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Fear again flushed over my small intimidated Body. There was no escape this time. It happens every time he drinks. His temper flared some more. I raced for the front door. He followed behind, his pace quickening with every step. The door was locked. I scrambled to open the locked door. I felt his tight grip grab me from behind. My heart stopped as I went down hard. The marble floor in the front hallway, one of the many new additions I didn't benefit from. Pain shot through me like .44 caliber getting placed to your head. Wait! My mind spun. Though I couldn't move an inch of my aching body I knew what was happening. My father is, well used to be head officer here in Portland. He never turned his gun in when they fired him. I don't really know why, all I know is that they had told him that his that his drinking had become a problem and that it was interfering with his job. I hoped it would have never come to this. His gun stung my temple as he roughly placed it to my head. He then began to recite the same statement he recited every time. This lecture being more intense then any other before it. After he finished the lecture that seemed to take an eternity to finish, he glared at me with a look not expected at all. The look was long and hard. Yet, soft in a way. I realized after a few thoughts that it was

A Sorry Look -
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