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Criatura de hueso

“ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?” My dad screamed. He lunged towards me, and I flinched. “YOU THINK THESE THINGS ARE CHEAP?” He wildly gestured to his pristine guitar, which hung on the wall like a hunting trophy. “I TOLD YOU IF YOU EVER SO MUCH AS LAID A HAND ON IT, I WAS GONNA BEAT YOU DEAD.” I flinched; his voice just got louder. “AND WHAT DID YOU DO?” I let out a small whimper as he got closer to my face. “I ASKED YOU A QUESTION.”

Tears were flowing from my eyes as I looked to the floor. “I took it to school.”

My dad got quiet. That’s always the scariest part. I waited for him to raise his hand and hit me, but nothing came. “Get in the car.” I made the mistake of hesitating. “GET IN THE CAR.” He screamed. I desperately scrambled in. “Joyce, I’m leaving.” He hollered to my mom. She didn’t care. She never cared.

We drove for hours in tense silence, the dry heat of the New Mexico desert creating warped waves across the only other car in front of us, that we quickly lost. Finally, when it seemed like it would go on forever, he stopped. He pulled over and got out of the car. I stayed in, terrified of what he might do to me. We were all alone out here. He had hit me before, though it was few and far between. He only got this mad when he was drunk, which I admit, was often.

“You’re a little brat, you know that? A good for nothing brat. You’re so ungrateful for everything we’ve done for you.” He rattled on.

I knew not to talk back. I knew how to survive. But all my hatred boiled up, all my pain, all my disbelief at my once-caring parents becoming abusive, just like that. “What?” I replied. “What have you ever done for me?” Tears were openly streaming down my face. “I didn’t choose to live! If you hate me so much, why don’t you just kill me?” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I shouldn’t have done that. I knew it. I was going to die. But nothing happened. He didn’t hit me; he didn’t even raise his hand.

He seemed sad. Did I make a mark on him? As I watched, his face slowly morphed into terror. He was staring at something directly behind me. I turned around, dreading what might be there. A giant thing, a Frankenstein of bones, stared directly at him. It had the skull of a bull, a rattlesnake skeleton as a tail, condor feet, a mismatch of bones put together haphazardly. Feathers weakly surrounded its rib cage, seemingly floating around it. It towered over me, and the feathers flew to my face. By the time they came off, my dad was gone, nowhere to be found. You would think I would be terrified, paralyzed, at the thought of being alone with this grotesque monster, but I felt safe. There was a worry lifted off my shoulders, it felt like all the tears I had shed, blaming myself, hoping he would stop, had been given back to me. I was free.

Remembering this, as I stood around a young child, I realized what had happened. I knew what I needed to do. When I turned 18, I turned into this thing, the monster. I went out with the intent to protect kids, and as my feathers surrounded his face, I finally felt fulfilled.





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Te (talk) 15:15, 5 October 2021 (UTC)

Cool story, was short and sweet. Enjoyed the straight-into-action style, and how quickly we were able to understand the main character.

I felt as though there was a bit of a disconnect near the end, kind of took the story to a different place, suddenly, without giving the reader very much understanding of the how or why. I wouldn't mind seeing it fleshed out a bit more.

All in all, enjoyed the read.

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