Forever Changed - By Jamie Gibson Page 0,3

out there digging for over an hour, are you not done yet? Get moving, before his body starts smelling up the house,” my mother screamed, over each clap of thunder. I rolled my eyes, thinking how I would love to take her head off and dig her hole.

I walked out of the garden. On a pretty day it’s magnificent, with flowers, vines, and trees blooming everywhere. I love this place. My father and I would work all day out in this garden, planting new flowers. I decided that this was our special place that is why he needed to be buried here.

I headed back to the house and walked through the back door. My mother watched me and tried to hand me a glass of water. I just stood looking at her.

“Don’t you think I just had enough water?” I asked icily.

“I just thought you could use a drink, you still have a lot of work to do,” she said, while dumping out the water in the sink. “Anyway, go finish burying your father. When you’re done with that nasty work, get the mess cleaned up before the maid comes. I am going to go soak in the tub, it has been a long day. Goodnight Elizabeth, I love you,” she said sweetly.

I just looked at her with no emotion on my face or in my eyes, except for one. Anger!

Chapter 4

I watched my mother walk up the stairs and listened for the door to close. I washed my hands and made me a sandwich. I was starving from all the digging I had done and I was only part of the way done with what I needed to do. I was exhausted and very angry.

How could she leave me to all of this mess? Ugh, I prayed she died in her sleep

tonight. I prayed hard, too! What kind of mother would do this to her own family? There are so many questions that needed answers. With renewed motivation and a full stomach I was determined to find them!

Carefully, I started taking everything out of my father’s pockets, which contained three thousand dollars and a piece of paper that he had rolled up with a rubber band. I didn’t think anything of it and just stuffed it into my own pocket.

I rolled his body gently over and removed his wallet from his back pocket. I opened it and the first thing I saw was a picture of him and me. It was taken a couple of weeks ago. I am a photographer and I am always taking pictures. I had been playing on the computer and had made that picture with ‘Daddy’s Little Girl, Always.’ It was the only one in his wallet. A fresh wave of tears flooded my eyes while looking at it.

Of course, he had his driver’s license, insurance cards; our social security cards a few different bank cards, and about five credit cards. There was also a check for four thousand dollars and he had three thousand dollars, in cash, in his wallet. That left me with ten thousand dollars all together. I placed his wallet in my pocket.

Then, I slid his wedding ring off of his finger and the demonic skull ring off his other hand. I placed them on my gold chain that I always wore around my neck.

I got up and walked slowly and quietly upstairs to my little hidden room. I wanted to get my spare camera. I grabbed it and walked back down.

As bad as I hated to, I took pictures of the murder scene. The blood and brains on the wall, the door frame, the carpet, my little hiding spot in the closet, and of course, my father’s dead body. It was horrible I know, but for some reason I needed to do this. I set the self- timer and took a picture of myself holding his feet. I placed the camera around my neck and started dragging my father to the back door.

He was not a heavy man and I was thankful for this, but I was being easy with him as well; I didn’t want to hurt him. I dragged him through the storm to his grave, in the garden. When I got there I stopped long enough to grab my camera and take pictures of my father and his grave. The lightening gave it a good effect and I was excited to see the outcome, however long that would be before I could bring myself to develop