DOORS

HISTORY.

Doors

They adopted me. I never got to know my real mother, maybe once, but I was too young to remember. However, I loved my adoptive family. They were very good people with me. I ate well, I slept in a warm and comfortable house, and they even let me sleep until late at night.

I will tell you quickly about them: first, there is my mother. I never said "mama" or anything like that; for me it was simply "Julia." It never bothered her that he called her that, and I do not think she realized that either. She was a very loving woman, to begin with, I think it was her who recommended that she adopt me. Sometimes I would stand by her side while watching television and caressing my back with her nails. She was one of those 'movie' mothers.

Then there's dad. He used to call himself Ricardo, but since they brought me home I never really liked him, so I started calling him "Dad" in a desperate attempt to win his affection. But it does not work. I suppose that no matter what he called him, he would never love me as much as his own son. A remarkable characteristic that I can tell about dad was his great severity. His hand did not shake when he hit his children when they did something wrong. I discovered that before I could go to the bathroom properly. And well ..., now I behave thanks to his hard teachings.

To finish we have my sister. Emilia was still very small when they adopted me, and hardly older than me (even though I liked to consider her as my little sister). We got along better than any other pair of brothers could. We always stayed talking until very late; she did the big part of the talk, while I only listened because I loved her so much. We had a big house, and despite that we shared a room. It was good for me, I loved being with her and I felt safe at her side.

... But everything changed a horrible Wednesday night.

I was at home taking a nap when Emilia opened the front door. The sound of the door being pushed awakened me and I walked from room to the living room. He came from his kind of Catholicism; When he saw me, he did nothing but hug me. Behind her came Papa and Julia.

-Did you like the nap? Julia said mockingly as she ruffled my hair with her hands. I moved my head and buffet following the game.

My father looked at me harshly and with authority. He closed the door behind him and hung his coat on the rack.

"It was just a joke ..." I growled softly, assuring myself that he had not heard me; otherwise, I would have had a blow in response. Emilia went to our room and I went after her. He began to tell me about his day. You know, girls things. After his story he suggested that we see something on television. When I did not refuse, he went in search of the remote control and I jumped to the chair to make myself comfortable. She rolled her eyes at my little immature act, stood beside me and turned on the television. Emilia was the kind of girl who, instead of watching soap operas and cartoons, preferred to watch Discovery Channel, Animal Planet or National Geographic. I liked them too. In fact, they were the only channels that got my full attention.

When afternoon fell, Julia sent us to sleep. Only a small ray of light from the street lighting illuminated that room. Not much. That night, again and again I swore I had heard small noises outside the window. A branch breaking, leaves being stepped on ... and all the time I could smell the smell of sweat, and blood. I kept my eyes open almost all night.

But the sounds from outside were disappearing little by little and the smell began to leave my nose. Calmer, I closed my eyes.

Shortly after that I heard a loud noise on the other side of the house; I got up instantly. -There is someone in the house! I grunted as a torrent of adrenaline ran through my veins. Wake up! -I stood in Emilia's bed to wake her up and she did. As soon as he got up and got up on the bed, I ran to my parents' room ...

Dad was dead. His neck was brutally open and thick threads of blood continued to flow from it. I was outside the bed, lying on the floor. I saw that the main bathroom was closed, and-right in front of him-there was a man.

A man ... I do not feel comfortable calling him that.

He was very tall and robust. He turned his gaze to me and saw me, that was the first time I observed him more definitely. I will never forget. His eyes were big and they were lost in lust and anger. He had a sloppy beard from which small drops of blood fell. His clothes were dirty and his expression was cold. Suddenly I noticed again the unpleasant smell of sweat and blood from before, but this time they were more overwhelming.

I look myself. He looked at me and smiled with his crooked, yellow teeth. His smile baffled me. I thought he was going to kill me, but he turned back to the bathroom door completely unconcerned with my presence.

I was terrified and I did not know what to do, I started screaming and crying. I saw how he knocked down the door that was my mother's only protection; I saw him lift the long razor blade he brought with him, but he refused to use it properly; and I saw how I opened my mom in two ...

Then I heard something, the last thing I wanted to hear ... It was the cry of Emilia, behind me. That monstrosity averted his gaze from my dismembered mother and put her on my little sister. He got up and walked towards us. My sister turned and ran, I was petrified when he passed me sideways to go after her. What was he doing in the house? Had he not evaluated the situation and fled?

I followed them. I figured I would kill her too, but I was sadly wrong. He grabbed her arm and tugged clear who was in control. I made as much noise as I could, waiting and praying that someone could listen to me and come to our aid. I could not take it. Not her

When he passed in front of me I leaned against the wall and groaned in horror: "Why?" Did not answer; instead he put his free hand on my head, while Emilia screamed for help.

-Good Guy. He gave me another crooked smile. I followed them to the door where he dragged her with him. He pushed it open, slid through it and slammed the door behind him.

Now I am sitting on the bed, with my mutilated adoptive parents, trembling and moaning in dismay. He is outside with my sister and I can not do anything to help her. I would do it if I could, but I can not. I would go after them in the blink of an eye, but I can not. I sit here, looking at my legs. If only I could open doors ...