The closet was dark, and crowded like any other closet would normally be, except that this closet was hiding something. It was hiding a despairing 17 year old Alissa who was crouching herself into the corner. She could hear him looking for her.
"Alissa Where in this hellhole are youuu" he hollered, she held her breath as he neared the closet. She saw through the door crack as he desperately searched for her. He threw the wooden chair across the air as if it had been made of styrofoam. By the time the chair hit the opposing wall he had already turned the table over, while destroying it's surface. She felt so small, so vulnerable at the time she wondered if that feeling would ever go away. For about 3 seconds she was foolish enough to think that she was safe as soon as he disappeared from her door crack view, but suddenly he yanked the door open! Her heart pounded so hard she swore that he could hear it. His eyes seemed full with violent rage and despair, the same qualities as that of an enraged bull and she was the target; the one in the red long-sleeve shirt. As his head sagged forward and his eyes squinted she realized that he could not see her, he was so drunk he could hardly see anything. Still she held her breath. He groaned out loud and let out a yelp, the same of a wounded dog, and fell hard to the ground. With no warning she started to cry silently, he had been so close this time, so close to beating her again. She had narrowly escaped once more. She knew it wouldn't end here, she wiped away her tears. As she started to crawl her way around him she breathed in quietly. He smelled so foul, if he went to a city dump, a dog would recognize him as it's own dumpings.
As she boldly crept away she thought about her birthday, it was just 3 days away. In just 3 days she would have unknown freedom she could run away and start herself a new life. But that creep would have to suffer first He had caused her undying pain, he was the root of all merciless evil in her. In just 3 days she could obtain a gun With that gun came freedom, she was sure now that she was crazy, but even if that were so, it was all his fault. How could a father do this to his own daughter? He was not the kind of father that are written up in stories. The stories where the father is always kind, forgiving, gentle, caring, and most importantly sane.
That gun which had been lying in storage in the ammunition store for almost 3 months now, was her only hope. Hope... that word seemed distant to her, it seemed to have had no meaning to her just a while ago. She had given up in Hope and Faith a very long time ago, the hope that the people around her; like her teachers, would notice the new scar in her face, or the burn in her arm, or the hungry look for justice in her eyes. The years passed and no one seemed to notice or even care. She was worthless and unimportant, she knew that, but now Hope had a new meaning in her life and it would arrive with her black, .22 mm AE handgun in just 3 days. As she finished the thought he stirred and groaned. She made her way to the door, closing the door as gently as was possible. Once she was outside she began to renew her thoughts. If he survived, she knew she would prefer to commit suicide rather than dying at his hands. She knew the risks were high but she also knew what he had done to her and how sure she was that it would not go unnoticed again, not ever. She only had one shot. This was the only way out