I looked at the photograph. Everyone in it looked so radiant especially me. It was my tenth birthday and I was wearing a gold necklace with an intricately designed pendant which my father had given me. I have always cherished, more so now. As I move my fingers across the photograph, memories of the past replayed in my mind.
I was burning midnight oil, revising and taking down notes for the English test tomorrow. My parents were in their room, asleep. Only me and my loyal companion, Bobo- my dog was awake. The stars gaze unblinking. The air was cool but my heart was heavy. Even the beautiful scenery of my garden, which usually cheers me up, looked so depressed. I heaved a sigh; it was the perfect night to be sleeping. If only I had work hard before, then, burning the midnight oil would not be a "must".
I looked away from the window and turned my attention back to my textbook. Numbered with exhaustion, I stared blankly at the lines of words on the book. I stifled a yawn and rubbed my bleary eyes. I could feel the weariness in my bones. My eyelids felt as heavy as a lead. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not leave them open anymore. The untidy scrawl gradually reduced into illegible snakelike drawings.
After what seemed like eternity, I finished revising for my English test. As I was sleepy, I did not bother about keeping my textbooks. Nor did I bother to close the windows.
I dozed off the moment my head hit the pillow. It was about midnight when I heard Bobo barking.
"What... What happened, Bobo?" I asked softly, rubbing my eyes sleepily. Suddenly, something at the corner of the room, in the darkness of the room, caught my attention.
A dark shadow walked towards me. Wild thoughts raced through my mind. Who is it? What does it wants? Was it a burglar? Or a ghost? I questioned myself repeatedly. Alone with Bobo in my room, I was dizzy with fright and anxiety. The intruder's eyes and mine met for a fraction of a second.
"Do not say a word," he hissed. I opened my mouth to answer him, but no words came out.
I tried to force myself not to scream but fear overcame me and I let out a scream. The burglar was shocked. Suddenly my door knob was turned. Two sleepy yet worried heads popped in. Upon seeing someone in my room, my father sprang into action and wrestled the burglar down to the floor. My mother immediately rushed forward to comfort me. As white as a sheet of paper, I could not breathe properly. Bobo was barking all along. My father ordered my mother to turn on the lights. I saw that the burglar had a mask over his face. In a struggle with the burglar my father pulled off the mask. I gasped when I saw the burglar's face. I saw the burglar's face. His pockmarked face was oily. His skin was leathery. His breath reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. His evil-looking scar made me shivered. My father glanced at me for a second to make sure I was alright. The burglar seized the chance and took the hammer he had been holding to hit my father's head. My father screamed as blood oozed from a cut on his head. My mother and I stared at each other stunned, not knowing what to do.
The heartless burglar took to his heels.
"You will pay for this!" I threatened, jumping out of bed while clenching my fist tight, with green veins rising like tides of river. My words echoed emptily in the air. The burglar may kill me, but I did not care, after all, he had injured my father.
My mother called for an ambulance and sent my father to the hospital. I followed, all the way praying that the injury was not fatal. I asked for God's help. My mother and I sat outside the operating theater. It was one of waits of my life. Seconds plodded by, each separated from the rest by eternity. Air became heavy, damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks. Finally, the doctor came out of the operation room.
"I'm sorry, we have tried our best." I didn't hear the rest of the surgeon's words.
My mother and I broke into tears. No words could describe my sadness. I was in a state of shock and terror
"Dory, have your dinner now!" My mother jolted me from my thoughts. I wiped the tears that had slid down my cheeks. . I hate the burglar for killing my beloved father, but sometimes, I hated myself for not closing the windows of my room that night. Till this day, the burglar did not receive the punishment he ought to receive. The burglar is still at large but I believe that one day, he will receive the punishment he ought to receive.
