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- Nov 26, 2007
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(This is a character story, written for the current character I roleplay on a San Andreas Multiplayer RP server (An Irish Mobster). Original thread can be found here http://forum.ls-rp.com/viewtopic.php?f=6&t=63404)
Birch trees flooded the sidewalks, almost every patch covered in even soil or grass was impaled by their roots. The white bark stood out amongst the orange leaflets that peppered down during the Autumn. Store owners would sweep the pavement perpendicular to their store of any leaves, brushing them along piles stacked near the walls of a neighboring home. Even the sky seemed orange at times, due to the excessive branches protruding from the generous amount of trees. Our home was placed at the center of a large line up of buildings, a small flat with an appealing exterior of dark red bricks and a slanted roof with shingles colored a dark beige that matched the surrounding vegetation. We didn't have a drive way, but a small parking space beside the pavement in front of our home which had been mutually respected by the neighbors as our spot. Upon it, a white 1988 Ford Escort in considerably good condition.
It was all there; A corner store where Aaron, some friends and myself would spend the cool evenings, chatting away at the plethora of things a child wonders, the many mechanics and logistics of a world we don't yet understand. Two blocks down south, descending down hill, Fortwood Middle School lay in a large patch of barren but well attended grass; possibly the only patch that remains free of any Birch trees in a 5 mile radius. It was home, to me. All of it. A place where I'd never feel the troublesome burden of insecurity, or the paranoid fear of a burglar cracking open my bedroom window whilst I stood frozen in fear. There were no happenings of those sorts in Fortwood. It was but a small and well knit community. A few miles North lay the factories that provided the base of the only industry, besides the upkeep of the residents, in Fortwood. Large mills where carpenters toiled throughout the day, sanding the surface of a table smooth and applying a thick layer of wood finish.
To many, such a haven would seem like a wonderful place for the common family man. And so it was for most, but not for the unfortunate Wallace Amherst. It is here that his life will deteriorate. Then again, were it any other place, he would've only have fallen from grace all the more quicker. One cannot blame poor Wallace, suffering from clinical depression and fighting growing problems with alcohol had taken it's toll on him. His side burns were turning gray in a gradient fashion, starting from the bottom. His hair was frizzled, flaky, and curling around his scalp which was slowly exposing itself with age. On his chin, a thick lining of peach fuzz that he stroked occasionally. The rough feeling of his own skin was satisfying to him. Wallace's usual attire was composed of long slacks that went down to his ankles, with an under laying shirt of either brown, white, or green. Brown leather slip ons on his feet, and a thick brown coat that wreaked of tanned leather. It's fetid smell almost nauseating to those around him. When he spoke, he sounded as one might have were the aforementioned sick, or had a slight cough. His voice was rough and tired, more grumble than vocals, a sign of both his age and destitute state.
Wallace was a family man. Just like the Abledales that lived across the street, or the Hembergs that Judith would always burrow sugar from. The common man with a wife and children; Himself, his wife Judith, myself and my older brother Clark. And like the others, he also worked in the factories; sanding the edges of a dining chair as particles of saw dust flew around him. He owned a family car, he had dreams for his children... it all seemed like the Amhersts were a cookie cutter of every other family in Fortwood.
Twas' a cold day in late October, the leaves that fell no longer had their rust like luster. They began to shrivel and grow stiff with the cold, cracking into pieces over footsteps. The branches of the Birch were growing bare, having shed all of their leaves for the coming winter. The path walk into our home had leaves scattered about. A rake with a green tip stood leaning on our fence, a testament to the chore I still haven't done. Inside was a fireplace that emanated a soothing glow of heat and light while a pleasing aroma of baked chicken seeped from the closed kitchen doors.. I perched myself next to the source of warmth whilst watching the small color TV that sat on the pinewood coffee table at the other end of the living room. My silhouette stamped on the wall behind me, the scrawny figure of a young boy with a baseball cap. I was 12 at the time, but still considerably small for my age. To my discontent, this pleasing atmosphere would not last. A howling cry rang from the door...
