The Day I Met Saint Peter

My stepfather, Vance, struggled through the front door, his muscles taught, from a long day at the auto-shop. He walked by glaring at me, piercing my every fiber with contempt and hatred. He was jealous of what I had, he was jealous of the love that I stole away from him. He slowly sauntered through the living room, toward the kitchen eager to taste the meal my mother had prepared for him. The dinner bell rang, my mother took great pride in her cooking, she seemed so at ease while cooking, especially for him. The three of us had been seated,ready to eat, when my sister skipped into the room in such a manner that is normally seen only in a disney movie. She truly appeared to be on cloud nine, for what reason might never be know because it rarely happened and when it did was often short lived. As she entered the kitchen she opened her eyes and noticed that Vance had already returned from work and abruptly fell into a militaristic stride. She did this in fear that her happiness might anger him. He hated us because the love that our mom gave us took away from the love she gave him, or at least that was what he believed. Vance is an bitter and jealous man that wants even what he cannot have. Our mother accepted this flaw of his because of reason unknown. And for this my sister and I hated him with such a passion it could strike a fear in even the devils eyes. But we feared him even more. This fear could be seen in our faces, not in our expressions, we wore our suffering in our skin, we bared the scars of his jealous rage and suffered for a love that shouldn’t be. I swore to my self that night with great fortitude that I would end our suffering. Dinner time had passed and Vance began his nightly ritual of drowning his soul in liquor. He always pounded down the whiskey as if it was only water. He pounded down glass after glass until he was ready to pound down on my sister and I. This time was different because before he started working over me he started with my mom. He only hit her when he really had a bad day, usually I was his main punching bag. It was then that I was overcome with a feeling that I had never felt before. I flung myself at him with a courage from deep inside. I tried to stop his fists from barreling down upon my moms face but i was only six. As I was flailing my arms in the air he turned and struck me with a force I had never felt before. Every thing went black. I couldn’t open my eyes, they were sore and even the blackness was fading from all around me. What was happening to me? Was he still punishing me? That was when I awoke and met Saint Peter.

The Day I Met Saint Peter

Andrew  Hogan-Higgs

Atlantic City, United States

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Artist's Description

Vance, struggled through the front door, his muscles taught, from a long day at the auto-shop. He walked by glaring at me, piercing my every fiber with contempt and hatred.

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