Blaise Taylor
The room seemed to be spinning, the faster my heart beat, the faster the room span.
The dust evident on the boxes and the unknown objects covered in a plastic cover. No one had been in this place for years, a clever place to commit a murder.
The gun lay flayed across the floor and no noise had been made since.
He rushed toward me, arms outstretched, ready to wrap his fingers around my throat.
Murder and boredom in his eyes.
I blacked out and suddenly I lay gasping on the floor, the wind had been knocked clean out of me. My father stood over my weakened form, reeling his fist back from the shot he had taken to my stomach.
His foot swung back and slammed into my jaw; my mouth filled with the taste of coppery blood.
He knew all my next moves before I had even acted