"Paddy!... Paddy!" A disgruntled voice cried, followed by the sound of the thin metal chain on the screen door being slammed. "Where in the fuck are ye', boy!". Peddling myself off the carpet, I quickly jolted to the door, freezing at the large and intimidating figure that was my father. He stood tall with a terrifying frown on his face that also formed several furrows on his forehead. "Y-yes dad?".
"I thought I told ye' to rake the leaves offa' the frontyard!"
"Was going to tomorrow morning, honest." I stammered while speaking, shivering in either fear or the cold breeze that flowed in from the open door behind him. "It was just cold today an-.." A large backhand smacked me across the left side of my face, sending me fumbling to the wall. An initial rush of blood to my head made me feel numb and light-headed. "I'm fuckin' sick of yer excuses, boy!" specks of spit erupted from his lips as he spoke. Before he could hit me again, mother emerged from the kitchen and held her hand over her mouth as she stared at Wallace in awe. Judith was a beautiful woman for her age, long and silky almond hair wrapped into a work ponytail. Her white pearl complexion seemed to glow from the light emanating from the fireplace to the side.
"Wallace!" She sighed, holding her stained white apron up as she shuffled her feet towards him. Father took only a seconds pause to look at her gaze before arching his chest forwards to send another raging smack to my face. "Wallace Eugene Amherst!" Judith cried, raising her voice in an intimidating fashion. "Leave the poor boy be!"
He let out a loud snort as he swallowed some mucus back, keeping his glare focused on my swollen red face as he slowly stood tall again. "This poor boy done forgot 'em chores again!" Wallace exclaimed. His accent and English were almost humiliating, it was like something out of a Charles Dickens book. "I'm sicka' coming home every night to ungrateful children and their protective mother!". The smell of chicken was quickly fading, wasting away through the yet still open door. A heavy stench took its place, the stench of alcohol radiated from my father's mouth as he spoke. I jerked my head towards mother's face, watching her angered expression slowly change into a worried frown.
"You've been drinking... Wallace." She whispered softly. "I thought you'd quit? I thought you'd promised that you wouldn't go near the stuff again?" At this point, I took the opportunity to quickly crawl away from the door, resuming my position near the fireplace. I didn't watch TV, though, but rather the ensuing fight. Wallace's posture slowly slumped from it's stiff standings, weakened by Judith's gaze. "I.. I was stressed. I've got lotsa' things on my head..." He spoke with a substantially lower tone, seemingly astonished by his own actions as he stared at his reddened hand. The screen door swung open as he pushed it aside, storming his way out. I wouldn't see father until the next morning, where his attitude was all but gone. That was the last time my father would lay a hand on me, but not the last time he'd shock my mother. No, it would only grow worse the coming Christmas.
No one expected the brightest futures for their children in Fortwood, the education here was mediocre at best. Fortwood Middle School was a mix of unenthusiastic teachers who wouldn't have been able to find work elsewhere, and a result of the poorly funded foundation that Fortwood was based on in the first place. Then again, no one really expects their children to find work outside of the community itself. There were plenty of petitions started by the inhabitants to convince the officials to provide more funding for the community, and not just for the run down schools. Many winters have caused many parts of the streets to contract and retract constantly from the cold, spawning many cracks and uneven surfaces. Most of the lamp posts didn't even work, not to mention the excessive over growth of the Birch trees.
Aaron and I enjoyed pestering the school ground teacher during recess. We'd camp out by the bushes near one of the steel play pins, and constantly provoke the supervisor by throwing discarded bottle caps or small clumps of condensed manure. "Amherst, Stanwood!!" the teacher would shout at the top of his lungs, his face red with anger and sweat from the chase. "If you don't come here right this instance, there will be heck to p-" A coke bottle cap ricochets off his forehead, the sudden sting would cause him to flinch and wince his eyes for a moment while our distorted laughter echoed in the distance.
"STANWOOD!"
It never got old.
