January 28, 1980

Sammy sat at the kitchen table of the small West Virginian house. The table was old and dirty, cluttered with food from breakfast. The kitchen was 1960s style, tacky and out-dated. The seven-year-old boy stared blankly at the bright red wall in front of him, his mouth opened. His hands were spread out on the table, he was shaking slightly. He panted heavily, the sound of yelling in the next room was muffled, but still loud enough for him to hear. The back door was open, only the screen door was closed and it still let the rain in. There was so much noise and confusion between the yelling, hard rain, and Sammy's heavy breathing.

Finally, the yelling died down and Sammy stopped everything. Now the only sound was that of the rain. Blood ran out of Sammy's nose, it was warm against his skin. He reached up and wiped it away quickly, but more replaced it. Suddenly, the door to the next room flew open, and a huge man stormed into the room. He held a knife in his hand. It was completely drenched in blood, the red fluid dripped in a trail behind him onto the linoleum flooring. He threw the knife in the sink and grabbed a towel. There was blood covering his wife-beater, along with car grease and soil.

"Shit," he cursed, his voice was deep and rumbled through the room. He pulled off the shirt he was wearing and threw it in the trash, it was too drenched to save. Sammy noticed deep gashed in the man's shoulder, probably from nails. The man didn't seem to notice Sammy staring at him out of the corner of his eye and walked back into the room. Sammy slowly got up from the table and peeked around the corner. All he could see was the man's bare back, he was crouching over. He could not see what he was over though.

A few moments later, the man returned to the kitchen and proceeded to wash his hands. Sammy walked into the living room where the fighting had been coming from. There, on the floor, was a woman. He didn't recognize her, but she was probably a hooker his father had picked up on the way home that night. She was gasping for breath, clutching at her chest where blood pumped out and through her fingers. Sammy stood over her as she looked at him, her eyes were so still, but she moved. He noticed the long, fake nails she had on also, along with the short red dress that barely covered her chest, not to mention the wound in it.

Sammy watched as she gradually stopped panting as he had been, and her body stopped twitching. He started to cry as the man walked into the room, "What are you doing kid? Get the hell away from that whore!" He shoved Sammy to the side and grabbed him by the arms, "That's what she got for fucking around with me the wrong way," he yelled into the young boys face, "That's what you'll get too!"

With that he released the boy and walked back into the kitchen. Sammy was crying heavily now, he was only seven years old and had to witness something so horrible.

Sammy turned toward the kitchen and ran outside into the rain, never to return.