Blinking in shock, I swing the hammer as hard as possible again when he stumbles. I can feel the impact of the hammer connect with his skull—both squishy and hard all at once.
My father falls. His dark eyes like mine widen in shock as he sees me charge for him. Once he hits the ground, I climb over his body, straddling him, swinging the hammer again and again. With each strike, his blood splatters all over my fingers, my hands and arms, my face. Each new blow brings a new spray of the thick crimson liquid, and I can’t seem to stop myself. Over and over, I slam the strong metal into his broken skull. I can feel the hate climbing down my arms, feeding into the frenzy of finishing him until he’s completely gone and can no longer touch me.