Despite the fact that Fortwood Middle wasn't the best school around, there was still concern when kids would misbehave this often. Whenever my parents were called in, I'd simply use the same tear jerking excuse I was using for years. "Well, me and my brother Clark were never that close... and.. and.. I feel like a part of my life was missing..." Clever little devil, I was.
No, it didn't make sense. But for a child to complain so deeply and act sentimental wasn't common, and it did strum a few heart strings. While the fact that I would cause mischief to fill a void left by an ignorant brother was a lie, the actual part about me and Clark not being close wasn't. Clark was in his middle college years at the moment, and even before then we weren't that close. Our interests had always been different. And while I shared a tender relationship with mother, he was never as fond of her as I was. Yet I suppose I sort of envied him, he broke a chain that's been common in families here for generations.
If there was one thing I was looking forward to, it was leaving Fortwood. The prospect of working and living in this place sent chills up my spine.
Winter's coming was swift and brutal. The mostly single story homes did little to shelter the streets from the howling winds. Flakes of snow danced in the air, swaying rapidly before softly falling onto the ground. Yet it was satisfyingly bright for a week that had been cloaked in gray clouds throughout, but that didn't keep the streets from desertion. Christmas drew near, although the harsh conditions kept most residents from putting up the decorations. There were no colored light belts, no cheap import plastic Santa Clause figurines on the rooftops... just snow. Snow on the street, on the sidewalk, on the roofs and yards. Pearl white snow blanketing the entire region.
While I always liked the Winter, my joy was cut short this season. Wallace, my father, hadn't been home in a week. Mother had contacted the authorities, she was worried he might have been harmed due to the vicious weather. Worried, but not convinced. No, this was Wallace. The man who had been coming home late, usually drunk, every day for the past 4 months. The man who had practically isolated himself from his family, keeping to himself even when at home. It wasn't until Christmas Eve that we'd see him, a fitting time to say the least. Although what he brought with him was anything but merry season joy and gifts wrapped in reflective purple wrapping.
Sitting comfortably, slumped in one of the puffy living room chairs, the sight of my father's figure sulking past the front window came to me as a shock. Such a shock, in fact, that I did little to react but sit. The thick thumps of his winter boots sent faint vibrations that shook the fine wood flooring and tickled my feet.
"J-Judith..." A grumbled voice stammered "Where are you, Judith?".
His weak and disturbed tone was hardly recognizable, to me atleast, for my mother had sprinted down the staircase quickly, stopping a few feet short. Her glare caught his attention, and they stared at each other with compassion for what seemed like several minutes, until a hard slap from Judith violently broke the silence. Father let his face move with the impact, turning his had back towards her nonchalantly.
"You're a monster, Wallace Amherst. And a terrible father, and a terrible husband. What were you thinking? How could you leave? We were worried, and we called the police and..."
"Judith.."
"..we asked all the neighbors, checked the furniture mills..."
"Honey.."
"We drove for 3 hours straight looking for you, Wallace!"
"JUDITH!" Wallace shouted at the top of his lungs, thrusting his left arm forward and placing it firmly on Judith's shoulder. She was quick to shrug them off and distance her self away a few feet. It was then I noticed his right arm dug into coat pocket... the scars on his face, the bruises, the bandages. His face was tired and it looked like he had been half beaten to death.
It was then, I noticed the look in his eyes. The same glare he had walked in with. It wasn't a look of compassion or sincerity, but a look of guilt. Having recovered from the shock, my mother seemed to have noticed it as well.
"Oh my... Wallace, your face. What happened to your.. are those bandages? I'll call the hospital, Patrick, get mother her car keys."
Wallace sighed as Judith shuffled in a hurry towards the phone, and slowly withdrew an oil smudged .45 caliber revolver.
"I'm sorry, for all that I've done. It's better this way." He whispered silently, almost as if to himself. Mother had her back turned to the phone and was unaware, I simply stared in horror as the loud burst of fire propelled the projectile into Judith's arm. She fell over, screeching in agony.
