literature

The Perfect Stranger

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Literature Text

     A man came to the door that night. To me and my father, he was a stranger. My mother, however, seemed to recognize him almost immediately. It was right at the moment that Steve Smith was announcing a severe thunderstorm watch. When my mother saw the man at the door, I knew from the look in her eyes that something was wrong. Since we lived in the 'most-commonly-stormed' city of the U.S, I'm sure it wasn't the storm watch that terrified her. She slowly got up, shaking, and answered the door.

     I heard small chatter, but no sooner had they started when I felt something strong hit the back of my head. It was all a bit of a blur after that; I had gotten in the way of father's crossfire again. Between black spots I saw mother yell at him, which was followed by a loud smack. I felt dizzy and lightheaded; similar to what a drunk might feel like. So why, in a state of grogginess, would you ever have the urge to hit someone? I heard my name once or twice, but it wasn't anything different than last night, or the night before.

     That night, I believed God was angry in what she had done; that's why several houses around us were smashed by the tornado. That's also why my dad decided to kick her out on the biggest storm of the century.

     My father was a bit of an addict. A frequent point that came up; mother would scream that he was wasting his life away. After blowing last month's wages and leaving her unsatisfied, I suppose she thought it proper to go and fulfill her needs. If that responsibility rested within another man, then you would guess it's my job to feel anger towards her. Yet I was the one stumbling after her pale, tear-stained face, throwing myself into her car just as it drove off.

     "Mother," I mumbled, "why are you crying?"

     At the time, she denied any emotion she had showed. She blamed it on the rain, which was no more than spitting when we were leaving the driveway. I didn't know where we were going, and that terrified me too. By the time we left the cul-de-sac, the rain was coming in sheets. Steve Smith said that there should be gusts up to 90 kilometers per hour. Judging from the multiple For-Sale signs swinging madly on their posts, I didn't doubt him.

     My neighborhood was always a come-and-go place. My family, being unstable and 'different', moved there when I was young and never thought otherwise. In father's drunken rage, he would bring up the topic of divorce, but mother never thought anything large of it. Until this evening, I suppose, when she was so obviously leaving.

     "Mother, who was the man at the door?"

     She shook her head. I nodded nicely, respecting her private, secret world.

     I started to think. Where could she have met him? What was his name? He didn't look so bad when he came to the door; when an average person in the rain would look like a drowned dog, he looked still quite presentable. Before father started screaming, I caught a glimpse of a burgundy-haired man with perfect blue eyes that seemed to remind me of someone. He seemed frantic… Or scared. I would be scared of father too, especially when he threatens with the steak knife.

     I tried to direct my attention to the orange street lights passing us by. When that didn't take my mind off of things, I tried to see which water drop ran off the window first. By now the first two had morphed together, winning against all else. I heard a sob from my mother, and decided not to race the water drops that were falling from her face.
No matter what I could do, my mind was set on the thought of my father destroying our house. Starting first with the living room; that was where he was sitting at the time. I pictured him smashing the television, poor Steve Smith disappearing into shards of glass, before tearing the curtains from the windows. Then, when he was satisfied with that, he would probably move on to the kitchen, or my mother's bedroom. I couldn't help but imagine the sheets shredded apart, duvet stuffing littering the floor. I imagined him at full rage, and for once I was thankful I had no siblings. That was another argument that seemed to constantly come up. You see, my mother blamed it on my father, when he blamed it on her. When they finally went to get a doctors opinion, it was clear that my father was at fault. After that, rather than stopping the cause, he delved deeper into the drugs that killed off any hope towards another baby.

     A clash of thunder made me jump, and I felt the car lurch to the side. I hit my head on the window, hard. Black spots covered my field of vision and I felt myself lift off the seat. Gravity seemed to betray me, just like the airbag that I was always told was there. I saw a white cloud blow up beside me, and my mother's scream was muffled immediately. Suddenly, I heard a click and flew through the windshield. I rolled onto the grass, and heard the car continue to plummet into the ditch. Rain made the slope muddy, and I slowly started to slide towards the bottom.

     I looked up towards the ridge of the ditch. The side view mirror had snapped off our car, and now lay about four feet away. The scared, muddy face looked at me; swimming among those faded black dots and that constant pounding in my head. But amongst all that, I saw those eyes. Those familiar, perfect blue eyes that belonged to the stranger; I saw them in the mirror!

     I quickly blinked away those damned dots, and turned to my mother getting out of the car. Her head was bleeding, and there was a bad scratch down her leg. When she saw me, she ran as quickly as she could through the slick mud. I couldn't have been in any better of a state.

     "Who was that man!?" I yelled through the rain. My mother slipped and landed in the mud, looking surprised. The rain came in waves now, descending onto the two women sitting in the ditch. Just as a bolt of lightning streaked the sky I saw her say something.

     "What?" I cried, trying to sit up. My legs had no feeling in them, and I wasn't sure whether it was paralysis or because the cold had finally soaked through my jeans.

     "Your father!" she screamed, crawling towards me. I reached out for her, and she embraced me tightly. She was sobbing; a complete mess. "He's your father," she said into my ear, caressing my hair lightly. I felt the black haze fade my vision again, and this time I didn't bother to fight it. Just as I saw lights of blue and red, I heard voices shouting to one another. Nothing more happened after that when the dots swallowed me, perfectly whole.
This is my submission for the Writers Club

:iconwriters--club:

It's not really based off of a true story or anything, so don't call child services, please :P

If you have any questions, please feel free to comment. I editted a lot of explanation... believe it or not it was a lot more vague before ^^;
© 2011 - 2024 ScribeOfTime
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ANIME-ARTIST2011's avatar
Wow! This is really good do u think u could do me a favor n check out n comment on my short story plzz!!!