Good Night Dad

Jake sat at the edge of his bed, his hair cut military short to comply with his fathers wishes. He did what ever he could to prevent his father’s fists. That meant doing his best to keep on his good side; this wasnt enough all the time. Sometimes just the alcohol mixed with his presence in the house would be enough to drive his father over the edge. He turned to the window in his room, dreaming of escaping into the clouds as he always did.
His head snapped to the side as he heard a loud crash at his door; there he stood. The large bear of a man that his father was had slammed open the door. His fists curled he stepped towards Jake; Jake got down on his knees begging for forgiveness, “Please dad no”. His father looked down at Jake and simply grinned, he took a step back. For once it seemed that his father was going to let him go one night without punishment. As Jakes heart began to calm back down his father all of a sudden stepped up and kicked him in the chest. Jake was knocked back by the blow and landed on his back.
“Get the fuck up!” His father yelled at him, his hands undoing his belt. Jake did as he was told and stood up. As soon as he managed to straighten his back, his father’s arm swung at full speed towards him; the belt trailing a few seconds behind to hit Jake across the chest. He held his chest in pain for a second before his father pushed him face down into the bed. He ripped Jakes shirt off and sat ontop of his legs, rage-filled laughter soaked the scene. As Jake bit down onto the blanket the belt struck once, then again, over and over again, blood spilling out as the leather belt cut into his back. Finally his father had enough after a few minutes and got off of Jake. He walked out of Jake’s room without a word and closed the door behind him.
Jake stayed lying down on the bed as the pain subsided. 15 years of this crap, every night he imagined his hands around his fathers belt, giving him the same punishment he so often gave Jake.
Something snapped in him as he heard his father laughing in the next room. He stood up, blood slowly drying on his back, and walked out the second door in his room. He walked to the shed where his father kept his tools. He ignored the cold wind pricking his skin. With pale hands he oppened the doors to the shed, his eyes looked about the room then locked on one object. He walked to that side of the shed and picked it up; moonlight streaking in from the open doors bounced of the side of the ax. Freshly sharpenned this morning, he ran his thumb along the edge. Blood rolled down from the clean cut. Pleased that the blade would do its job well, he walked back into the house. His cold eyes locked with his mother’s as she aproached him. “What are you doing with that?”
He ignored her question and pushed her out of the way. He calmly oppened the door to his fathers room and walked in to find him hanging up the phone. His fathers eyes widened as he looked into Jake’s, recognizing the bloodlust in them. His mother had wasted no time in calling the cops the second she had seen him walk into his father’s room. Thinking quickly, his father threw a flower pot at Jake. It hit his shoulder knocking him back a step. The glass stuck into him, yet he felt nothing. To him there was nothing but his father and the ax.
His father turned quickly and ran out the door leading to the balcony, from there he climbed down the railing to the backyard. Jake followed, always just one or two feet behind his father. His father ran only to find himself pinned between the wall and Jake.
“Please, Jake. Im sorry” he begged as he got down on his knees, “Tell me what you want, Ill give it to you” his voice filled with desperation.
He looked into his fathers eyes, memories of so many nights in pain shattering his mind into tiny fragments. The only thing left, a shadow with the need to kill. He lifted the ax with both arms above his head and spoke calmly to his father. “I want you to die.” With that he brought the ax down on his fathers head, the blade sinking into his brain. He left the ax in and let go. His fathers body toppled forward, the ax kept him at an odd angle as it held him up somewhat.
Jake didnt feel the cops tackling him, nor did he feel the cuffs being placed on his wrists. He simply smiled and thought to himself, “Good night dad.”