PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

     My thoughts ran wild. My heart raced my mind faster than it ever had before. My eyes went blurry, burned with tears of fear. My hands shook, trembling as if I had severe tremors. I fell to my knees, only hearing my own screams of terror. The boots I wore on my feet were covered in my own father's blood. The snow was crimson, melting rapidly into slush. I remember the night so well. My father left to go to the store just to get some milk and cigarettes. The store wasn't even a three minute walk from my house. My sister, Beth, and I waited at home while my mother attended a meeting at the school. The night was January 10, 1995. It was cold. Slush and ice covered the traffic-filled streets.

     Beth saw the red blinking lights at the corner of our street. I remember she told me to get my feet dressed, we were going to see what the commotion was about. I searched for my shoes, my heart already jumping. I couldn't find them, so I slid into a pair of my father's boots that were sitting by the door. Beth was already out the door. I was running as fast as I could, trying not to fall, because the boots were so big. I was at the corner when I heard my sister's shrilling screams from down the street. I remember thinking "Oh my God, it's my Daddy!" I then ran as fast as I could, forgetting about the boots being too bulky.

     As I approached the motionless body in the middle of the sidewalk, I recognized my father's wedding ring on a lifeless hand. I started toward him, but I was yanked back by someone. It was a police officer. I screamed and kicked, and all I could cry out was, "That's my Daddy! That's my Daddy!" I was put into the police car and held by my sister. When the officer went to talk to a witness, I ran back to my father's side, surrounded by people, paramedics, and bloody snow.

     I was escorted home by a neighbor and my sister. Later, the house was filled with family and friends, while my mother drove to Lebanon, N.H., to be with my father. I didn't sleep at all that night. I didn't eat. My heart raced, still, and my mind seemed to be slowing down, reminiscing the events of the night. My body was still shaking, and my eyes didn't stop crying. I was scared to lose my father, my best friend. At around 11:30 that same night, we got a call. He was pronounced dead. I ran to my room, and collapsed on my bed, crying. I was only 11 years old, and my worst fear became reality.