Tell A Tale in 500 Words

Survival By ruben kitson



‘No,’ I shouted, as Stan belted her hard with his fat fist. He laughed, his face flushed with alcohol as always, his piggy eyes staring mockingly. ‘Why? What are you gonna do? Hit me,’ he said derisively.

I shook with fury. I couldn’t have hated anybody more than I hated Stan. I hated his slug- like body, and his coarse voice, but most of all I hated his treatment of my mother. She was the only person who I truly loved. I guess I loved my brother, Tim, but not in the same way, he was often arrogant and condescending. She was so gentle, and so fragile.

I couldn’t bare the inadequacy and feeling of injustice I felt when Stan hit my mother. He knew that I was too small hurt him, and he reveled in his dominance. God I hated him.

I stood, shaking with rage, powerless and weak in comparison with Stan’s drunken bulk. Don’t let him know he’s hurt you, I thought, but it was no use. A wave of rage wracked my body, and I lunged for the carving knife on the table. Stan reacted too slowly, and I took the knife before he even moved. He laughed, as I brandished the knife. ‘You know as well as I do, you’d never use that on me,’ he sneered.

‘Oh you think so?’ I asked, eyes narrowed angrily.

‘Yep, that’s what I said.’

Suddenly I dived forwards, evading his clumsy swipe. Drunkenness made him slow and awkward. I stabbed the knife into his gut. Stan collapsed, a look of shock on his face, before he crumpled over and started spewing and moaning pathetically on the floor.

‘Oh God, Will, what have you done?’ Cried my mother, then louder, ‘What have you done.’

I turned and raced away. I couldn’t believe what I’d done and I fled, terrified of the consequences.

Charging down the path, I collided with Tim as he turned in at the front gate. He started swearing at me, then, when he saw my face, he stopped abruptly. ‘You OK?’ he asked, concerned.

‘I think I just killed Stan,’ I blurted.

‘Shit,’ he swore, and ran into the house.

It wasn’t long before the ambulance arrived, and the police too. Stan was wheeled out, looking deathly pale. He’s not going to live, I thought in terror. I’ll be sent to jail, I know it.

All my dreams of dating Sophie and one day beating Tim at something, were crushed. I’d spend my life locked up in a cell.

Tim was in the house talking to the police.

‘You’re saying you took the knife and stabbed him?’ asked one officer.

‘Yeah,’ said Tim shortly. ‘I did, and I’m not sorry either.’

The police snapped cuffs on his wrists and led him away. As he passed, he looked at me gently, ‘I love you, Will. Promise you’ll visit me.’

I nodded, tears of love and gratitude trickling down my cheeks.

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