Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 17648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
I kept my gaze on the stew, watching the thin broth swirl around the chunks of vegetables. “You know the traps were empty this morning. The storms have everything scattering away from the swamps.” I knew I’d messed up responding by how the air shifted around me.
My father was out of his chair and in front of me before I could take another breath, his heavy palm crashing against the side of my face, the crack of his hand against my skin sudden. The taste of blood instantly filled my mouth, tangy and metallic.
My lip throbbed, and I felt a wet line cutting down my chin from my split lip. But I bit my tongue, refusing to cry out. I would not give him the satisfaction.
“Smartass, useless wretch of a daughter,” he snarled, his breath reeking of alcohol and rotten teeth. “Can’t even feed your own father properly. Worthless. I should have left you in the swamp after your mother died and saved me the trouble of having to care for you.”
I slowly rose, feeling something in me churn as I stared at my father. “Then you should have made dinner yourself,” I said low, slow, and without a hint of emotion laced in my words. I didn't know why or even how I spoke the words, but they hung between us like a heavy, evil entity.
The look of utter shock covered his face for only a second before pure rage replaced it. He took a stumbling step toward me, his teeth bared in a twisted, yellowed snarl, his hand already raising for another strike.
Something in me snapped.
The fear that had kept me silent, that had kept me cowering and obedient for so many years, shattered. The terror that had wrapped itself around me since I knew what it was burned away in an instant. And in its place was a cold, sharp fury that surged through my blood.
I reached for the knife on the table, my fingers trembling as I wrapped them around the rough, splintered wooden handle. The blade was still wet with the juice of the root vegetables I had chopped for the stew. The dull edge caught the firelight, the pitted metal shining briefly as I brought it up. I hated that I shook, my fear and nerves controlling me.
But I reined in my control and calmed myself.
And then I was moving on instinct, driven by a survival rage that drowned out everything else.
For a second, he just stood there and stared at me. And then he lunged, his eyes wild, his teeth bared. When he was almost on me, I plunged the blade into his chest, the resistance intense before it made way like I was cutting into a slab of meat. There was a wet, sickening crunch, and the metal slipped between his ribs and sank deep into his body.
I felt the thickness of muscle and the hardness of bone, felt the vibration of the knife handle in my grip as I twisted the blade and screamed, tears streaming down my cheeks, completely raw and filled with pain. My breath came in short, shallow gasps, my heart hammering in my chest.
His eyes bulged wide as he looked down at where the handle stuck out of him. When he looked at me again, his mouth fell open, a choking gurgle coming out. He tried to speak as he stumbled back, his knees buckling, his dirty fingers gripping at the handle of the knife still buried in his chest.
I watched in this almost haze, mesmerized as my own breath froze. And when he collapsed to the floor, his body hitting the wood with a dull, final thud, I found it beautiful as the firelight cast his form in a long, twisted shadow against the cracked and smoke-stained stone walls.
For a few seconds, I just stood staring down at my dead father, my pulse a slow, heavy drumbeat in my ears. His eyes, wide and glassy… lifeless, stared up at the ceiling, his mouth slack, his lips flecked with blood. I looked down at my fingers, the warmth of his blood clinging to my skin.
Before I thought too much about it, I moved closer to my father until I smelled the coppery scent of his death in my nose. I stood over him, my hands clenched at my sides, my legs trembling, my knees threatening to buckle. The world felt distant, the air around me thick and muffled like I’d been dropped in the middle of a pool of water and was sinking to the bottom.
My mind was empty, an echoing cavern, as I stared down at the man who had been my enemy from day one. He thought he’d broken me, and maybe parts of me he had. But like a weed—a misplaced flower—I continued to grow.