Eleven Miles: Chapters One-Three
I jump up from my seat, the chair banging the floor, just as Grandfather lifts his fork and rams it into my Dad’s eye. A strangled cry escapes my lips, but I’m otherwise frozen with shock and fear. And then, Grandfather looks at me. My eyes find his, unable to look anywhere else, and not at the metal that sticks out of my Dad’s face.
I can’t be sure of the look Grandfather wore, but if I went off his eyes, he is smiling. My grandfather had just stabbed his own son in the face and is smiling about it. I don’t need to see my face to know it is stuck in horror. I dare to look lower at Grandfather’s mouth, and my knees go numb at the grin on his lips. There is something to him, the way his eyes look and his movements.
This man isn’t my grandfather.
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