Week 13: Prompt 2

Dump the trash bin on the floor, pull on your rubber gloves, and hunt for the truth.

This line kept repeating over and over in my mind. Ever since I had called my mom and told her what I thought was going on, she had uttered those words. There I sat in his office, surrounded by his possessions, thrown haphazardly across the room.  Even after all my searching, I had found nothing. As I wallowed in my misery, I heard a car door slam. My heart slammed in to high speed mode, and my stomach leapt into my throat. I panicked and raced from the room. The key scraped on the front door lock. Big boots scuffed there way across the floor to the office. I snuck upstairs, further away from the impending explosion. I ran to the bedroom and slammed the door behind me. The big boot scuffs grew faster as he skipped steps in his haste to get upstairs. His fist pounded on the door. I pressed myself against the closet wall and whispered to myself, trying to calm my nerves. The slamming stopped, for a moment. Then the door was broken, splintered away from the door frame. His boots scuffed across the rug until he found me. His fingers wrapped around my neck and the bright bedroom seemed to darken. A black haze moved into my line of vision. The haze grew larger and larger until I couldn't see his face. I closed my eyes.