The sight of her blood sent a cold chill into my upper abdomen and head. I could see father hold back a tear as he slowly holstered the gun back into his coat pocket before turning his terrifying yet compassionate glare towards me. My muscles locked and my body grew stiff. I could hardly breath let alone turn my neck away from his gaze. He approached me and knelt down beside the chair I was still sitting on. A tear trickled down my cheek, the leather armrest was growing dank from sweat the beneath my arms. I expected the worst when he withdrew his gun again, but my terror was put to ease once I heard it's metal barrel contact with the wooden flooring. Wallace had dropped it beside my feet on purpose.
My eyes shifted towards Judith momentarily before quickly jutting back towards Father. Mother lay unconscious on the floor, she must have passed out from either the excitement of the moment or from blood loss.
"Tell the police that you fought me off. And that I ran. Yer' a hero, is what you are." He smiled tenderly and patted my head twice. "Good bye, Paddy." Sirens rang in the distance; Fortwood being the small community that it is, it wouldn't take long for neighbors to pass on their concerns over the noise of struggle here. Father took a final moments stare, directly into my eyes, and then he left. He left through the front door.
I'd never see him again.
"... but I continued to run towards her. The white hall grew shorter as my efforts grew bolder. But the closer I came to her, the more evident the truth of the matter became. Red blood trickled down her arms and over the infant's blanket. She began to cry out "Why..." The blood stained the snow white walls, it stained the snow white floor. I open my mouth to scream. My legs grow weak as the woman slowly becomes drenched in the blood that seeped through invisible wounds, and the world around me slowly loses color... "
I
"... hair hung down from her scalp, covering her visage. Silky and shining a healthy gleam. A stunning mix of almond brown with narrow streaks of highlighted hair, black as coal. She stood at the end of a long hallway that was painted a blinding white. The colors of the walls made her conspicuous figure all the more noticeable. Her head tilted towards a small infant that she held in her arms, devoid of any blemishes. From where I stood, it seemed like I was miles away. Yet I could point out her qualities perfectly. My feet peddled in place despite my best efforts to move forwards towards her. The floor beneath me slid backwards with every step I took. The faster I tried to close the distance between us, the further I was drawn away..."
"... hair hung down from her scalp, covering her visage. Silky and shining a healthy gleam. A stunning mix of almond brown with narrow streaks of highlighted hair, black as coal. She stood at the end of a long hallway that was painted a blinding white. The colors of the walls made her conspicuous figure all the more noticeable. Her head tilted towards a small infant that she held in her arms, devoid of any blemishes. From where I stood, it seemed like I was miles away. Yet I could point out her qualities perfectly. My feet peddled in place despite my best efforts to move forwards towards her. The floor beneath me slid backwards with every step I took. The faster I tried to close the distance between us, the further I was drawn away..."
Birch trees flooded the sidewalks, almost every patch covered in even soil or grass was impaled by their roots. The white bark stood out amongst the orange leaflets that peppered down during the Autumn. Store owners would sweep the pavement perpendicular to their store of any leaves, brushing them along piles stacked near the walls of a neighboring home. Even the sky seemed orange at times, due to the excessive branches protruding from the generous amount of trees. Our home was placed at the center of a large line up of buildings, a small flat with an appealing exterior of dark red bricks and a slanted roof with shingles colored a dark beige that matched the surrounding vegetation. We didn't have a drive way, but a small parking space beside the pavement in front of our home which had been mutually respected by the neighbors as our spot. Upon it, a white 1988 Ford Escort in considerably good condition.
It was all there; A corner store where Aaron, some friends and myself would spend the cool evenings, chatting away at the plethora of things a child wonders, the many mechanics and logistics of a world we don't yet understand. Two blocks down south, descending down hill, Fortwood Middle School lay in a large patch of barren but well attended grass; possibly the only patch that remains free of any Birch trees in a 5 mile radius. It was home, to me. All of it. A place where I'd never feel the troublesome burden of insecurity, or the paranoid fear of a burglar cracking open my bedroom window whilst I stood frozen in fear. There were no happenings of those sorts in Fortwood. It was but a small and well knit community. A few miles North lay the factories that provided the base of the only industry, besides the upkeep of the residents, in Fortwood. Large mills where carpenters toiled throughout the day, sanding the surface of a table smooth and applying a thick layer of wood finish.
