by Megan Bauer

Created on: May 21, 2009

I sat in the pew listening to the preacher spout hellfire and brimstone. Not paying him much attention, I looked around at the people who were in attendance at today's sermon. I knew all of these people; had known all of them the majority of my life and knew who the devout were. The preacher at the front was one of the not so devout. He was my father, the worst kind of sinner and he had no idea I was here today.

"You will repent to your Lord! You will confess your sins to Him, because He knows all!" I spared him a glance as he was spouting his fiery tirade and couldn't help but think of the Christmas song about Santa Claus coming to town. Studying him, I tried to view him as the moral compass the people in the town thought him to be. His hair was thinning on top and had receded to a high widow's peak. His nose, large and bulbous, was now a fiery red color; not because of his sermon, but because he kept a bottle of whiskey hidden underneath one of our loose floor boards in the house. His mouth was thin and cruel, a slash on an otherwise uninteresting face. However, his height was imposing. I think that may be why the townspeople admired him so much. He stood an impressive six foot five and was built like an NFL linebacker. Anyone built like that would normally make me stand up and listen. Not him, though. I knew him too well. I knew what kind of cruelty he was capable of.

Sitting back in the pew, I thought back ten years ago to the worse time in my life. I had just begun high school and while things were mostly tense in my house they were never really bad. Until that year, I had stood in awe and sometimes fear of the imposing figure that was my father. I had noticed him staring at me intently these past few months and, while it made me nervous, it never made me worry too much. I was excited about beginning high school and anxious about the things to come in my life.

My mother was a timid and mousy woman. She was perfect for my father because she never questioned his decisions or otherwise made an attempt to assert herself in our house. I disliked her sometimes for it and never really understood why she was so scared of him. I never saw them touch or hug and rarely saw them laugh together. I was wise enough to know not to question it, but also smart enough to realize it wasn't how normal, happy couples interacted.

One night, a few weeks after high school had began, I was curled up in my bed attempting to go to sleep. I was having

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