Chapter Two ~ 5150...Isn't that a rum?

Autobiography written by shaunamont on Saturday 10, July 2010

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Stories of a Family Too Dysfunctional to be Fiction

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"Mike!" I awoke from a deep sleep... "Mike, do you want me to wake Piper up?" Why do these people always involve me? "Mike, what are you doing here?" Oh crap. Come on you bastards, I have to get up in three hours for school. I already missed the first day back after winter break and now... "Mike, you are going to wake up Reese." Crap, I guess I ought to listen in on this one and make sure everything is ok. "Mike, just leave! Leave! GET OUT!" Oh shit. You people really need to deal with your bullshit elsewhere. "Mike, I told you I would give you one more night to decide whether it was going to be me or made your leave!" Super duper...this one is gonna be fun. "But I love you...I just want to go to bed. I am home now." My father's weak voice trailed off in what was the first instance of me hearing that there actually was even another person in the room with her. "Mike, just are waking up Reese. I am going to wake up Piper if you don't get out of here!" Come on people...not my drama...ha! Like I am ever left out of their drama. "Piper...Piper...PIPER!" Well, that's my cue. I sat up and acknowledged the reality of it all. Great...why am I always the one who has to play the mature role in this house? "PIPER...PIPER...PIPER!!" I hurried myself a bit and walked down the hallway. As I entered the room, the sight of my father, shirtless, pants unbuttoned, trying to get into bed with my mom just sickened me. Loser. Asshole. You suck...then I noticed that my brother, Reese, eight years my junior, was in the bed with her...he always slept in the bed with mom whenever dad was gone. I should've thought of that. "Dad, come on...just leave. Just leave, please." My bidding was met with a stare that will haunt me forever. He had no soul. "Dad, please, get out of here." Nothing. Not even a flinch. Soulless. He really is Satan's spawn...shit pay attention...get Reese out of there. "Reese, come here." And with that, my brother, who had been feigning sleep up to now, jumped out of bed and ran to me. "Dad...just go...NOW!" Nothing. As I reached for Reese, he latched on to my leg. The two of us turned towards the bedroom door..."Piper, call the police." What?!? Well, considering all things, I guess they would be the best team to call in. My mother jumped out of her marital throne and leapt towards the door, ushering us out. " the" Reese and I hurried back down the hallway towards my bedroom with my mother at our heels. We made it in safely and as we turned to make sure mom was with us I caught her body being snatched up and lifted over the shoulder of my father's rather small frame. "PIPER...lock the door and call the cops!" This isn't for real. Well, just to make sure...I better make that call. "9-1-1...what's your emergency?" The nasally voice shouted into my ear. "My dad, he won't leave...and he has my mom." "Ok, ma'am, what do you mean he has your mom?" This was an interesting question...what did I mean? "PIPER...he has a knife!" Oh...that's what I meant. "He has my mom with a knife...I don't know if he is trying to hurt her or himself, but..." "It's going to be ok ma'am...stay where you are..." No shit. Like I was gonna go get in the middle of the quarrel ensuing downstairs. Fat chance. "Are you somewhere safe?" Once again, interesting question. Before I had the chance to respond my mother burst in the door which I had forgotten to lock, this time locking it behind her. "Um...yes...? I mean, we are in my room...she's with us now and the door is locked." "Ma'am, who is we?" "My brother and my mom and me." Haven't you been listening at all lady? Come on. "Ma'am, the police are on their way, stay on the line with me until they arrive." No problemo chickadee. Wasn't really planning on hanging up...I've seen Cops. That was when the excitement started (can you sense my sarcasm?)...a loud bang on my bedroom door followed by my father's voice...or what I can only assume was my father's voice...although it sounded nothing like him anymore... "Open the door...OPEN THE DOOR OR I'LL BREAK IT DOWN!" Before I even had the chance to ponder the ultimatum, dear old dad had kicked the door in. "Ma'am...what was that? Is everything alright?" Wow...this woman sure knows how to ask some serious questions to ponder..."Ma'am...?" "Uh...he just kicked the door in...uh...he has a knife...uh...he has my mom..." Then, just like a scene out of a movie, I heard a voice..."Sir, drop your weapon and come out with your hands up." The distraction gave me the brief moment to run by my two flailing parents with my brother still attached to my leg. I began to descend the staircase when I was met with the mean end of a shotgun...the officer cocked the, I mean a cocked shotgun. "Go outside." No problem. Wasn't really planning on sticking around for this one. Thanks dude. Reese and I ran outside. I tried to keep him behind me, but there was no stopping him from being able to see what was going on. Shit, I couldn't even turn away. It was like a bad car don't want to watch, but you just can't help yourself from staring. Through the windows of our cookie-cutter suburban home I stared, jaw agape, as two armed police officers encountered my father. I couldn't make out what was being said, but I didn't need to know what was going on. Halfway up the staircase the officer lowered his weapon...daddy must've dropped his knife...his steak knife...his serrated steak knife...are you for real? A small serrated steak knife? What on earth were you going to do with that, dad? Eat dinner? The man grabbed my father and forced him down the stairs while maneuvering his arms behind his back to put on the handcuffs. My father, still shirtless with his pants unbuttoned, was then pushed out the front door and into the yard then out the gate... With was over. The second officer approached us, Reese and myself, and asked if we were ok. Hmmm...poignant mean besides the traumatic mental experience we just encountered? Sure...we're super. So, dude holding a shotgun, where shall we send the car to pick up daddy? The mental institution...the looney bin...he wasn't even scary enough to go to big boy jail...he was going to a padded room... That was when I heard it... "51-50" Isn't that a rum?

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    Same comment as before. You need a proofreader. No matter how creative you are, you need good grammar to keep the reader interested.
    I agree with Don. Nomatter how good a story you have to tell, and this one is good, without decent puntuation and grammar, the flow will suffer.

    If you're having problems finding a proofreader, give me a call, and I'll give you a hand.
    The first two chapters are excellent in terms of plot. It is really quite good.
    I decided to give you a lot of slack on this since it is autobiographical, and you are telling the story from the point of view of someone under a great deal of stress. But please, please, do a bit of cleaning.