Sybil sat on the cold concrete floor, a knife in one hand, her shaking mom in the other. She had locked themselves in the closet under the basement stairs. The dirty light bulb on the ceiling tossed a brownish glow on the two bodies. Sybil wiped the tears and blood from her moms face.
“Getchur’ fat ass out here I’m not done with you!” called the voice from above. There was then more stomping and slamming of doors as Sybil’s drunken father franticly searched the house.
“I have no more tears to cry for you daddy, no more prayers to pray for you,” Sybil whisperd as she ran a finger down her knife.
The stomping grew louder above them. Next stop, the basement.
“What the hell you gonna’ do with a knife Sybil? Yur’ as brain dead as yur’ mother!” He thunderd down the stairs, and it wasent long before the closet door jolted, but the lock held it. “Fine!” he screamed, ramming the knife into the door. Just then, sybil kicked the door open with the knife still in it, leaving the drunk unarmed, and Sybil unafraid.