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Burning Sensation

Stephanie Conley

    I flinched at the sound of the glass breaking. “Christopher. Hurry up.”
    Our family frame is smashed on the floor. I made eye contact with my father. He had that devious, twisted look that I only saw once when I was nine years old. That day he sliced off my fingers with an old, rusted, dull steak knife. After that incident, I was never supposed to see him again.
    Six years later and he still had that menacing look, but I think it got worse. His dirty blonde hair spiked up messy. His darker than normal after shave. His smell was a combination of whisky and sweat. His eyes were bright green crazy. I forgot how terrifying he was when he got that way.
    “Chris. Oh, Chris. I really don’t have all day. Decide who is going to live or die,” he said.
    It was so hard for me to speak that I stuttered words that I didn’t even make out. All of a sudden, I felt a sharp burning sensation on my face.
    “Don’t you dare hit my son,” I heard my mom shout.
    I looked at her direction. I could tell by her facial expression that she felt helpless. What could she do? She was tied up on the chair. I wish I could’ve untied her, but if I even got close to her, my father would’ve beat me till I was unconscious.
    “He is my son. I can put my hands anywhere on his body,” he winked at me viciously.
    “Don’t you dare, you bastard.” She spat at him.
    As my father wiped the spit off his face, he walked over to her with the knife that was lying piercingly on the coffee table.
    I jumped. “Wait!”
    My father smashed the bottle of whisky on the floor and yelled, “Well, for heaven sake’s boy! Who is going to die, you or your mother?”
    I fell on my knees and cried, “Why must I decide on that?”
    He walked over to me, grabbed the collar of my shirt, and pulled me close to his face.
    “I haven’t seen you in person for six years. I’m not going to accept only phone calls anymore while that bitch gets to see you every day. It’s not fair,” he said as tears welled up in his eyes. “Either I have you or nobody has you. Understand?”
    When he let go of my collar, I fell hard on the floor and started bawling.
    “No, Chris. Don’t cry. You need to choose,” he said as tears went down his cheeks.
    I couldn’t live without my mom. However, if I chose her, I won’t live. I knew my mom would understand if I chose her. She would’ve wanted me too. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I chose her. Honestly, I’d rather both of us had died.
    “Honey, it’s okay. You have much more to live for. I’ll be in a better place,” my mother reassured.
    I knew she’ll be in a better place, but I couldn’t put my mother through that. Six years later, I still feel the moment my father slashed my fingers, and the unbearable sensation is still indescribable. I didn’t want my mother to go through that pain.
    I was never undeceive until today. The possibility that if I pick myself and he still kills my mother afterwards, haunts the process of my decision.
    I looked up at my father, who was kneeling beside me, and asked, “How do I know-”
    “No,” my father interrupted sharply. “No questions. Just pick.”
    As I looked into my father’s welled up eyes, I remembered when I was really little. He would fly me around the house like I was an airplane. My father and I played laser tag every Saturday. Every morning we made shapes on our waffles with syrup. Every night my father would tell me fairy-tale stories that he made up in his mind... He would fly me around the house like I was an airplane.
    Staring deep into my father’s eyes, I made a decision. “Me,” I whispered.
    “What,” my father’s voice stuttered.
    “Me,” I whispered again.
    “No,” I heard my mother cry in the distance.
    My father stared at me, laughing and crying at the same time. “You hate me.”
    I didn’t say anything. All I could do is stare at the knife in his hand. He was wrong. I didn’t hate him. My love for him was in fear.
    All of a sudden, he dropped the knife. I looked at him confused. He reached behind his coat pocket and pulled out a gun. My heart was pounding fast, knowing I was going to die instantly. That should’ve comfort me, though. Knowing he didn’t want me to suffer, made a little light into the situation. He pointed the gun... My eyes grew wide. The sound shattered my ears... I stopped shaking.
    My heart dropped as I couldn’t stop staring at my father’s head. Seeing the blood flow out, feeling his warm blood that splattered on my face, gave me mixed feelings of relief and agony.
    “Chris. Come here,” I heard my mother saying in the distance.
    I walked over and untied her. Once she was released, she squeezed me so hard while crying.
    When I saw her face, her smile quickly ran away. “I love you, Chris. I know that I can’t make you un-see what you’ve just seen, but I am here for you.”
    Her voice sounded distant. My ears were still ringing. Everything was turning blurry. I felt the cold floor hit my face.
    The last thing I remember seeing was a blurry vision of my mother plugging the phone and pressing three buttons.

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