Author's Note: This is a short story I wrote for a local competition. I'd love for you to give me your honest opinion on this.

My Deleted Family

My father didn’t believe in computers.

Too damned technical, he once said. Well, it’s called technology, Dad, I answered, rolling my eyes over my toast and eggs (over easy). Sensing danger, my mother set down her fork nervously and shot me a warning sign with her anxious blue eyes. At that, I grudgingly looked down, fuming and prodding my eggs until the yolk ran in yellow steams across my chipped china plate. Though I couldn’t see it, I could feel my father’s glare on me. He slammed his coffee mug on the table, and breakfast commenced in fragile peace.

One day, during dinner, my sister brought it up again. There’s a school project, see, she said, her voice rising meekly above the steam of the French onion soup.

My father grunted to show that he heard. Or perhaps it was to choke down a piece of bread.

Whatever the reason, my sister continued, And….and Ms. Elmer said it had to be typed. And…and spell checked…

He looked up, the word ‘typewriter’ already dripping out of his lips, but my sister plowed on; my quiet younger sister that could hardly string two words together interrupted Father. She was so brave I set down my spoon so I wouldn’t betray my trembling fingers.

Please, dad. Everyone has one. Everyone—

There came the shattering crash of our small, four-legged table as it overturned, my father standing over the wreckage like a furious storm. Onion soup soaked into our carpet. The peas that my mother always nagged us to eat rolled in confused herds. Our forks, knives, spoons, and plates clattered together, meeting each other with more noise than we’d ever dared to produce. However, it was the brief silence afterward that was deafening.

My mother’s hands were shaking, and she looked ready to cry. My sister was sitting there, stunned and wordless. Her face was so pale that her freckles stood out like footprints on new snow.

Everything froze. From the hallway, I could hear the ticking of our grandfather clock.

Can’t I eat my dinner in peace, girl?

My father’s voice roared, invading the fearful numbness in the air.

Tick…tock….tick, went the grandfather clock. At ‘tock’, my father grabbed my sister’s shirt collar with his meaty fingers and jerked her up.

Life drained from my mother’s face, bleaching her cheeks marble. Stop! her voice shrieked, so insistent and panicked that a shiver trekked down my spine. Will, STOP!

She was prying my sister from Father and crying so hard that her entire body shook.

Get away from me, Father shouted, pushing my mother away with his free arm. She stumbled, and then lost her balance. Her head knocked against the kitchen counter as she reeled backwards—falling, falling, falling. There was screaming in the kitchen. I didn’t know who it was coming from, but the sound echoed. My mother lay on the kitchen floor like a ragged doll that’d been discarded. Blood bloomed on her ivory skin, unfolding into serpentine burgundy.

Mom, I choked. My heart sped up and jumped close to my throat so that I couldn’t breath.

For an eternity, I waited.

And waited. Sounds passed me by. Father was shouting. The neighbor’s dog was barking. My heart was drumming against my ears. Please…please…mom, just…just…

She stirred. I sent a tacit thanks to God as air refilled my lungs.

My father looked from my mother lying on the floor, to me, kneeling and gasping beside her, to my sister who had gone mute. His hand unfurled, freeing my sister. She stood for a split second before her legs gave out and she was on the ground.

He looked and looked and looked—to Mother, me, my sister. Mother, me, my sister. And then—as if everything was too much for him—he went to the refrigerator, grabbed a frosty, brown bottle, and left the kitchen.

0

That night, my sister and I cleaned up the plates and scrubbed the tiles until all traces of the ordeal evanesced. I felt like I was hiding a murder so that none of the neighbors will find out. My mother tried to help us, but she could barely move from the pain in her head. Finally, she sat in a chair and just watched us. All of us were crying. Our tears soaked our shirts. By the end of the night, I felt cold and clammy. There were no more tears left. For that night, anyways.

Mother, despite everything, put us to bed and tucked us in. My bed was soft, and my comforter was cold against my bare legs. I hugged my sister to me. Together, we warmed the walls of cotton around us. I was drowsy and exhausted and my sister felt like a heating pan beside me.

If you and I both save five dollars a week, when d’ya think we’ll have enough for a computer? my sister asked softly.

I thought she was asleep. I certainly was. For the first time that day, I was feeling warm and safe. However, peace never lasts long. My sister had to bring everything up again.

Never, I mumbled back, irritated. Dad’ll throw it out the window.

Oh.

Her disappointment was so strong that even I felt it.

