The Duties Of Being His Daughter By Madison Stauffer

Click. The door slammed shut with no intention of opening. The dreadful tears streamed down my face. Goodbye. The word that I had said to many times. The limo began to drive into the deadly sunset. Sunsets. The thing in which something happy ends, and sad begins. I tried to resist the temptation to look back. My heart won. I turned around to see the picture I had feared the most. Nothing. Of course nothing is better than something. If he would have been their, I might I have crashed the car so I wouldnot live. Then again, I might not see another light in the sky if my father continues his plan. Father. The word in which anger crosses my path. He will kill all my loved ones by tomorrow. Loved ones. Him. These words cross my mind, and hurt my heart. Love is such a fragile thing that we must take care of it. I had it once, but I lost it. All because of my father. You see, to him, their are certain duties that his only daughter must attend to. I will dissapoint him now. My suitcase breaks through the window and skids off the cars back. Right behind it, I roll off the shiny black medal and roughly fall. I raise my gun from my pocket and shoot the bullet towards the gas tank. Ka-boom. The sound in which relief comes. I stand and brush off blood from my arm. I turn. Running. Faster and faster. I will find that piece that was cut out of my heart, and sew it back in. This time I will take care of this fragile love. This time my father will not win. Because no matter how fragile love is, hatred and anger, always lose.
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