Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I straighten, open the door, and go downstairs towards the dining room. On the way I meet one of his men. He nods to me and I nod back automatically.
I open the dining room door and my father looks up and smiles. To look at him you would never believe that he sent someone up to his own daughter’s bedroom to murder her dog so she would come home totally unsuspecting and find the slaughter. I don’t smile back. I just stare at him. Shocked that all these years I never really knew him at all.
He puts his fork and knife down. ‘Come in, come in,’ he invites genially, still chewing his food.
I don’t move.
He smiles. ‘Just because it is delivered in a friendly tone do not regard my invitation as anything but a direct order.’
I walk stiffly into the room. My right palm is itching. I hold it in my left hand and scratch it furiously.
‘Come closer,’ he purrs. ‘What are you afraid of?’
I take a few more steps.
He stands up and, bending down, takes something out of a cardboard box. To my absolute horror and disgust it is a blue Doberman puppy. My eyes bulge with shock. Surely not. The puppy is the exact age Sergei was when he gave him to me.
My eyes move slowly up to his.
‘This is a present for you,’ he says, jerking it slightly in my direction.
I stare at him dumbfounded. I thought my father was a monster, but he is not. To be a monster means you have feelings. My mother was right. My father has no feelings. He killed my beloved dog and now he is replacing it with a puppy. He can give then take it away and give it again. What a sick freak. Only a man who cannot feel love would do what he is doing. He jerks the puppy again to encourage me to take it.
I take a step back. ‘I don’t want it,’ I say.
He scowls. ‘If you don’t take it I’ll have to get the staff to drown it.’
My mouth drops open and he takes a step towards me with the puppy wriggling in his outstretched hands. I put my hands out and take it from him. Its body is soft and warm and I feel the tears start to burn the backs of my eyes.
I turn around so he will not see them and run out of the room. I stand for a moment in the grand foyer. Rosita is on her hands and knees polishing the marble steps. I walk up to her.
The puppy makes a small sound that is not quite a bark yet. It tears at my heart. Sergei used to make that sound. It’s not its fault. It’s just an innocent little thing, but I can’t even look at it. My heart is broken. I hold it out to her.
‘Please can you take him and see that he is well taken care of.’
She looks at me with a surprised, confused face, but she puts her hands out and takes the puppy from me. I wipe my hands on the sides of my dress.
‘Thank you, Rosita,’ I croak, and run upstairs.
In my room I fall on my bed and sob my heart out. I don’t even hear the door open, I only feel it when Baba’s hand falls on my head and strokes my hair gently.
‘I hate him,’ I sob. ‘I hate him so much.’
Baba says nothing, just hums an old Russian song she used to sing to put me to sleep when I was a child.
Thirty-one
Noah Abramovich
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6voHeEa3ig
Gangster Paradise
They were waiting for me in the shadows. The punch catches me in an area just above the ear, and in the confusion, my brain registers it merely as a thud, but in fact, it’s the kind of blow you never want to get hit with.
It’s fucking lethal. You can't prepare, or train for it.
It’s where the expression ‘knocked senseless’ originates from. I’ve been clipped like this once during training while I was preparing myself with the worst case scenarios, so I know how this shit goes down.
Seconds later, it scrambles my senses. My eyes blur, the world starts spinning, and I lose control of my legs as they turn to jelly. I'm going down and all that matters now is how hard. Fall on my head and everything could go dark and silent. Maybe even forever.
‘Fuck,’ I yell, as I try to position my hands out in front of me to cushion the fall.
I'd always imagined my end would be bloody. You live by the sword you die by the damn thing. It’s the unwritten rule and it’s fair. It should be that way. Even time spent in prison doesn’t change anything, they are only pauses, before this gory and fitting finale. A bullet in the head, a knife in the gut in a dark alleyway.