To many, such a haven would seem like a wonderful place for the common family man. And so it was for most, but not for the unfortunate Wallace Amherst. It is here that his life will deteriorate. Then again, were it any other place, he would've only have fallen from grace all the more quicker. One cannot blame poor Wallace, suffering from clinical depression and fighting growing problems with alcohol had taken it's toll on him. His side burns were turning gray in a gradient fashion, starting from the bottom. His hair was frizzled, flaky, and curling around his scalp which was slowly exposing itself with age. On his chin, a thick lining of peach fuzz that he stroked occasionally. The rough feeling of his own skin was satisfying to him. Wallace's usual attire was composed of long slacks that went down to his ankles, with an under laying shirt of either brown, white, or green. Brown leather slip ons on his feet, and a thick brown coat that wreaked of tanned leather. It's fetid smell almost nauseating to those around him. When he spoke, he sounded as one might have were the aforementioned sick, or had a slight cough. His voice was rough and tired, more grumble than vocals, a sign of both his age and destitute state.
Wallace was a family man. Just like the Abledales that lived across the street, or the Hembergs that Judith would always burrow sugar from. The common man with a wife and children; Himself, his wife Judith, myself and my older brother Clark. And like the others, he also worked in the factories; sanding the edges of a dining chair as particles of saw dust flew around him. He owned a family car, he had dreams for his children... it all seemed like the Amhersts were a cookie cutter of every other family in Fortwood.
Twas' a cold day in late October, the leaves that fell no longer had their rust like luster. They began to shrivel and grow stiff with the cold, cracking into pieces over footsteps. The branches of the Birch were growing bare, having shed all of their leaves for the coming winter. The path walk into our home had leaves scattered about. A rake with a green tip stood leaning on our fence, a testament to the chore I still haven't done. Inside was a fireplace that emanated a soothing glow of heat and light while a pleasing aroma of baked chicken seeped from the closed kitchen doors.. I perched myself next to the source of warmth whilst watching the small color TV that sat on the pinewood coffee table at the other end of the living room. My silhouette stamped on the wall behind me, the scrawny figure of a young boy with a baseball cap. I was 12 at the time, but still considerably small for my age. To my discontent, this pleasing atmosphere would not last. A howling cry rang from the door...
"Paddy!... Paddy!" A disgruntled voice cried, followed by the sound of the thin metal chain on the screen door being slammed. "Where in the fuck are ye', boy!". Peddling myself off the carpet, I quickly jolted to the door, freezing at the large and intimidating figure that was my father. He stood tall with a terrifying frown on his face that also formed several furrows on his forehead. "Y-yes dad?".
"I thought I told ye' to rake the leaves offa' the frontyard!"
"Was going to tomorrow morning, honest." I stammered while speaking, shivering in either fear or the cold breeze that flowed in from the open door behind him. "It was just cold today an-.." A large backhand smacked me across the left side of my face, sending me fumbling to the wall. An initial rush of blood to my head made me feel numb and light-headed. "I'm fuckin' sick of yer excuses, boy!" specks of spit erupted from his lips as he spoke. Before he could hit me again, mother emerged from the kitchen and held her hand over her mouth as she stared at Wallace in awe. Judith was a beautiful woman for her age, long and silky almond hair wrapped into a work ponytail. Her white pearl complexion seemed to glow from the light emanating from the fireplace to the side.
"Wallace!" She sighed, holding her stained white apron up as she shuffled her feet towards him. Father took only a seconds pause to look at her gaze before arching his chest forwards to send another raging smack to my face. "Wallace Eugene Amherst!" Judith cried, raising her voice in an intimidating fashion. "Leave the poor boy be!"
