The mind is a funny thing. Gifting you thoughts that form reality in a single breath. But when those thoughts morph into something more twisted, the darkest ideals can become reality...
My daughter Yasmine was always had the wildest of imagination. Every time she'd come home from daycare, she'd have all of these pictures she'd drawn for me with all these vivid colors and stick-figure animals that almost looked more charming than the real thing. I still have her horse drawing on the fridge.
Sometimes I'd ask her what she's drawing and it'd be a picture of us, me and her, in front of our house. Thinking back to it, it still makes me chuckle a bit with joy. I loved my daughter so much.
When I'd come home from work and the babysitter would be done for the night, I'd often go to make sure she was asleep and I'd see her under her covers, muttering to herself like she was talking to someone. I thought it was adorable. Did she have an imaginary friend? I'd let her think that I thought she was sleeping and headed back to my room for the night.
That night at work was long and stressful, but I was grateful that it provided just enough for us to live off of. And as I turned in for the night, I wasn't stressed. Instead, knowing my daughter was happy made me happy.
My daughter Yasmine was always had the wildest of imagination. Every time she'd come home from daycare, she'd have all of these pictures she'd drawn for me with all these vivid colors and stick-figure animals that almost looked more charming than the real thing. I still have her horse drawing on the fridge.
Sometimes I'd ask her what she's drawing and it'd be a picture of us, me and her, in front of our house. Thinking back to it, it still makes me chuckle a bit with joy. I loved my daughter so much.
When I'd come home from work and the babysitter would be done for the night, I'd often go to make sure she was asleep and I'd see her under her covers, muttering to herself like she was talking to someone. I thought it was adorable. Did she have an imaginary friend? I'd let her think that I thought she was sleeping and headed back to my room for the night.
That night at work was long and stressful, but I was grateful that it provided just enough for us to live off of. And as I turned in for the night, I wasn't stressed. Instead, knowing my daughter was happy made me happy.
***
I was awakened by a loud crash from downstairs. I threw the covers off of me and jumped out of bed. I grabbed a wooden bat from behind my headboard and headed out into the hallway. The first thing I did was check to see if my daughter was okay. She was standing in her doorway, clutching her stuffed teddy bear. She looked up at me, tears welling in her eyes. She was terrified for the same reason I was.
I picked her up and carried her over to the stairs. I peered down to the living room to see if anyone was there, and sure enough there was.
Carefully, I sat Yasmine down and quietly told her to stay put. I then crept down the stairs, clutching my baseball bat tight.
The man in my living room was rummaging through some drawers and tossing things out of them and onto the floor behind him. The man was tall and slender, wearing a dark, oversized hoodie and a dark beanie. In his hand he clutched a black trash bag.
As he grabbed a few things from a drawer on the TV stand, I cleared my throat, alerting him to my presence. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I was ready to take him on. To get him the hell out of my house.
But as the man turned around to face me, his arm shot straight up in the air. He grunted in confusion and tried to fight against the invisible force that kept his hand up. "Get off of me!" he cried out. I stared in horror as his arm was then twisted backward, an audible snapping of bones shattering the silence.
A part of me wanted to help, to understand what the hell he was even dealing with, but a part of me didn't. He broke into my house. He was trying to rob me. Why should I help him?
I stared in horror as his arm was twisted into an impossible angle. Then his other. Some kind of invisible force was hurting him. Something I had come down here to try to scare him off with, but this was far more brutal. I genuinely felt horrible for this guy as he cried out in pain, begging for it to stop.
But as I stared in horror, dumbfounded, I heard my daughter beside me. I looked down at her, shocked. She shouldn't be seeing this! I went to cover her eyes, to get her to hide behind me, but when I looked at her I was horrified. Was she smiling? She was clapping and jumping, almost cheering as she looked at the brutality that the robber was enduring.
"That's them, daddy!" she cheered. "That's Gordon, my friend! He's taking care of the bad people, daddy! Aren't you happy?"
I picked her up and carried her over to the stairs. I peered down to the living room to see if anyone was there, and sure enough there was.
Carefully, I sat Yasmine down and quietly told her to stay put. I then crept down the stairs, clutching my baseball bat tight.
The man in my living room was rummaging through some drawers and tossing things out of them and onto the floor behind him. The man was tall and slender, wearing a dark, oversized hoodie and a dark beanie. In his hand he clutched a black trash bag.
As he grabbed a few things from a drawer on the TV stand, I cleared my throat, alerting him to my presence. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I was ready to take him on. To get him the hell out of my house.
But as the man turned around to face me, his arm shot straight up in the air. He grunted in confusion and tried to fight against the invisible force that kept his hand up. "Get off of me!" he cried out. I stared in horror as his arm was then twisted backward, an audible snapping of bones shattering the silence.
A part of me wanted to help, to understand what the hell he was even dealing with, but a part of me didn't. He broke into my house. He was trying to rob me. Why should I help him?
I stared in horror as his arm was twisted into an impossible angle. Then his other. Some kind of invisible force was hurting him. Something I had come down here to try to scare him off with, but this was far more brutal. I genuinely felt horrible for this guy as he cried out in pain, begging for it to stop.
But as I stared in horror, dumbfounded, I heard my daughter beside me. I looked down at her, shocked. She shouldn't be seeing this! I went to cover her eyes, to get her to hide behind me, but when I looked at her I was horrified. Was she smiling? She was clapping and jumping, almost cheering as she looked at the brutality that the robber was enduring.
"That's them, daddy!" she cheered. "That's Gordon, my friend! He's taking care of the bad people, daddy! Aren't you happy?"
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