Tag Archives: gunrights

Fiona’s Hero Part Three

Welcome back back, owlnerds! Enjoy Part Three: The Argument

Flipping on the living room lights, I headed toward the kitchen. With piles of dishes in the sink, I ignore the mess and open our stainless steel refrigerator. Opening the bottom drawers, I pulled out an apple and a string of cheese. Shutting refrigerator door, I rolled my eyes.

Mom had placed both of her hands on both of the counters so I couldn’t get out. “Fiona, please don’t blame God. Your father wouldn’t want you to act like this.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Like what, mom? How can I be normal when my father dies? People say the grief will pass. It’s a lie. How can they know anything? All the people who tell me this, have never lost anyone.”

Tears dripped down my mother’s face as she placed her hands off the counter.

Racing past her as I opened my bedroom door.

My room was like an average bedroom with a bed in the middle under the window. My white wooden desk on the right and my night table on the other side. The bathroom stood on the left side of the room. Falling flat on the bed as I pull a pillow off and hug it. Slowly my eyes shut and I pass out.

My eyes widened as sweat paced down my neck. Shifting my head, I realize what I was seeing was just a dream. Sitting up as I rubbed the back of my neck. It was a dream, I tell myself. Dad is gone, the shooters are not coming to get you. Just breathe. Removing the sheet of my sweating body, my eyes turn toward my nightstand where my father’s bible sat there. Turning my head, I jump off my bed and into the bathroom. I strip down, turned the hot water on and dip in. Steam fills the air as I begin scrubbing my head with lavender shampoo. My ears perk up as I hear something.

“Come on, Melinda, Let’s surprise Fiona.”

“Kenneth, you can’t surprise her if you are not whispering.”

Tears drip down my face as I remember the exact moment in time that conversation had happened. It was the morning of my sixteen birthday I just woke up because of my “whispering” to my mom. Crouching down as I curled my hands around my knees as I ignored the fact that my skin began to burn bright red as the water continued to run. “Papa, why did you die? I should be taken your place. You never deserve to die.”