No matter what he did, the gun remained just out of his reach. The longer he struggled, the more hopeless he felt. It was fear that drove him on, keeping him lunging and twisting, grasping for control. His wife was crying behind him and screaming for help when she could catch her breath. But there were no other sounds. No feet pounding the ground or shush of a coat.
He found himself on his back, having lost his focus hearing the terror in his wife's voice. Something heavy hit him in the head. Blood dripped into his left eye. He looked up and saw his father's crystal blue eyes dancing wildly. It was clear, he was off his medication again.
"Fran, run!" he screamed before another heavy hit came and then unconsciousness.
*** Daily Writing Practice-- because this is such a fabulous site and because this prompt has a history of its own (precisely continuing a story where the last writer ended it), please use the link
here to read the rest. You may also need to go to the post from Sunday, October 24th ***
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