I was seated on my mother's lap when my stepfather punched
her in the mouth during one of their numerous arguments. I
could feel my mother's heart beating. I was breathing with her.
I was four years old and I wanted to kill him ! My body was
shaking and soaked in sweat.
A small stream of blood trickled down her chin and dripped onto
my little thigh. I was transfixed as it trickled down to the floor off of my bare foot.
Red has always been the color of rage in my mind since that moment.
Every time I see blood, I remember the day that I wanted to kill and it always
makes me sad.