He let out a loud snort as he swallowed some mucus back, keeping his glare focused on my swollen red face as he slowly stood tall again. "This poor boy done forgot 'em chores again!" Wallace exclaimed. His accent and English were almost humiliating, it was like something out of a Charles Dickens book. "I'm sicka' coming home every night to ungrateful children and their protective mother!". The smell of chicken was quickly fading, wasting away through the yet still open door. A heavy stench took its place, the stench of alcohol radiated from my father's mouth as he spoke. I jerked my head towards mother's face, watching her angered expression slowly change into a worried frown.
"You've been drinking... Wallace." She whispered softly. "I thought you'd quit? I thought you'd promised that you wouldn't go near the stuff again?" At this point, I took the opportunity to quickly crawl away from the door, resuming my position near the fireplace. I didn't watch TV, though, but rather the ensuing fight. Wallace's posture slowly slumped from it's stiff standings, weakened by Judith's gaze. "I.. I was stressed. I've got lotsa' things on my head..." He spoke with a substantially lower tone, seemingly astonished by his own actions as he stared at his reddened hand. The screen door swung open as he pushed it aside, storming his way out. I wouldn't see father until the next morning, where his attitude was all but gone. That was the last time my father would lay a hand on me, but not the last time he'd shock my mother. No, it would only grow worse the coming Christmas.
No one expected the brightest futures for their children in Fortwood, the education here was mediocre at best. Fortwood Middle School was a mix of unenthusiastic teachers who wouldn't have been able to find work elsewhere, and a result of the poorly funded foundation that Fortwood was based on in the first place. Then again, no one really expects their children to find work outside of the community itself. There were plenty of petitions started by the inhabitants to convince the officials to provide more funding for the community, and not just for the run down schools. Many winters have caused many parts of the streets to contract and retract constantly from the cold, spawning many cracks and uneven surfaces. Most of the lamp posts didn't even work, not to mention the excessive over growth of the Birch trees.
Aaron and I enjoyed pestering the school ground teacher during recess. We'd camp out by the bushes near one of the steel play pins, and constantly provoke the supervisor by throwing discarded bottle caps or small clumps of condensed manure. "Amherst, Stanwood!!" the teacher would shout at the top of his lungs, his face red with anger and sweat from the chase. "If you don't come here right this instance, there will be heck to p-" A coke bottle cap ricochets off his forehead, the sudden sting would cause him to flinch and wince his eyes for a moment while our distorted laughter echoed in the distance.
"STANWOOD!"
It never got old.
Despite the fact that Fortwood Middle wasn't the best school around, there was still concern when kids would misbehave this often. Whenever my parents were called in, I'd simply use the same tear jerking excuse I was using for years. "Well, me and my brother Clark were never that close... and.. and.. I feel like a part of my life was missing..." Clever little devil, I was.
No, it didn't make sense. But for a child to complain so deeply and act sentimental wasn't common, and it did strum a few heart strings. While the fact that I would cause mischief to fill a void left by an ignorant brother was a lie, the actual part about me and Clark not being close wasn't. Clark was in his middle college years at the moment, and even before then we weren't that close. Our interests had always been different. And while I shared a tender relationship with mother, he was never as fond of her as I was. Yet I suppose I sort of envied him, he broke a chain that's been common in families here for generations.
If there was one thing I was looking forward to, it was leaving Fortwood. The prospect of working and living in this place sent chills up my spine.
Winter's coming was swift and brutal. The mostly single story homes did little to shelter the streets from the howling winds. Flakes of snow danced in the air, swaying rapidly before softly falling onto the ground. Yet it was satisfyingly bright for a week that had been cloaked in gray clouds throughout, but that didn't keep the streets from desertion. Christmas drew near, although the harsh conditions kept most residents from putting up the decorations. There were no colored light belts, no cheap import plastic Santa Clause figurines on the rooftops... just snow. Snow on the street, on the sidewalk, on the roofs and yards. Pearl white snow blanketing the entire region.
