An Ironic End (DISTURBING content)

NOTE: All of this is true except for the actual death scene. That FUCKER is still alive.....and even now I FUCKIN WISH HIM DEAD. Hunting season is really haunting me and the nightmares have re-surfaced full throttle. So i used this story as therapy....

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It was nearing midnight when the blinding lights of his truck flooded the driveway. He was drunk as usual and coming back from the bar, my mom loyally awaiting his arrival. She stands by the door to greet him, and i lay in bed, sobbing. I rock back and forth, knee's drawn against my chest as images of him flash through my mind like an old film. His words of sexual harrassment slip through the cracks of my internal barrier.....his hands molesting my trust. I try to catch my breath and push away the thoughts of suicide that have been my daily companion. I imagine taking his life, breaking his legs with a bat so he can't fight back as easily. I envision carving words into his skin of the pain he has caused before slitting his throat. Tears escape my soul as the scars on my wrists begin to burn. Oh how i wished i had succeeded, wished i had just bled to death. I had taken a dull knife to my throat but never had the strength to end it. Instead, many cuts were left behind and i lied, saying it was my cat. My hatred for this man was intense, loosing myself amongst the ashes of hell. Now here i lay, knowing what's to come as soon as he steps foot through that door.

"Please God, please....don't let George hurt her. Don't let him hurt my brother.....just make him go away." I pray and mumble between sobs, using my pillow to muffle the sounds. I hug my stuffed dog, Max, who had been with me when i was younger. Even at 17, i needed Max more than ever. My body shuddered as i struggled to breathe, wishing my life away. Hoping that just maybe, i'd have a heart-attack and would no longer have to face that man....

Downstairs, i hear him storm through the door and start screaming at my mom. Soon enough, her crying echoes through my psyche as hatred and fear cloud my head. Oh how i wished him dead with every fiber of my being. I hated the turmoil he threw this house into, and most of all....i hated his hands. I hated his voice, his hobbies, his life and the fact that he was still breathing. Years went by that he abused me.....sexually scarring me. His drunken nights were more and more frequent and i began to pray for his death. Soon, my prayers were to be answered.

His life revolved around hunting. EVERYTHING was hunting. Every year, my mom would buy him hunting gear for his birthday. I remember he came home with dead rabbits, bugs crawling through their hide, their bullet wounds evident. He dropped them on our kitchen table.....leaving them for us to look at. I hated it. I hated the hunting, wishing that he'd die everytime he went out. Deer hunting was his favorite though and the most memorable. I used to pray that he'd freeze to death or kill himself in the process. It never happened, he came back trip after trip with dead animals....proud of himself.

My body shuddered....proud? But what a sick mind he had....there were other kids. I was not the only one....i was just one of his "victims." His subject of "intmidation." Cause who would believe me? My mom was in love with him....5

He awoke at 5:00 AM to go hunting.....my mom his slave for the morning. This day would hopefully be his last, or so i prayed anyway. A thick fog settled over the woods, the tree's looming above his head. He was the "mighty" hunter, so he had himself believing. He listened intently for movement, hearing nothing, yet not noticing he was not alone. He continued his trail, though could feel eye's penetrating his flesh.

Ignoring instincts, he trailed on when suddenly, something stopped him dead in his tracks. A noise, rustling.....He stared straight ahead and out of the fog, saw the outline of a beast. It slowly made it's way forward, becoming clearer and clearer. It's muslces rippled along all four legs as the buck strutted towards him, looming above him like a blackened shadow. Hatred flared in it's eye's as it stomped it's hoof, raking the ground like a bull. The ground beneath it cracked, as if resurecting the dead as it tossed it's head. George pulled his gun up, attempting to aim yet the fear was to strong. The buck's antlers were made of gold, cracked yet perfect points on each antler. It was stunning really, how such a magnificant creature didn't have a single chip or scratch on it's antlers. It's neck was thick and muscular, confidence showing in how it held itself. George tried to steady the gun, ready for the perfect shot and the trigger was pulled. The bullet tore through the deer in an echoed "bang" and took an exit route into the nearest tree. The buck was still standing, un-injured and un-phased. Suddenly, the creature struck with relentless violence.

The scene was a mass of gore. The bucks left antler impaled George's body, slicing through his stomach and gutting him on the spot. His mouth was opened in a silent scream as his flesh was torn, blood spurting with every pump of his love-less heart. Steaming intestines slipped from his carcass, coiling at his feet as organs fell in close pursuit. He dropped down to his knee's, spattered in blood as the antler continued it's journey upwards. Bones cracked and broke with sickening noises and his heart and lungs were punctured. He gasped and gurggled as his windpipe was severed and within seconds, he was dead. Arterial spray subsided as his body twitched in the throes of death. He lay on the forrest floor, gutted and left to die with his own internal battles. The buck stepped back and turned blue, slowly dissolving into tiny particles of nothing-ness. The wind took the remenants through the golden gates of heaven.....antlers of gold turned to wings.

A'las, an ironic end to a sad, sad story....

pedophilia is truly a sin.....

and sometimes people truly pay for the crimes they commit.