiple stab wounds in his chest area. The one that seemed to catch Clare's eyes the most? The one right in his heart. The heart that once held so much compassion and love, now deceased, there to lay for any open eyes to witness.
She dropped to the floor and tightly closed her eyes, hoping that this was just a dream. A terrible, terrible dream that would soon come to end. A nightmare that would never occur again, and be caught by the dream catcher that hung so peacefully above her bed. When she opened her eyes, everything seemed to remain the same as it previously was. Reality seemed to kick in, and her feet decided to speed off in search of help.
"I can't do this. I really can't do this." I nearly whimpered to myself.
I anxiously glanced around the room that was filled with people whom I didn't recognize with dark clothing on. The air seemed unusually fragile, almost like broken glass. I guess that's a normal feeling for the situation. My hands are covered with cold sweat, and the paper in which held my speech, was now crumpled and covered in tears.
"And now Randall's daughter has a few words to say."
My heart was beating fast as I felt everyone's teary eyes on me, as I gripped the microphone and began.
"Relatives, close friends, and colleagues. In whatever way, or connection in which you knew my father, Randall Thomas Edwards, you would know him for his great compassionate heart. He was always someone you could count on for help and advice. I am very grateful and proud to be the daughter of someone who is very often looked up to."
A sob escaped from my lips as I continued.
"Growing up, he taught me right from wrong, that mistakes are what make us human, and that being the bigger person, only makes you the better person. These are a few of the simplest ones, but they are the ones that will stick with me for the rest of my life. As a father, he put such a huge impact on my life. He showed me that there is so much more to life than just the eye can see. Speaking on his behalf, I know that he has left us with some great memories that will last a lifetime, and will never be forgotten. I love you, dad."
I wiped the remaining tears and returned to my seat, next to my mother, who oddly enough seemed to be pretty content and controlled with her emotions.
A/N: Hopefully once school is over with, the updates will come a lot faster…but I don't get out until June 22nd -_-