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Once upon a time, there was a girl named Lindsey. She was your average person. Had a shitty job, made enough money to get by. One day, she was just getting home from work and came home to be surprised. She turned on the lights to see her father, sitting on her couch with an alcoholic beverage in his hand. You see, this was not good, her father wasn't someone you would be happy to see. He was someone you would rather run from. "Hello there, Lindsey," he greeted, alcohol obviously having an effect on his voice. "Father, why are you here?" she replied nervously. "I wanted to pay you a little visit, I have something to tell you." "What is it?" she asked hoping to get this whole encounter over with as soon as possible. "Your mother," he started in an emotionless voice, "she's dead. She left me here in this hell hole." "Oh." was all she could say. "And you're the only one left, you piece of shit. Why couldn't it have been you instead of her. Its all your fault. And you, are going to pay." Once she heard those words, she froze, this situation was all too familiar, it was like her childhood all over again, horrible images and memories instantly filled her mind. "No, please, don't, I didn't do it, its not my fault, please, no!" she started blurting out in a hope to prevent him from hurting her. "No, you deserve it," he said then smacked her across the face and laughed. She cried out in pain and her hand went up to her face. She fell to the floor after a kick to the shin and a punch to the gut, writhing in pain. All she could think of was how badly she wanted this to end, how nobody would save her, how done she was. She stopped fighting, stopped protecting herself. She was done. After about ten minutes her father let out a satisfied grunt then picked up his drink and walked out the door. "Ugh..." she choked out then started toward her bedroom in a feeble crawl. After a lot of pain she finally made it, she went to the bedside table, pulled out the gun, loaded it, put it up to her head, and pulled the trigger. She was done.