Traumas: A Short Story

Luckily when I arrived home when my dad was nowhere in sight. He seemed to be angered by everything I did, but I was used to it. Ever since my brother died he had gotten considerably worse compared to how he had been before. His daily schedule customarily consisted of drinking, breaking things, and yelling at me. He said that I was cursed and I had somehow caused their deaths.
I ran upstairs to my room and walked to my closet. On the top shelf sat a box full of knives. There was everything from switchblades to throwing knives. I’m not sure when my obsession with knives started or even why. Maybe it was because it was a good stress reliever or it got my mind off things. I sifted through the box and closed my hands around a few good throwing knives. They were some of my first knives and fairly simple. There were no decorations, they were just black and elegant. My targets were normally blocks of wood, though in the fall I liked to use pumpkins. Outside I threw the knives, releasing a lot of my anger with them. The knives sank into the wood with a satisfying thunk.
For the rest of the day, I practiced throwing until my dad got home. When I saw his headlights pull in I picked up my knives and ran through the back door. I quickly ran …show more content…
What I saw filled me with terror. Pieces of glass shards stuck out all over hands. They were completely covered in blood and it was quickly bleeding down my arms and splattering on the floor. I ran the bathroom, almost passing out before I got there. I ran water over the cuts and was filled with a fiery pain, that seemed to burn through my whole body. I forced myself to examine my injuries. Somehow I didn’t notice that the tip of one of my fingers had been sliced completely off. I ran back into my room and picked up my phone. Dialing was difficult but after what felt a like a year I managed to call my friend Trent. His mother was a nurse and I knew she would treat me at home with no