But-

She never finished what she wanted to say because we both heard shouting outside. Mother’s voice mingled with Father’s in a chorus of angry birds.

My sister scooted closer to me, and we both listened. The words were faint and garbled, but it was enough to keep us under a perturbed spell of quiet.

Finally, it all stopped. Our bedroom door opened with a long, lamenting creak. Mother’s silhouette stood against the light in the hall.

Girls, she breathed, stepping inside. Get up. She began walking around the room, putting our clothes in a large, black garbage bag. Our possessions all disappeared within the plastic darkness, and I was reminded of the black hole we learned in science class.

What-? I started to ask, but was silenced when my mother put a warm sweater over my head.

Please just listen to me, she said. Don’t ask questions. She sounded tired and strained.

From somewhere within the house, a loud, slurred voice shouted, Take ‘em and leave! But don’t think I’ll take you back when you come begging at my door!

I listened to my mother and didn’t ask any questions as we got dressed, and took any last things we wanted from our room. My sister took the stash of money under the mattress. We had a fortune now, I thought proudly. Forty-eight dollars, saved from mowing lawns, walking dogs, and sitting little Sally-Anne from across the street.

When we stepped outside, the night air bit my skin. Mother fumbled inside her purse, and took out the house key. She put it on the porch. For a whole minute, we stood in front of the house and gazed at it. After what seemed like a long, long time, my mother took my sister’s hand and started down the street. I followed. The darkness swallowed us, and I was filled with a feeling of doing something forbidden.

Everything looked sinister in the nigrosine gloom. Our footsteps tapped against the concrete sidewalk. It became a lulling pattern that brought perspiration to my forehead. Streetlights passed our heads one after another until I lost count. I could hear the sound of cars traveling on other streets. Stars sparkled down on us—pretentious diamonds against velvet firmament.

Suddenly, I was jolted out of my reverie. There was high-pitched squealing of tires. Headlights fell on us. I turned around and was blinded. It was then I knew what those deer and little rabbits felt like on dark highways. I knew why they couldn’t move. The headlights cemented my feet to the ground.

The car charged onto the sidewalk. Two small hands pushed me so that I fell on someone’s dewy lawn. The next second, the car was gone, zigzagging down the street with loud tires. I watched it go and recognized it.

It was our car. Ours.

But…

It never made sense to me until much later.

Call the police! Go get help! my mother screamed. I turned to look at what had happened, and my mind turned white. My vision ebbed away so that the last thing I saw was my sister laying on the ground, motionless, and my mother, covered with blood.

0

The hospital was white and clean. It smelled like iodine. Fluorescent lights flickered with amazing celerity so that I only realized it was flashing on and off after lying in the hospital bed for hours. I had never been so tired in my entire life, but I couldn’t fall asleep. Little by little, the Stygian outside turned to dim grayness. Then, the sun rose and light illuminated everything. I wished they’d turn off the flickering lights. I closed my eyes to block it out.

At noon the next day, a somber doctor came in. I had already seen him before. He had dark hair, and his doctor’s robes matched the walls.

He told me my sister died. All the while his mouth moved, comforting me, I wondered how many people’s death he’d announced in his lifetime because the lines sounded much rehearsed.

Over the next few days, the police came in to ask me about my father. I didn’t want to tell them anything. I wanted everyone to leave me alone. I wished there was a place of silence in the world, where I could sit forever until I turned to dust.

I found it strange that my mother hadn’t come to see me. I knew she must have been injured. I decided to wait.

I waited until a week later, when a policeman came in. He held my hand, which I didn’t like. He also tried to look into my eyes as he talked, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I’d received enough pitying looks for a lifetime.

My mother escaped from the hospital after she learned of my sister’s death. A jogger found her floating along the San Francisco coast a few days later. I always knew she liked my sister best. When I accused her of it before, she’d tell me it wasn’t true. Now, I wanted to say ‘Itoldjaso’, but I didn’t have anyone to say it to.

0

My foster parents have three computers. They put one in my room. There is one in the office, and one in their bedroom. I can spell-check my work now. I like typing on the word document. I like how I can write things out, then press a button, print it. Or, press a button, and delete it. Sometimes, I wish life is one big computer. I can press a button and print the things I like. Or, I can press a button, and delete everything I hate—my memories, my foster parents’ dog, my family. But I guess they are deleted, in a way. They certainly aren’t in my life anymore. I haven’t seen my father since that night, and then once more on the news. He’s in prison. My mother was fished out of the San Francisco bay. My sister had a funeral I never went to. Yes, they’re all deleted now.