#aracknis

But, for some reason, tonight, Molly found herself slipping out of bed that she was so previously fast asleep. Tucked away in by her doting mother, who at the time, wasn’t home. Molly never knew what her mother did during those nights when she left their father, and her oldest, to look after the little curious toddler. She wouldn’t know her mother went out late to go gambling to try and scrap by extra cash until after her unfortunate death.

The five year old began to carefully step down the stairs, not a single peep coming from her. Although, even if their was, the loud, bombastic words being spewed back and forth between some older men would drown out any noise she’d ever make.

The screams got louder as Molly made her way toward the garage. The closer she got, the sooner she realized it was a rather one sided argument. Someone, a voice she didn’t recognize, was pleading ... While her father was angry. She didn’t understand what they were arguing about. Molly would never really find out. The words they ever said were fuzzy in her memory. She’d never try and think too long enough on it all to figure out what was happening. It wasn’t worth it. She’d try and bury this for a long time, although unsuccessfully.

There was shuffling. There was swearing. Molly would crack open the door to the garage, little fingers curling around the edge as she pulled back the curtain. Large brown eyes watch the scene before her, although, she wouldn’t make out much before her eyes would be blinded by a flash of light, and her ears popping from a loud bang.

And she’d give a scream... That was followed by the thud of a large man falling to the floor.

Crimson was pouring from his head, where his eyes were still wide open. He laid there slouched, lifeless. Molly’s eyes locked with his cold ones.

There was more arguing as the men realized quickly the little girl was there.

There was swearing from her father. Something about her older brother not watching her. The other men held demeanor of being mildly inconvenienced. Molly remembered that. She remembered how casual everyone was about the murderer that just transpired in her garage.

Her father was still holding the gun as he’d usher her to leave and that he’d be there in a minute. There was a run of his hand through his hair.

Molly didn’t cry. She didn’t scream again. She found herself numb.

She felt this was a dream. For awhile she’d try and think it was. But, she’d realize soon, no, it wasn’t.

It’s just how the world was. At least the world she was born into.

It was just business.

Molly complied when her father told her to go. Closing the door carefully behind her as she stood there. Waiting. Waiting until eventually, what would take too long for a normal parent, came to lead her back upstairs and get her back into bed.

He lacked the warm affection her mother did when he put her under the covers.

He was stressed. He still smelled of cigarette smoke, sweat and gunpowder. Molly learned to associate that smell with both her father and older brother quickly. It’d become too nostalgic familiar much more quicker than any child should have it be.