Jogging To Hell

The last jog I took marked me for life. The home invasion was real. I really did have my hands tied and my eyes covered. My adoptive father really was naked, laying there wondering when the beatings from the men in black masks would end. His back bloodied, his face paler than I'd ever seen before. That one window of escape was too risky. My disabled brother was left behind while my adoptive mother mysteriously escaped the horror of it all. The gun went off and hearing in my ears ceased.