Short Story : ' Daddy No ! '

Carole and I were fleeing with urgency down the steep driveway, arms and legs pumping with fear. Which way to go? Down the reedy river path with potential snakes and the risk of being seen or the creepy drainage ditch? Looking back toward the house with rapid fire beats in our hearts, fear drove us forward. We searched to see how far ahead we were. Not far. Not as far as we needed to be, but he hadn’t appeared yet. The only logical way was through the rusty damp and dark pipes so we wouldn’t be seen. Our noses wrinkled with the disgust upon entry, filling our nostrils with a strong smell of mold and crud collected from storms.

Dad was gone. I don't know how me and mom are going to get over the fact that he is dead. I'm starting to cheer up but that's just because of John. “The farm looks really good” said John. Thanks, me and mom worked really hard to keep it up and going while you all were gone. It was hard.” Mom is taking his death very hard” he said. “Yeah she is, Bub i miss dad alot” I said.” Look at me, you need to stay strong, your are the only one holding us all together right now Mary.”he said. I cried on his shoulder for a good long while until mom called for supper and we raced to the

While students were watching videos in spanish class, a front desk helper came to fetch me. I felt a strong darkness running through my heart as I began to walk. The front desk advisor quickly said, “I am sorry for your loss”, then softly rubbed my shoulder as I weakly walked to my car, headed for home. A few years later my memories start to fade, and all I can recall are the happy parts of being with my father.

“YO!! I am home!” I shouted into my mom’s new house. After I said that I heard the sobbing and the heartbreak coming from my mom’s room. My mom came down to greet me with tears in her eyes.

It’s so still here, so quiet, so peaceful. I walked past rows of gravestones as I finally approached the site where my relatives lay. To many, visiting their relatives in a cemetery can be a sad experience; I however, was happy for them, because they still gathered together as they had before. I smiled as I remembered those times, when I was but a child and I could just barely see over the table. I could hear their talking and laughter again. How warm and familiar it all was! I remembered how laughter would erupt after my father told a good joke – he was always telling jokes. I could even smell the feast my mother and aunts would cook for us, and could almost feel them slapping my hand as I tried to sneak a piece of turkey before the meal. I remembered sitting at the smaller table with my cousins and siblings, feeling as if I were too old to sit at the kid's table. I remembered feeling left out, as if the adults kept some kind of grown-up secret from me. That same feeling I felt again, as I stood there seeing them all lying as they used to sit, in those two long rows. Although I had grown to be an adult, they still seemed to keep some secret from me, one that I was not to know of yet, one that I am not ready yet to

"DADDY!!!" My chest was heaving and my cheeks burned from being scraped raw by my salty tears. My dad killed himself when I was 6 years old. Side effects of his medication. He took multiple pills everyday and everyday he lost another piece of himself. I miss my dad. He was such a good father to us and an amazing husband. He was everything you could ever want in s father. He had brown eyes like me, dark brown hair like Judith, he was tall, and his smile could light up a whole building on its own. He was such an optimistic and easy going man and everyone loved him. But like all of us he had his demons and sadly they

We turn down a road that quickly turns into a dirt one. The road was very rough and rugged. There were pot holes everywhere and when you think there was no more it would start up again. The car jerked and jumped and swayed every which way. At one point my head nearly touched the roof, thats how bad the holes and bumps are. The trees curve inward, giving it an arch appearance. It blanketed the road with ominous shadows. The shadows start moving again, not from the wind, but from whatever was hiding among them. Up a little ways I could see a small cabin.

Entering the house felt like jumping into a pool of cold water. Making my way into the living room, slower than a one-legged dog on tranquilizers, I could see my dad. At a glance, it looked more serious than just my dog having died.

Wandering through the graveyard it felt like something was watching me. Every step I took I could feel a chill run down my spine. The flowers in my hand are already dying. I look down at each gravestone, and finally saw the words Anna Ayers. I sat down next to it and prayed. I cried the whole time. I let the emptiness fill up inside of me, until I saw something colorful. It was a person. I thought it was just the person who watches the cemetery at night. I said that I would leave any minute. He stood there and then made a creepy laugh, almost like…

I gave a sighed and dropped my pencil. My mind was too shrouded with thoughts. Concentrate, I told myself, but then my thoughts drifted to my dad, my real dad. I remembered exactly the way he moved. He clumped with a weighty step. I recalled the way he smelt, leather and tobacco. His voice was, low-pitched and raspy. A voice that haunted me now, the voice that yelled, cursed. Today it seemed like a piece of his dad had awoken inside of me, after the fight with Jack. My DNA was laced with my dad's temperament, his inclination toward violence. Even though he was removed from my life, his influence seemed inescapable.

I am in a deep dark hole that I cannot escape, immensely grief-stricken by the bereavements of my father and his fellow men; our dear friends. I can still remember last week like it was yesterday, when my father and I walked along the beach as we witnessed the ocean kissing the southern shore. His loss will forever hit me hard like a rock. His time in this world came and went like time spent through an hourglass. Maybe, I should have let them murder me as well. (Looks around, feels the air) This ambience of grey mist has existed ever since my father’s death. The more I inhale this mist, the more dismal I feel. (Stand up from bed) WHY DIDN’T I JUST LET

I was giddy to get home i was walking down my my street “ Walkers rd.” I scoffed and roll my eyes. I walk down this road everyday and appreciate the scorching irony every time. I opened the deep oak doors with force. My 13 year old body still has trouble. I shoved the door with the elbow my grey backpack wasn't depending on. Finally when my body managed to push the door, something wasn't right. By that i mean my house wasn't mine… the orchard my mother obsesses over wasn't the center of the foyer , the bright white walls with the complementary purple rug wasn't there. It was dark with a rustic light switch. I hit the light switch and the creepy hospital lights that turn on one by one showed blinding light that settled to a musty yellow

I slowly walked down the stairs trying not to break the silence. When I finally reached the end of the stairs, I was filled with confusion. My dad was not there, in fact, he wasn’t anywhere. I checked everywhere around the house, even in places I knew he wouldn’t be in.

Hence, since the dawn of my perceptual abilities, I have encountered father’s disappearance with reasonable comfort, spent most of my childhood living with grandparents and soon adapted quickly with the elders’ style of living, that is, moving calmly and slowly. At the time, my house located near a

I kneel in front of my father 's stone grave. A grave, worn down by weather. I begin staring dreamily, not at the grave, but at something: a distant past, a happier time. I am not here, in the present, but in the past, replaying every event, every memory that I have of my father.