Goodnight

Since I don't have much new material, I have decided to post an old essay for which I won a small competition. The story was written in 2008 and hasn't been edited since then:

The gun lay on the table. In the gloom of the nightlight it looked like a toy gun. A plaything. It sat snugly between porcelain dolls and storybooks, like a viper nestled in a field of daisies. But playtime was over. Now, it was time for action…

                  

I picked up the gun. It felt heavy - my small hands could barely close around the trigger. Slowly, bare feet silent on the panelled floor, I opened the door and stepped into the hall. The lights were dimmed but I wasn’t afraid of the dark. I’ve been living in it all my life.

At the far side of the hall a strip of light fell on the floor. Opera music drifted out through the crack. It was heavy, loud and all consuming. I swallowed silently and made my way to my father’s room. At the door I hesitated. Images, memories, flooded my mind.

I’m four and sitting at the kitchen table. My parents are arguing violently. A dull smack fills the air and my mother crashes into the cupboards. I’m five and I watch my father wash blood from his hands. I’m six and hiding under the table. My parents are screaming. My mother falls to the floor, eyes glazed, mouth bleeding, dead.

I pushed the door open. The music filled my head and drew me forward. On the bed my father stirred. The droning of life-support was drowned out by the heavy music. I watched as the once infamous crime lord raised his head blearily and growled. “Go away I said!”

The nurse had gone away. She had run from the house with a bleeding forehead after my father threw a half-empty glass of apple juice at her, having wanted whiskey. When there was no response he rolled laboriously on his back and looked up at me. “GO TO SLEEP!” he roared. 

“NO!” I yelled. Bitter tears stung my eyes as I raised the gun shakily. My father’s eyes stretched and he started scrambling to get up, useless legs forgotten.  The music reached a crescendo as my little fingers tightened on the trigger.

“Goodnight, daddy.”

The shot tore through the room. Blood hit the walls with sickening splats, but I was smiling. My father rolled off the bed, face down, leaking blood onto the Persian carpet. My tears subsided and I sniffed.

Letting the gun clatter to the floor, I quickly wiped my face. A smile spread my lips. I closed the door quietly as the lasts shreds of the song sounded and I skipped down the hall. Humming cheerfully, and went back to my room to play with my dolls.