The Fight by Stephanie Cohen

I laid in bed wondering when mom and dad would shut-up. Their bickering got worst every night. I heard a loud crash and knew right away that mom had, once again, thrown a glass vase at dad. The fifth time this week. I think mom has hundreds of vases hidden somewhere, because, somehow, there is another one everyday. It always different, though. She thinks I don't know what goes on.

My little brother, Joey, runs into the room in tears. He jumps onto the bed and lays beside me. I hold him in my arms. We are both terrified. Mom and Dad are still yelling. Joey bursts into a fit of hysterics and lets out a new set of tears. I feel a tear trickle down cheek. I'm sick of this. I take a deep breath and work up all my courage. "Stay here, Joey." I whisper warningly.

I stand up and slowly walk to the door. I take one final deep breath. The yelling is louder. I can here more things being thrown. I put my hand on the doorknob, but quickly pull it away. My stomach turns as I reach for the knob once again. This time, I turn it. I step out. Mom and Dad both shut-up and look at me. The tiny living room is covered with beer cans and broken glass. And it wreaks with the smells of alcohol and pot.

"What do you think your doing?" Mom asks. I know she wants to curse, but she doesn't think it's proper. I giggle to myself, thinking. Like throwing and screaming at dad is any better. It a lot worst if you ask me.

"I'm sick of this," I yell. Dad looks madder than ever. I am terrified of what they will do to me. I regret coming out here. All of the contents in my stomach are pounding to come out, but I hold them back. I have to be strong. I can't let them know how scared I am. They both stare at me blankly as I continue my outrage, "You think we don't about this stupid ass fight ing of yours," I scream. "Well, we do. We're no stupid." My mom's jaw drops. I've never cursed before. It feels good though, as if I should have started 12 years ago when I popped into this world. Now, even I regretted that. I wondered why my mom had sex with this guy if she didn't love him.

"You don't understand," my mom said, finally joining my dad with a pissed expression.

"I understand fine," I interrupt, screaming. I hope a neighbor hears. I hope the police come. Joey and I don't deserve this shit. "You're slut, mom. And the two of you only stay together for a good piece of ass when you want it!!"

"Amy," my mother gasped. Tears built up in her eyes, "Where did you hear that?"

"I have ears, Ma! I'm not deaf!!" She steps towards me. When she's not even an arm length away, she reaches out and slaps me hard in the face. The pain is quick and then my cheek turns numb. My fear turns to hatred. Unable to hold myself back, I slap her. I feel a little better, but I know she'll hit back. Finally, she does, only this time, it's not her hand that hits me. This time, it's a glass. All three of us are shocked. The broken glass falls to the ground, covered in blood.

I raise my fingers to my cheek and gently touch the spot where she hit. My fingers are covered in blood. Freaked out, I run to the kitchen. I run toward the door. "Joey," I think to myself. I can't leave him. I open a drawer and pull out two long, sharp knives.

As I enter the living room, I notice that my parents have stopped fighting. Dad is holding mom in his arms, comforting her. I am confused, but still filled with hatred. Why is he comforting her??? I am younger! I'm his daughter! Doesn't he care that I'm covered in blood??? I run at them, knives in hands. I don't know why. It's like I can't control myself.

Before I know what I am doing, my parents are dead. They're laying on the floor, blood running over the carpet. I've got to leave. I can't stay here. What will I say?

I run to my room. Joey is asleep. It's better that way. It's better he doesn't see mom and dad. I pick him up and carry him to the kitchen and lay him on the table. I still don't know what to do. I notice the car keys on the counter. I can't. I'm too young. I glance at the living room, at my parents, then at Joey. I have to do it.

I grab the keys to the pickup truck and lightly picked up Joey once again. I ran, carrying Joey, to the truck. I lay him in the passenger's seat then climb into the driver's seat. Shaking, I put the key in the ignition. I have no idea what I'm doing. I've never even thought of driving before! I'm only 12! I hear a low cop siren. It starts as a whisper, but it's getting louder.

Suddenly, I know what to do. I turn the key and I'm off. Joey and I are on our own. I wonder if we'll live. I wonder how far the full tank me have will take us. I know there's money in the glove compartment, but we'll need it for food.

We can go to Aunt Maria's. She's not too far away. It only takes two days to get to her house, but will we make it??? I hope so.

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