Snap, Crackle, Sodapop

Everything was engulfed in pitch black seclusion. Accustomed as I was to the darkness, I slowly proceeded to move my legs. Only, my legs would not budge, not a single centimeter! My brain kept sending signals throughout my body to move, shout, do SOMETHING! None of these attempts succeeded.
What was I to do now?
A low cackle snarled at me from somewhere in the.... area. Scared stiff, I lay still - as if I wasn't doing that already- and silent. My thunderously beating heart betrayed my stealth.
THUMP THUMP- THUMP THUMP- THUMP THUMP.
I tried calming down enough to where my cardiac rhythm would soften when the snarl came again.
I WANTED TO SCREAM! I WANTED TO RUN AND HIDE!
A dim light flickered in the corner of my eye and I recognized the room.
NO! I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE AGAIN!!!!!
I could see his blood-oozing dagger glint slightly. He slowly stalked towards me as I lay confined on the barbaric floor of the abandoned warehouse. Silver streams strolled menacingly in trough the boarded up windows. He got closer. And closer. AND CLOSER!
His dark orbs made me whither and shake with terror. Now, I could feel his maniac breathing dragging raggedly about my face. If I could gulp, I would definately be swallowing much saliva.
The blade was brought down to my stomach, and glided through the soft flesh below my belly button, leaving scarlet trails behind.
Tears stung the back of my eyes venomously.
Roughly, it pulled out of my body, causing swirls and spurts of blood to pour from my newly sliced wounds.
The jaggedly cut carving raged with a poisonus fire that wouldn't be put out. There, on that putrid floor, he left me. Cold. Helpless. Bloody. My father. My own flesh and blood. Many times I hoped for death to just come and put me out of my seemingly- never misery, but only blacked out a few times.
But then I could move. My limbs started to work again, aching for sure, but working. Stumbling, I managed to feebly scrape myself to my feet, but was soon struck with horror when I spotted my mother. She was pale. Burgandy stains splotched her blonde-white hair and flawless face. I could look at her no more.
A hole punched through my heart when remembering who had done it. Who had left the two of us for dead. He suceeded with only half of his foul plan, for I staggered out the door and to the hospital, though sometimes I had to drag myself with calloused fingers and shaking palms.
By the time I arrived at the sanitary center I was about 99 percent deceased. Almost all of the blood in my body was drained and my elbows had become horribly scathed in the process of reaching the building.
I woke with a start, breaking out into an awful cold sweat.
I realized that my shirt was lifted up a litlle and could see that my scar was partially exposed. It was there, reminding me everyday that no matter how much I wanted it, my parents would never love me; one was dead and the other thought I was dead and liked it that way.
I wasn't loved and I knew it. That was one thing that would never change.... or so I thought.