While I always liked the Winter, my joy was cut short this season. Wallace, my father, hadn't been home in a week. Mother had contacted the authorities, she was worried he might have been harmed due to the vicious weather. Worried, but not convinced. No, this was Wallace. The man who had been coming home late, usually drunk, every day for the past 4 months. The man who had practically isolated himself from his family, keeping to himself even when at home. It wasn't until Christmas Eve that we'd see him, a fitting time to say the least. Although what he brought with him was anything but merry season joy and gifts wrapped in reflective purple wrapping.
Sitting comfortably, slumped in one of the puffy living room chairs, the sight of my father's figure sulking past the front window came to me as a shock. Such a shock, in fact, that I did little to react but sit. The thick thumps of his winter boots sent faint vibrations that shook the fine wood flooring and tickled my feet.
"J-Judith..." A grumbled voice stammered "Where are you, Judith?".
His weak and disturbed tone was hardly recognizable, to me atleast, for my mother had sprinted down the staircase quickly, stopping a few feet short. Her glare caught his attention, and they stared at each other with compassion for what seemed like several minutes, until a hard slap from Judith violently broke the silence. Father let his face move with the impact, turning his had back towards her nonchalantly.
"You're a monster, Wallace Amherst. And a terrible father, and a terrible husband. What were you thinking? How could you leave? We were worried, and we called the police and..."
"Judith.."
"..we asked all the neighbors, checked the furniture mills..."
"Honey.."
"We drove for 3 hours straight looking for you, Wallace!"
"JUDITH!" Wallace shouted at the top of his lungs, thrusting his left arm forward and placing it firmly on Judith's shoulder. She was quick to shrug them off and distance her self away a few feet. It was then I noticed his right arm dug into coat pocket... the scars on his face, the bruises, the bandages. His face was tired and it looked like he had been half beaten to death.
It was then, I noticed the look in his eyes. The same glare he had walked in with. It wasn't a look of compassion or sincerity, but a look of guilt. Having recovered from the shock, my mother seemed to have noticed it as well.
"Oh my... Wallace, your face. What happened to your.. are those bandages? I'll call the hospital, Patrick, get mother her car keys."
Wallace sighed as Judith shuffled in a hurry towards the phone, and slowly withdrew an oil smudged .45 caliber revolver.
"I'm sorry, for all that I've done. It's better this way." He whispered silently, almost as if to himself. Mother had her back turned to the phone and was unaware, I simply stared in horror as the loud burst of fire propelled the projectile into Judith's arm. She fell over, screeching in agony.
The sight of her blood sent a cold chill into my upper abdomen and head. I could see father hold back a tear as he slowly holstered the gun back into his coat pocket before turning his terrifying yet compassionate glare towards me. My muscles locked and my body grew stiff. I could hardly breath let alone turn my neck away from his gaze. He approached me and knelt down beside the chair I was still sitting on. A tear trickled down my cheek, the leather armrest was growing dank from sweat the beneath my arms. I expected the worst when he withdrew his gun again, but my terror was put to ease once I heard it's metal barrel contact with the wooden flooring. Wallace had dropped it beside my feet on purpose.
My eyes shifted towards Judith momentarily before quickly jutting back towards Father. Mother lay unconscious on the floor, she must have passed out from either the excitement of the moment or from blood loss.
"Tell the police that you fought me off. And that I ran. Yer' a hero, is what you are." He smiled tenderly and patted my head twice. "Good bye, Paddy." Sirens rang in the distance; Fortwood being the small community that it is, it wouldn't take long for neighbors to pass on their concerns over the noise of struggle here. Father took a final moments stare, directly into my eyes, and then he left. He left through the front door.
I'd never see him again.
"... but I continued to run towards her. The white hall grew shorter as my efforts grew bolder. But the closer I came to her, the more evident the truth of the matter became. Red blood trickled down her arms and over the infant's blanket. She began to cry out "Why..." The blood stained the snow white walls, it stained the snow white floor. I open my mouth to scream. My legs grow weak as the woman slowly becomes drenched in the blood that seeped through invisible wounds, and the world around me slowly loses color... "
, I don't know what is written there 
