His baseball bat was still smudged in red where he had hit my mother and brother. I saw their brains spill over the floor. Holding back a scream, I had hidden in the cupboard.
Now he stood right in front of my cupboard, next to the open window. I could see him cleaning the blood on the bat with his jeans–the blood of my family…
My knees shook with pain, rage, and fear. I felt my lungs constrict and breathing came with an effort. My heart beat against my ribs in painful thrusts. I had a lump in my throat as I thought of my loss but I had to keep tears at bay if I wanted to survive.
I wish I could see his face for a hint of his mood–whether he was contemplating suicide or a change of clothes. I prayed for suicide because the latter would give my position away.
But against my hope, he turned and began walking towards the cupboard. A little squeak left me. I hid deeper in the cupboard behind his skateboard, pulled my tail under me and made myself even smaller, hoping he wouldn’t notice that he had a witness.
Photo by Marcelo Cid on Unsplash