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Anthony Hall

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Member Since: May, 2004

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Cuts Like A Knife
By Anthony Hall
Monday, January 10, 2005

Not rated by the Author.

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This short story was written by my son Aaron Hall (18) for a project in his creative writing class, where the students had to begin the story with "There was dust everywhere..."

The teacher was very impressed with his work and has chosen it to be published in the school's annual chapbook. I am very proud of him as you can guess.


Dust was everywhere in the dark basement which held my notebook captive. The only light was from the door that I left open on my way in. Otherwise, it was pitch black. Ironically, that same sliver of light illuminated the area in which I would eventually find my notebook. It was right in between two large boxes full of knives, razors and many other things used for cutting and tearing.

As I tried to squeeze the notebook out, I placed my hand on one of the blades that was piercing through the side of the box. It penetrated my hand, the one I use to write with, and I could feel the cold blade rip through my skin. At first, it just stung, but then the throbbing was excruciating! I fought back the tears and the urge to cry out for help, knowing that if my dad found out that I was snooping around in his basement, it would not matter how much pain I was in, he would make it worse.

Then, all of a sudden, I heard a voice. A voice much colder than the blade that had split my hand open. A voice that made my heart leap into my throat and my stomach twist in knots. It was my Dad’s voice.

“What are you doing in there boy?” his jaw was set as he spoke through his teeth. “Dad…” I managed to get out, my hand numb and the blood sticky on my fingers, “I cut myself pretty bad.”

His jaw immediately unset once he saw the wound. Rushing to my side he knelt down saying, “We need to get you the hospital.” As he picked me up and helped me walk to the door (as if my leg was broken), his jaw set again and he asked, “Were you looking for that stupid notebook again? I thought I told you to leave that alone. You ain’t never gonna make it as a writer, so stop wasting your time and mine! Now look what you did. Well, I guess that’s what you get.”

At that moment, I felt the knife penetrating again, cutting into my heart. Only this time, my father was the blade. I felt the same sting, the same throbbing and soon the same numbness. His cold words had cut me deeper than any knife or sword could ever cut. The wound on my hand was just an abrasion compared to the lacerations his words had caused.

I had been too afraid to cry out for help or stand up for myself before, but at that moment I managed to dig up enough courage to say, “I am so tired of this Dad.”

“Of what!” he snapped back, speaking through clinched teeth.

“I’m tired of you.” I was shocked to hear the words coming out of my mouth.

“Excuse me!” he said, with his head slightly cocked to the side, dumbfounded by my newly found courage.

“I’m tired of you always trying to bring me down lower than you are. Every time I find a way out of this cycle you have created, you take it away from me. I found my escape through writing, and as harmless as that is, you found a way to take that too.”

“Why can’t I have ambitions Dad? Can you tell me why should I follow your footsteps, when they are leading me off a cliff?”

He was speechless. His whole demeanor changed. He went from being the person I feared most, to a lost child who found himself alone again.

“Don’t you want me to better myself Dad?” my voice lowered to a whisper. By now I could actually see tears forming in his eyes and with his head down he replied, “I don’t wanna be alone.” In his voice, I could hear he was crying though he tried not to show it. He just hugged me and said, “I don’t wanna lose you.”

Composing himself, he looked me directly in the eyes and said, “I’m so very sorry.” Then finally, he let me go, let me out of his arms.

Copyright ©2004 Aaron Hall


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Reviewed by Nordette Adams 8/31/2006
I've said it before and I'll say it again, "You have a talented son there, Anthony." I hope he's sticking with his writing. ~~Nordette
Reviewed by A PAX 5/4/2005
This is so symbolic and impressive, the arrow flying from the bow!
What a mature and wise tale.
The fight and pain of independant thought, lifestyle, and stance, yet at the same time, the bond of blood...
Bravo!!
No wonder you are proud.

And I am sure this does not represent Mr A Hall.....he is too progressive a dad for this backward thinking lol

applause
pax A
Reviewed by Zenith Elliott 2/20/2005
Very well written! ~Z~
Reviewed by Shirley Cheng 1/12/2005
Aaron, you are certainly a very talented young writer! Keep it up and if you want to be a professional writer, go for it! You'll do great. :)
Reviewed by anjali Singh 1/12/2005
Hi Anthony,

I really like the way feelings of a child being expressed in this story...good job done Aaron!!
Reviewed by Cynthia Borris 1/11/2005
Aaron and Anthony,

Terrific write!

Cynthia
Reviewed by Anna Marie Fritz 1/11/2005
Aaron...you have captured emotions so deep in this piece, that I got
a lump in my throat reading it. "Been there, done that"
You have the potential to become a great writer, I believe, and (when you are accepting autographs from an admiring batch of fans)I hope I can be in the line-up.

Truly enjoyable story!
Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 1/11/2005
your son has gotten your talent! a poignant, compelling read; well done!
Reviewed by Judy Lloyd 1/10/2005
A poignant write and so painful I know.


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