I’m four chapters in on Part 3, so I hope to be finished by Friday, Saturday at the latest.
Part 1. Micro Chp. 7
I looked behind me, catching a glint of red in the fading light. My dad had left his toolbox outside again.
“Great dad, I could do with a broken leg right now,” walking back to retrieve it, cursing him for almost ruining my chances of winning player of the year for the third time in a row.
He may be a brilliant engineer and my first goto person when I needed information for homework, but my dad had a crappy memory for remembering things. Only last week he’d forgotten that he’d left a saucepan on the lit stove, without anything in it of course. My mum wasn’t too happy to arrive home to a house full of black smoke and another bottomless saucepan. My dad ended up banned from entering the kitchen unsupervised. Yet again.
I bent to pick up the toolbox and noticed the ladder leaning against the side of the fir tree planted just outside our garden. He can come back and get those, I thought, catching sight of a string of lights dangling from the branches. Maybe the power cut had stopped him from finishing. I gazed higher.
My stomach reacted first, and then my legs seemed to lose all sense of feeling, as I fell to my knees and landed in the pool of vomit that had just erupted from my stomach. I wanted to scream, but my throat had gotten so tight I couldn’t. My head spun, but my eyes refused to look away from the horror of my dad, hanging by his foot from the cable.
“Dad,” I tried to scream, but no sound left my mouth, only another gush of puke as it exploded on the ground in front of me. “Dad,” I whispered, as the hot tears burned my face.Copyright © by Sarah Neeve
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