It was dark. Too dark. Way too dark.
Not physically, though. The practically white sunshine spilled over the carpet and purple bedsheets. And the lightly falling snow outside made it seem even brighter. So bright that it hurt my eyes.
But mentally it was dark. Emotionally, it was dark. I could hear little girls screaming. I could hear my sisters screaming.
Then, I could hear my dad. Yelling at them to shut up. That if they didn't, their big sister was next.

My dad, he was screaming about how we couldn't tell anyone. Not our friends, not the media, not Social Services. That if anyone found out what had happened with Mom, we would be going with her. I ran and hid in my closet, and shut the door. Now the lighting matched the mood of my surroundings. But I could still hear my sisters threatning my dad, not knowing what they were getting into. Occasionally, I could hear my dad's belt slap on someone's skin, then a girl's cry of pain.

I had to dial 911. I didn't have a choice. My dad wasn't just going to kill one of them if they told. He'd kill them anyway. Part of me still wished that he would be able to qualify for the insanity plea. But just because he's pyscho doesn't mean he's insane.
I felt across the floor for my phone. I was looking for something small in a pile of dirty clothes and the occasional soda can. I was looking for a needle in a haystack.
But I found it. Smooth and hard, that had to be my phone. I flipped it open and dialed 9.

It was too late. The closet door swung open and a flash of bright light appeared before me. I thought I was already dead.
But there my dad stood in the doorway, with little sister Ann wrapped in my dad's leather belt.
I had to finish the job.

1. 1.