I can wait.

I sat in the picturesque living room, lit by the 150 gallon fish tank, watching my brother play on his GameBoy while listening to my mom get beaten. I am almost used to this setting and stimuli, but not quite, sure I know it's wrong, but now is clearly not the time for action. Taking a large sigh, I slump into the feather couch, and begin to rub my cold, clammy hand against my forehead, eyes still fixed on my brother. My dear brother was truly the only good thing about this house of carnage.

"What're you playing?" I asked, desperate for an auditory distraction at least, a desperation I found myself still affixed to as my brother ignored me. I take in a breath before anger bubbled up, knowing full well were I to choose to kill my ,other aggressor, he would never see it coming, but I didn't want to go to jail. The sounds from the other room now permeate every inch of my mind as nausea overtook me, it's time to allow my mind to wander into the unspoken territory of my youthful mind.

I could clearly remove the harpoon gun above the kitchen entry, run into my mom's room, and shoot her husband, laugh as his blood sputters out onto the new white fluffy carpet. I could drag his body across the slate stone of the floor, only bring him out to the backyard for the dogs he valued so much more than me to eat. I'd obviously call the cops after, I'm only ten at this point, but I'd wait a bit, let those animals desiccate the man who ruined my mother and I. I caught myself smiling while staring off into space, something I couldn't allow in this house.

As I straighten out my face, I wonder how my brother would fare without his father, would he be glad, or would it break him? I clench my fists as I realize, if his father were dead he would need to be assimilated into foster care. In foster care, you are entering a lottery, sure you may get a kindly couple to love you, or you could get the most sadistic persons you have ever had the dissatisfaction of being utterly powerless against. Mom was now crying violently as I heard the rhythmic thumps I had been made privy to since I was five.

I am all too aware of what my mom is going through, and with so little I can do, my only choice is to wait it out. I love my brother, but I deeply wish he at least had a good place to go, so I could be done with his dad. Every choice you make will have a ripple effect onto the ones you love, a lesson I learned far too young, I find myself breaking down often, screaming and crying because I feel so robbed, I wish I had the luxury of a childhood. I know I can't leave, because someone needs to make sure my brother and mom will make it, but at this point the only thing driving me is the hope that my mom's husband will die by someone else's hand.

I was so busy feeling sorry for myself I hardly realized, I don't need to kill him, I just need to scare him enough to make it stop for now. My brother looked up momentarily as a crack of laughter split from my throat as I guided my eyes to the kitchen archway excitedly. Biting my lip with as much intensity as I had bided my time, I crossed the room to a chair. Quietly as ever, I slid a kitchen chair into place under the glistening harpoon gun. I lifted it off it's mounting hooks. It was heavier than I thought, and almost comically large compared to my frame.

Carefully I stepped down, as I realized my lip was bleeding, something I knew I could utilize in my upcoming performance. I had spent a good amount of time acting in plays, but this was going to be different. This was life or death, and this was hardly going to need to be acting, I may in fact need to rain myself in. I swept across the floor, my brother's eyes fixed on me, mouth gaping open as I locked eyes with him, smiling. I banged the door open loudly, leaving a hole in the wall where the knob hit it, I stepped into the room. Blood smeared my now numb face, dripping down my shirt.

"What the hell do you think you're doing" my soprano voice spat dripping with anger and hate.

"wha- why are you- what's that?" mom's husband haltered dumbfounded, as he typically was by anything he himself didn't plan out.

"I think it's pretty obvious, now what the hell do you think you're doing" I was screaming now, and irreparably outraged, I would remember this feeling for life. I sidled up to the bed, pointing the tip of the harpoon directly at his head with an unnatural smile. "I could kill you here, and I'll get in less trouble than you because I'm a kid. I'm right, aren't I" I could taste victory as he slid off the bed, buttoning his pants as be backed up to the wall. I moved the soft fluffy blanket my mom had often cuddled with me in to cover her now exposed breasts.

While I crossed the room to follow her husband began slipping out the window which he had back into seemingly by accident. I was okay with this, but knew that he would be back eventually if I let him go. I took a breath in as I pointed the harpoon and pulled the trigger. The harpoon hit with a satisfying thud and a grunt. He looked back just in time to see the deranged look on my face as I both laughed and cried. He was going to come back, I knew it well, as I know he would survive a harpoon to the hip, although hopefully he would be sterile now.

He slumped out of the window with a pained scream, presumably he fell on the harpoon jutting from him. He ran across the lawn, leaving me wishing I had spare harpoons. I finally look over at my stunned mom, in shock and in pain, a fresh bruise or two spread across her face. "I'll make dinner" I murmured, anything to get me out of that room.

The next few days were uneventful, I cooked and cleaned, like usual, but mom's husband was still away. I allowed myself to hope he was gone while completing my chores. I allowed myself to feel safe for a whole hour, an entire hour of the closest I had ever been to happiness at my mom's house. I allowed myself to let my guard down, and I'm sure that's why he was able to come back into our lives like a battering ram of bad tidings.

He walked in and sat down, offering no explanation, and we just accepted it, why did we accept it? I suppose that is a question I will never truly know, beyond myself, why did my mom? These are questions I cannot even being to answer for you, is that I can wait to exact my revenge. You taught me to be patient, and I will make use of it.