My dad made me watch as he plucked off all the feathers, cleaned the bird, and gutted it. Then, he tossed it in a pot of boiling water. When it was cooked, he put it on a plate and set it down in front of me. It looked like a tiny little chicken. “Now eat it,” he ordered. Tears rolled down my cheeks. My father stood over me and made sure I ate the whole thing.

My dad wasn’t all that bad. He bought me a puppy for my 8th birthday. A few months later, he decided to teach me how to drive a car. As we were backing out of the driveway, I heard a crunch and hit the brakes. We got out of the car and when I saw my beloved pet dog, squashed under one of the rear wheels, I fell to my knees and burst into tears.

“You know the rules,” my dad said.

I started shaking my head and crying, “No! No! No! No!”

My dad picked up the dead dog, but I took off running into the fields. I spent the next two days and nights sleeping rough in the woods. I was cold and hungry, but I didn’t want to go home.

On the third night, I waited until it was late and all the lights were out. Then, I climbed into the kitchen window as quietly as possible and looked in the fridge.

All of a sudden, I heard my father’s voice coming from the darkness. “Your dinner’s on the table,” he said.

He flicked on the lights and nodded to a big platter on the table. There lay my pet dog, roasted to a crisp, with an apple in its jaws.

I tried to run, but he grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and pushed me down on a chair. I couldn’t stop screaming and crying, but he didn’t care.

Picking up a knife and fork, my father carved pieces of the dog and put them on my plate. He made me eat until I felt my stomach was about to burst.

Something inside me snapped that night. I couldn’t take it anymore. Then and there, I began plotting to run away.

Early one morning, just before dawn, I got dressed and packed a bag. Then, I quietly opened my bedroom door and tip-toed into the hallway.

Standing at the top of the stairs was my father. He had been waiting for me.

“Going somewhere?” he chuckled.

I tried to run past him, but he stepped in my way. I accidentally slammed into him and he lost his balance. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I watched my father fall backward and I reached out to grab him, but I missed.

He tumbled down the stairs, hitting every step on the way down, and landed at the bottom with a dull thud. I ran down the stairs to try and help him, but it was useless. His neck was twisted at an odd angle and his dead eyes stared up at me. I started crying uncontrollably.

I was still crying as I switched on the oven and went out to the shed to fetch the ax.