Monitors beeped harmoniously. Wires and IV bags decorated along side his bed. He laid so still, a statue of a man, as if Medusa herself taken him as her next victim. I sat in the chair located in the farthest right corner, just staring. Watching each time his chest would rise and felt as if it took a century to fall back down. His breaths were becoming strained and despite the state he was in he moaned a gargled sound every once in awhile. Still unmoving. It’d been a week since he opened his eyes last. The doctor said there wasn’t much time left, his organs hanging on by a thread. My emotions were caught in a crossfire, relief and grief battling against each other. Each day one would outweigh the other but as his end came closer I could feel the weight lift off my shoulders. A bearing weight of a thousand suns sat right on top of me. Didn’t life know I was only so strong? No one came to visit him, my dad, not a single soul. My mother has since passed. My brother was smarter than I and kept his distance. He made sure to let me know how stupid I was for even being by his side. I was the only one here for him and the thought turned my stomach sour. I rubbed the scar on my temple as flashbacks started to pour in. I was 8, so full of life even as a young child. I remember playing with my hand made dolls that were created with nothing but milk jugs and old worn fabric from outgrown dresses. I was outside, barefoot in the grass, imagining a world where no pain existed. My dolls were in love and had a happy family. One that I wish I could relate to. I remember feeling the sunshine that was warming my bones being eclipsed by a large shadow. Coolness took over the decadent heat and I looked up to see his piercing blue eyes stabbing into me. “You didn’t do your goddamn chores, girl.” He snarled through liquor infused breaths. My dad wore the same greased stained overalls as he always did, smelling of oil and cigars. I reached over to gather my dolls hurriedly before his anger grew. I knew the consequences. But before I could even grab one something hard and rigid struck me right in the head. Immediately the sun was no longer shining and darkness surrounded my vision, specks of light dancing amongst the void. I barely heard myself whimper with distraught pain before finally blacking out. I remember waking up that same evening in my brother’s bed, a searing headache forming. My brother, Jonah, stood above me cleaning my face with a wet rag. He looked at me with tear filled eyes and something else…pure anger. “He did it, didn’t he?” He said through clenched teeth. His young features hardened and he wore the face of a man home from war instead that of one of a 10 year old. I release my hand from the scar and the flashback fades but the pain does not. I look at my dad, so close to death that if he were able he could taste it on his lips. A fire burns in my spirit and the regret of giving him my time of day builds feverishly. I stand up and make a choice. Walking to his bed, I took in his face that was once fuller and cheeks that were once blushed pink by the alcohol he consumed. His skin now clung to each fragment of his skull and he was a dull paleish color. All life had already been drained. I carefully slid his pillow out from under his head and paused. Revenge was a complicated thing to want. At this moment, it felt more like a need. A craving. I placed the pillow on his face and before I could think, I pressed down firmly, putting all my weight into this act of vengeance. He squirmed ever so slightly. Moaned just barely. And I thought to myself, is that all you have to say for yourself? His movements stopped and alarms blared, pulling me back to reality. “Thank you. For nothing.” I said, a single tear falling. I placed the pillow back under him and walked away with my head held high.