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Personal Narrative: Blood

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Blood. There was so much blood. The images of their bloody, mutilated bodies will haunt my nightmares. Their horrible gut-wrenching screams are still echoing in my head.
The branches are tearing at my exposed skin and my bag, but I don’t care. If I stop running, he’ll catch me and kill me too. I’m only seven, I deserve none of this. I don’t deserve to have watched my father kill my mother, and I certainly don’t deserve to die because of my father’s stupid mistakes.
“Shit!” I scream as I fall. Being too caught up in my thoughts to pay attention to where I’m going, I trip over an exposed tree root. Before I can get up, my father grabs me by my hair and lifts me into the air. He tears my backpack off and dumps the contents on the ground and crushes

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