Dad smacked against the ground, his skull cracking in two and blood gushing out from the hole in his head. Unable to stop myself, I pointed the gun at his groin and shot one more bullet into him because I had nothing but rage and fury left inside of me.
My own family had encouraged this.
The lights turned on in the hallway, Mom’s footsteps pattering toward us almost at lightning speed. “Steve?” she called out, rounding the corner and stopping dead in her tracks when she saw me and Cristian standing inside the entryway with Dad in a puddle of blood.
“He’s dead,” I said lifelessly.
She screamed at the top of her lungs and rushed toward him, picking up his corpse in her arms and crying loudly, as if she wanted the neighbors to hear her. But they hadn’t heard me screaming for help and for
